#less prison time and scares men even more

[yuri-for-businesswomen]

everytime an underprivileged or mentally ill woman kills a man who wanted to use her for sex or otherwise sexually exploit her im like fuck around and find out. good riddance 👋

[celestemona]

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘'𝐑𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐃𝐒

and how they deal with their children and domestic life.

pairing: dad & husband! wriothesley, lyney and neuvillette x fem! reader.

cw: original characters, slightly ooc to fit the plot, domesticity, fluff. pregnant reader is mentioned to introductions but not too elaborated. not beta read.

reblogs and comments are appreciated ♡

kazuha’s part. | part. ii

Wriothesley 

If outsiders had previously felt intimidated just by the Duke's fame, with the announcement of your pregnancy, the mere mention of his name was capable of frightening even the bravest of men. And it was no wonder since now he was often seen patrolling the corridors of the Fortress of Meropide with a frown on his eyes and his fists clenched like he was ready to go into combat — if newest prisoners had already feared the idea of meeting him before, now they did anything to never be caught on his sight.

What they didn't know, however, was that internally Wriothesley was a nervous wreck about the whole situation, and his mask of aloofness was the only one he knew to use to hide the imminent fear that was bubbling in the depths of his soul.

Luckily for him, and for the citizens of the fortress, Wriothesley had a very attentive, convincing and confident wife. It was thanks to you and your assurances that the duke was able to calm down and overcome some of his insecurities and then finally celebrate the arrival of his son.

When this happened, even the guards felt they could breathe a sigh of relief and they thanked you, the duchess, for the sudden change in their boss. You just winked in complicity.

In turn, little Cameron couldn't have come into the world at the worst possible time, which only served to rekindle and feed Wriothesley's fears. You were weak and sick, barely able to move even with all of Sigewinne's treatments. Plus, Fontaine was going through too many abrupt changes for the two of you to keep up with, which only made your recovery more difficult. Wriothesley feared losing both you and the baby, but deep down he knew that his wife was stronger than she let on and that trusting you was the only thing to do.

And fortunately for him, Wriothesley wasn’t mistaken as both you and the baby managed to overcome all the terror that was the birth.

“Please don’t scare me like that anymore. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you both.” he had told you with a trembling voice from the fear still running through his veins.

“You need to start giving me more credit, Wrio”, you respond, kissing his cheek, “Your wife is too stubborn to let herself be overcome by any illness.”

Although Wriothesley initially had doubts about fatherhood, as his own background hadn’t given him a good view of it, he was an incredible father. His gentleness and affection were immeasurable and not just you, but the entire Fortress of Meropide could notice a soft side blooming in him. This didn’t mean that he left his guard completely goes down because the duke still remained adamant about the laws and administration of the prison.

Still, it was comforting (and even funny) to see the cryo user patrolling the production zones or administrative areas with a baby that looked so much like him held in a carrier on his torso — not that they dared mention it to him, much less get closer to the new father.

Cameron was also a very calm baby, rarely getting angry about something; instead, preferring to observe his surroundings. His icy blue eyes always seemed to sparkle with curiosity and Wriothesley found this characteristic particularly fascinating.

When it came to taking care of the baby, you and your husband always took turns so that the care of the child and the Fortress of Meropide was well managed. And to tell the truth, your teamwork was very good because when Wriothesley had to take on his duties as duke, Cameron was happy with your attention, and when you were requested as interrogator, your husband spent hours locked in his office with the mini version of him sitting on his lap as he enjoys a cup of tea as well.

Like every first-time father, Wriothesley faces the negative and positive sides of fatherhood. Some nights he is awakened by his past demons and a sudden dread appears to cloud his thoughts. But as he looks at his son's growth, celebrate the success of his small achievements and admire the honorable young man that Cameron is becoming, he knows he has done a good job and there is nothing to fear.

“Well, since we have nothing to fear, then it’s time for me to announce that I’m pregnant again, right?”

Lyney

Lyney liked to think that even if you didn't meet in this life, you would meet in your next incarnation; even if you belonged to different worlds, your souls would find a way to cross time and space to find each other. It was as if a red string that only the two of you could see connected both of you, and for the magician, it was undeniable to say that destiny itself had written your story or that the stars in the sky had illuminated his path to you.

The love that he had for you was unconditional, and Lyney doubted that there was anything in the entire universe that could contradict that fact.

But, well, that was before you gave him what would be the greatest gifts of his life. His twins babies Quentin and Corinne.

Now, that everyone knew that Lyney was a loving husband was nothing new. Since the beginning of your relationship, the blonde man has always made sure to emphasize your dating then later marital status and he had never hidden his affections towards you, whether they be publicly or not. And with the announcement of your pregnancy, his pride only seemed to intensify as he always had a characteristic smile on his face when you walked together through the streets of Fontaine, showing you off like you were a rare jewel much for you enjoyment.

His affection and gentleness towards you remained the same, although this time there was a greater care that you couldn't help but appreciate. Your husband was always ready to grant your wishes and he was able to understand your feelings even before you had to verbalize them. Lyney was very good at dealing with people so it was no surprise how magnificent of a father he’d be too.

And, well, to say it exceeded your expectations would be an understatement.

You had never seen Lyney cry except for his slight watery look on your wedding day. However, that changed with the arrival of the twins who gave you the vision of the man openly crying while holding the two children in his arms, making it impossible for him not to be moved by this new phase of his life — giving you a beautiful memory to remember for all eternity.

“They look so much like you”, he said after a pause, his voice still breaking, “They are beautiful”.

And in fact the twins had inherited all your genes, allowing from Lyney only the inheritance of his violet-cat-shaped eye. To say that this upset him would be an unforgivable lie because for Lyney there was no one in the world as beautiful as the mother of his children and it made him happy that they look just like you.

That being said, Lyney is a doting dad deeply in love with his children. He quickly adapted to fatherhood even with the ups and downs that come with it — after all, he still had his duties to the House of Hearth and some of his performances required him to travel to another nation, leaving you and the twins behind, but he didn't let it get him down and became stronger through it.

Furthermore, Lyney understood very well the tiredness of motherhood and always having to be available to the children, so in the late hours of the night he was responsible for feeding, changing diapers or paying attention to the two babies.

From an early age, Quentin and Corinne already showed to have personalities as distinct as he and Lynette and it brought a smile to his face when he saw a little of himself reflected in his children. While Quentin always seemed to have a lot of energy, Corinne only demanded her father's attention if it was for her basic needs or a nap in his warm embrace.

Lyney would have no problem showing his children off in the public eye once they got older, but as long as they were defenseless kids he’d prioritize their privacy. Until that day came, he’d keep you and the twins under his wings, teaching them to take care of each other but also to learn to be independent.

As was also to be expected, magic and illusion tricks are two constants in your house and Lyney loves showing little tricks to the twins who always give him the best reactions.

Finally, Lyney is a proud dad and is happy for his children's small achievements. All his love is shown through words and actions, never failing to show every day how much he cares for them. No matter what path Quentin and Corinne decided to take, he’d be the first to support them. And even though deep down he feared that the world might erase the sparkle in their eyes, he’d always protect their innocence, no mattering the means.

Neuvillette

Just as in the beginning it was somewhat sudden for the people of Fontaine to get used to the idea and the sight of their Iudex walking through the streets of the capital at your side, it was equally shocking for them when a few years, after getting married, the image of you and your slightly rounded belly appeared on the cover of The Steambird in an exclusive interview about your career and personal life — in fact, it sales were as abundant as the water that surrounded the hydro nation, not surprising Charlotte a bit who was delighted with the audience received.

After all, if there was one thing the journalist knew very well, it was that fontaineians would always crave good gossip.

Not much was revealed to satisfy the citizens' curiosity, but it served as a trigger to make them create the most absurd theories. You didn't seem to care about them at all, though. In fact, you even fueled some rumors for your own pleasure. Neuvillette, however, didn't appreciate them as much as you did, especially when it involved his name and his supposed “lack of sensitivity”. When these comments reached him, the sunny sky was replaced by a few rain clouds.

The unknown truth was that you and Neuvillette had been planning to start a family for a long time, you just didn't know how to since the Sovereign heritage was little studied and your husband was afraid of risking your health and safety for a selfish dream. It was only after a lot of persuasion, support and even medical advice from Sigewinne that the two of you were able to announce your pregnancy and then welcome little Éveline.

To say that Neuvillette was a helicopter husband during your pregnancy would be an understatement. All his worry and attention suffocated you to the point of almost making you go crazy. Even if his care for the smallest details and his devotion to you were appreciated, it was something that annoyed you when extremes.

But then, after the ordeal of childbirth and with the baby finally sleeping in his arms, you were able to notice a new side awakening in the dragon. A passionate and serene look that only his daughter could bring him.

Neuvillette loves having the little one around and rarely left her side in the first days of her life. Fatherhood, not surprisingly, suits him very well as your husband always knows how to meet your daughter's needs before you even take action — perhaps it was experience from all those centuries caring for the Melusines or perhaps it was just his instincts providing for his offspring. Whatever it was, you couldn't be more grateful for his efforts.

Éveline showed to have your features, but she also inherited all of Neuvillette's draconic traits, including his personality you’d dare to say.

In fact, about this last topic is a detail that you learned to avoid because if your daughter cries, Neuvillette is distressed, and if both father and daughter aren’t happy Fontaine is devastated by a torrential rain.

Furthermore, Neuvillette is expected to be fiercely protective of the baby, allowing only a small and significant number of people to meet her in the first months. After all, loving is caring and he’d never forgive himself if something happened to her.

A curious fact that you’d love to share with your friends but can only record in photos would be that every night, and on his rare days off, Neuvillette would transform into his draconic form so he could snuggle up to Éveline and make her sleep — the difference in size between them completely melting you.

And even though his daughter was a little too old for that, he still loves to share these moments with her.

Overall, Neuvillette is a very attentive and affectionate father, preferring to show his love through gestures rather than words. Physical contact is a constant in your home so Éveline learned to grow up in an environment where hugs and pats on the head are everyday gestures.

Neuvillette, even if he’s busy with all his duties as chief justice of Fontaine, will never fail to be present at every stage of his daughter's life, teaching and guiding her to become a respectable, fair and noble-hearted person.

.

.

a/n: i intended to rewrite kazuha's part, delete his solo post and add it here but it'd be very troublesome because some people has read already. even though i wished to let it all together i'll let it like the way it is already. furthermore, i don't know if it's gonna turn into a series since my will to write disappears as fast as it appears. but if so, i'll only write for these four men.

please let me know if there's any mistakes ;)

[calisources]

𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐁𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐄𝐍 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐐𝐔𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒.

All sentences and quotes have been taken from different media about starcrossed lovers or forbidden love, full of angst, some bold words, some nasty ones, possessive nature and letting someone use you as a replacement. So, some toxic energy in this one. Change pronouns, locations and names as you see fit.

I love you,and I will love you until I die,and if there's a life after that,I'll love you then.

Do people always fall in love with things they can't have?

And there is a difference between having your heart break and having your soul shatter.

I'm falling in love with you.

I'm going to fuck the shit out of you. I have waited for this for such a long time. Consequences be damned.

These violent delights have violent ends.

 I’m only human. And you are …all-consuming.

Don’t go into this lightly. If you’re mine, you need to understand I will burn the fucking world to the ground for you.

I will never let you go, do you hear me? 

 will keep you safe. And I will find a way for us to be together.

If you make me cry at my own coronation ball, I’ll never forgive you.

If you were any less the man you are, I would beg you to take me with you.

If you were any less the woman you were, I would beg you to come with me.

I've known lust. This is something worse. This is a barbaric need to possess, to eliminate, to own. This is madness.

This is lust.

She’s your very own forbidden fruit.

You said you didn't want this.

We all desire what we cannot have.

Have you noticed how the boy looks at you?

Do you think I didn’t notice? The way you look at me when you think I’m not watching?

You are dangerous desire, and I am your prisoner.

We can’t do this on so many levels.

I can't even whisper her name, my heart would burst out of my chest.

But I would fight against the stars for you.

I have ruined your life.

Some lines you just don't cross. 

I want to take you under the moonlight.

Having something forbidden is exciting, don't you agree?

The closer we get—the more I let you in…the more dangerous this gets.

Don’t you get it? You’re what everyone wants! But I’m not going to let them win.

Make it so I never have to dream about this again—make it so we can have this…forever.

Desires are what can most easily ruin us, lovely.

We were doomed from the start. 

Nothing is as deadly as the love of a powerful man.

But this kiss? It's ruined me. This is the type of kiss I never knew existed. 

You sure about that, Dad? Because he's done everything to me.

Are you scared of me now?

You loved me - then what right had you to leave me?

I have not broken your heart - you have broken it; and in breaking it, you have broken mine.

One moment, you give me everything that I want, and in the next, you snatch all of that away.

It's hopeless. We can never work out.

The world didn’t want us together so I forged a new one where we would.

How could a peacock lust for a lion?

You're tattooed onto my skin, and the more I try to erase you, the deeper you sink in.

I’ve always liked you, from the first moment I saw you.

It's absurd how crazy love can make you...but even more absurd how stupid jealousy can make you.

 That you and I are meant to be together, but never meant to be.

Why does fate seem always to conspire against us? To deny us life's simple pleasures?

We'll meet after this war. I'll certainly find you wherever you'll hide. 

War makes fools of men and women wanton.

What offends you most, Father? That she's Catholic, or that she's poor?

If my father discovers you here, he'd cut off your little nuts and eat them. He can't stand you.

You tempress, I see you once and all I can think of is having you.

Feelings are forbidden, does not mean we cannot enjoy one another.

The more you deny me, the more I desire you. You are a plague in my mind.

Ever since we met, no one else can compare. 

How can I be with someone else, when I’m with them, it’s you I see.

You can have me, think of whoever you love. For tonight.

You can pretend I'm her/him. I don't care. I just want you.

[lunajay33]

The One🤎

Summary: You were in the line up and Negan took a liking towards you taking you back to the sanctuary, he wants you as another wife but you’re different (age gap)

Pairing: Negan Smith x f!reader

•Masterlist•

You were sitting in the line up next to Carl, you were the second youngest of the group but for some reason you weren’t scared even though you were surrounded by men with guns and a man swinging around a bat

“Well now look at you, quite the beauty”

“Perv” the group looked at you like you were insane to talk to him like that after what he just did to Abraham

He kneeled in front of you smirking, it made your heart thump it was strange a feeling you’ve never really felt before

“Got a mouth on her too, I like it, how old?”

“22” you said with less sass this time

“Hmmmm I was thinking of killing another one of you but I think I’ll take you home instead” he laughed as he motioned to a man to move you to Negans truck

“You better not touch her” Michonne stated with no fear

“Don’t worry darling, I’ll take real good care of her………..let’s go boys!” Everyone got in there trucks, Negan hoping in the drivers seat just you and him, you looked out to window to those left in the line up watching you with fear, fear for you and what might happen

The truck rolled out of the dirt road until the group was was no longer in sight, leaving you to the silence of the truck, only the sound of Negan tapping on the steering wheel

“Do you have any music in this truck at least” you groaned hating the silence, never was one for it

He laughed pointing to the glove box

“Something should be in there darling”

Rummaging through the few cds that were in the glove box you found a Lana Del Rey CD making you laugh from shock

“Didn’t take you for a Lana man” you said as you slid the CD into the stereo skipping to White Mustang sitting back sighing in relief having missed this song

“What can I say, it’s enticing music, really gets the ladies in the mood”

“Oh really, and how many “ladies” do you get in the mood?” You asked in disbelief a little jealous as well even though you barely knew this man

“I have some wives, you might be the next”

“Well I don’t know what they’re like but if you want me as your wife it’s not going to be that easy and I won’t compete for a man” you didn’t know where this confidence came from but he made you feel a type of way

Negan showed you around the compound finally showing you where you’d be staying

“And this is your room, the other wives are all in the surrounding rooms, mines the one right at the end, if you ever need something”

“You live pretty lavishly up here, why do you need to steal from other communities” you groaned as you sat on the bed

“It’s the way I run things Angel get use to it, I’ll let you settle there will be a man on the outside of the door so you don’t try to escape” he said with that devilish smirk before he left closing the door behind him

You sighed laying back on the bed, in one day things changed so much, Maggie got sick something obviously wrong with the baby, caught by the saviours, Negan finishing off Abraham and now you were taken away from the people you loved, but maybe it was for the best maybe if he hadn’t taken you he might have killed more, if it meant they could live you could put up with whatever was going to happen here

The days went by, it had to have been a week and you haven’t left the room, the man at your door brought you food ever so often but you only ever had a little and picked at it, you felt like a prisoner, you thought since Negan took a liking to you that maybe he’d be around more

It was late in the middle of the night and the man at the door was long gone, you opened the door and the hall was silent, tiptoeing down the hall to the last room Negan said was his, you raised your hand to knock but decided to just go on in, turn the nob and opening slowly, peaking in to see him fast asleep on his huge bed the moon shining in through the windows

You walked to his side of the bed and poked his arm, no movement, you pushed him a bit harder but he only groaned

“Negan?” You whispered finally waking him up, he sat up in bed obviously still a bit out of it

“Angel what’re you doing here so late?” Suddenly this felt like an embarrassingly bad decision but it didn’t change how you were feeling

“I’m……I’m lonely”

You were ready for his quick wit or a horny remark but he just moved over and raised the blankets

“Well come on” you slide in next to him, the woodsy cherry cologne he wore surrounded you calming your nerves, you both laid down face to face

“None of the other wives have ever willingly come to my room” he said

“Why didn’t you come to mine? It’s been a week”

“I don’t know, guess you seem different than the others didn’t wanna blow my chances” this new side of him was a lot more comforting to be around

“Oh so you think you have a chance” you said letting out a sarcastic laugh

“You’re the one that came to my bed” he smirked

“I guess you could have a chance here but o don’t wanna be just another wife Negan” you said before sleep overcame you and you were out

You woke up the next morning to an empty bed except for a piece of paper where Negan was, you opened it a little nervous

“I’m out figuring some things out, I left you some new clothes on the edge of the bed, breakfast is on the desk, get your rest Angel”

Angel, that word sent a thrill through you, you looked to the end of the bed seeing a ivory lacy dress with a pair of worn cowgirl type boots and it fit perfectly, looking at the desk to see strawberries and pancakes, starving you ate the whole thing, tempted to lick the plate

The day went on and it was getting boring, you found a CD player and another Lana del Rey disc, playing Blue Jeans, you walked around the room checking out what he’s collected, a lot of CDs from nickelback to Lana to Alice in chains, a huge range of music, his closet was full of plaid and plain tshirts, you took a brown plaid and threw it on over your dress seeming to match perfectly and his cologne still lingered making your heart thump like the first time you talked

“Looking pretty gorgeous Angel, I see the clothes sit perfect” you heard from behind you making you jump and spin around seeing him leaning against the door frame

“Sorry I was a little cold and I just wanted to wear one” you said feeling embarrased

“Well I think you should wear my clothes more often” he smirked as he took your hand and led you to sit on the bed

“What did you do today? I thought you’d be here when I woke up”

“Your words got to me last night, I know we’ve barely known eachother but…..it’s been a long time since someone’s made me feel this way”

“How do I make you feel?” You asked sitting closer

“Oh I think you know Angel, cause I think you feel the same way, you get a thrill around me, your heart thumps when you’re close to me, I want that more than some meaningless hookups…….thats why let the other wives go, broke everything off, I wanna see where this can go just you and me” he said squeezing your hand

“Really you did that for me?”

“I want a chance Angel, if you’re up for it”

“I’m all yours Negan, but you have to leave Alexandria alone, they’re still my family……please”

“Whatever you want Angel, just want you happy”

He pushed your hair back behind your ear tracing his fingers down you checks to your jaw, butterflies going crazy in your stomach

“I might be a little inexperienced compared to you, I don’t wanna get your hopes up” he laughed before realizing you were serious

“Oh you’re serious, how have you never been with someone, you’re so sexy”

“Well you know the world ended and I never really found the person or the time to bang one out”

“Don’t worry baby, I got you, show you a real good time, when you’re ready”

[wttcsms]

time, mystical time (cuttin' me open, then healin' me fine) ; simon "ghost" riley.

pairing simon "ghost" riley x f!reader  word count 3.3k  synopsis snapshots of the defining moments in ghost's life. content contains slight angst, mild descriptions of alcohol abuse (ghost's father) + domestic abuse (non-explicit desc., but the act itself is mentioned various times), a bit of tiny look into my take on ghost's background, nsfw content, slight size kink, breeding kink, creampie, domestic fluff, pregnant!reader in some scenes, children (dad!ghost) author's notes takes place in this au & honestly is a lot more enjoyable of a read if you read that fic (+ the other connected one shots [go on my masterlist]). fun fact: simon is referred to as simon in the scenes with only you and his family. he's ghost anywhere else.

His mother had always told him that as a baby, he was always rather quiet. Scared her half to death, she would say, ‘cause he’d rarely ever cry. Even the doctor got worried when he first came out. 

Looking back at his childhood — perhaps the lack thereof — Simon assumes it’s probably instinctual. With a deadbeat drunk of a father armed with a heavy hand, being quiet probably saved Simon’s life more times than he wants to admit. He’d be knocked upside the head for the littlest of reasons, shouted at for even less. 

I’m the man of the house. 

His father’s slurred justifications for doling out unfair punishments ring through the dark halls of his childhood home. Simon hears it while he cowers inside his closet. His room is dark because his father doesn’t believe in nightlights, and mum got slapped hard for daring to go against his wishes and trying to sneak Simon one. She thinks he didn’t see it, but Simon sees a lot more than he should. Since then, he’s been sleeping in the dark. It’s not so scary anymore. 

There are scarier things that lurk in the light, anyway. 

It’s stuffy in the closet, and he knows it’s stupid to hide here because dad will find him any second now. The punishment is bad when he gets to drinking, and it gets worse whenever Simon tries to hide. 

A loud thump against his door makes Simon hold his breath. Then, the door bangs open from the weight.

Kicking doors open comes second nature to Lieutenant Riley. 

The loud crash of the door popping from the rusty hinges shocks the poor girls previously trapped behind them. All of them stay huddled together, staring fearfully at the loud, big men toting even louder, bigger guns. The hollowed cheeks, hopeless eyes, and array of bruises on their skin makes him sick. It’s a hot summer’s day, and Simon hates that after all this time, his observation from his childhood still stands true:

There are scarier things that lurk in the light, anyway. 

A bit hypocritical, he supposes. After all, he walks around in broad daylight, and he’s certainly no saint.

With the help of the rest of his extraction team, Ghost makes quick work of herding all the girls out of this depressing underground prison and out into a free world. He’s careful to be gentle with his touches, nothing more than a gentle guiding hand. Even with his gloves, he can’t be certain he’s not tainting them. Sins don’t wash away as easily as blood does. 

He’s the last one to leave, but he doesn’t exit alone. 

For a while, he felt a tight grip on his arm. Someone’s been clinging onto him this whole time, and with everything that’s happened, he can’t find it in his heart to shake them off. With no other distractions present, he finally turns to see who’s gotten so attached to him.

This is it. 

This is the moment where Simon Riley claims his life begins.

It’s such a juvenile feeling, he thinks. Waiting for his phone to ring, wondering why you haven’t texted or called. It’s so silly. So what he saved your life? It’s not like you owe him anything. It’s his job. He had a duty. Nothing more, nothing less.

Besides, he’s an asshole. Not the type of asshole who thinks he’s entitled to your company since he rescued you, but the type where Soap and the rest of the team aren’t too surprised he doesn’t have anyone to come home to. 

He can’t sleep. 

It’s been weeks since he gave you that burner phone. Surely you would have called, even sent a simple “hello”, if you really wanted to. He knows there’s not much to do in that facility. He knows that you haven’t been sleeping well. He knows that he should go to sleep; he’s got an early flight to catch in an active warzone, and there’s no way in hell he’s gonna get any semblance of rest as a result. 

Instead of sleeping, he’s grabbing his own burner phone off the nightstand and staring at the screen. It’s a simple enough task, really. He can just head straight to his contacts list and click the only one that’s there. Isn’t it traditional for the guy to call first, anyway? Or is he just fooling himself into thinking that you’re waiting for him to make the first move? Do you want him to make the first move? 

He’s never experienced this before. This newfound, boyish anxiety. The equal mixture of both hopelessness and hope churning in his stomach every time he sees you; do you think of him as much as he thinks of you? The question is then followed by a decisive no. He hasn’t survived this long because of blind optimism, so there’s no point in indulging in it now. 

Will you come back then? 

You looked up at him while asking this question, and you looked like an angel unfairly punished to walk alongside man. He wanted to spend the rest of his life constructing a stairway to heaven that you could use to make it back to your rightful home. When you look that beautiful and then proceed to ask him a question, what else was he supposed to say besides,

Whenever you want me to. 

Perhaps God truly is as merciful as he is all-seeing, because after a minute of contemplation and staring longingly at your contact, his phone screen lights up with the notification he’s prayed for (the only thing he’s ever prayed for, really). 

You’re calling him. 

And true to his word, he’s on his way. 

He’s never said I love you before, and as a result, he’s too scared to make his first attempt to do so, even though you just told him those three words yourself.

(He might tower over you, but looks can be deceiving. Simon thinks you’re much stronger and braver than him, in all the ways that matter.)

I love you.

He resists the urge to beg you to say it again and again and again, on repeat for the rest of your lives. 

He doesn’t say it back immediately, but he does let you take off his mask for the first time.

He doesn’t realize that the wide-eyed, awestruck, soft gleam in your eyes as you take him in, fully, for the first time is the same starry-eyed look he gets whenever he looks at you. He has a feeling you’re well aware of it, but now he finds the courage to confirm it.

“I love you.” 

And with a smile that could bring him back to life, all you have to say is, “I know.”

His mask is in your hands, after all.

“You never quite outgrow it, do ya?” Tommy’s got his hands in his pockets, but Simon can still picture the wedding band on his younger brother’s finger. He had been happy when Tommy tied the knot with Beth, if not a bit jealous. 

Now, though, Simon’s got his own wedding band. It’s tucked underneath his uniform, hanging from the same chain his dog tags are. It rests against his chest, in a spot closest to his heart, right where it — you — belong.

Dad’s dead. Tommy says mum cried, but he couldn’t understand why. After all, she’s the one who faced his wrath for the longest. She’s been on the receiving end of all his harshness. She’s the one who’s taken the most hits, the hardest hits. Simon nods in agreement but doesn’t tell his brother that he thinks he might know why.

Simon knows his mother is a good woman. A long time ago, his father wasn’t the man he knew growing up. He doesn’t know when the change in his personality happened, and Simon somehow feels like it’s his fault. He was the catalyst, the trigger. While she was pregnant with him, that’s when the violence and the drinking and the anger started. He knows mum isn’t crying to mourn the man he became; she’s just finally safe to grieve about the man she loved and lost. Simon hasn’t been able to face her in a while since he’s come to the conclusion that his being born was the cause of everything horrible that has happened to her. 

“No, I suppose not,” Simone says. The house feels smaller than he remembers, but when he walks into his childhood bedroom, he’s transported to darker times. The room is as big as the whole world again. This room, this damn house, is his only world. He’s nine and cowering in fear again. He’s little again. He’s scared again. He wants to run away, but his scrawny little legs won’t let him. Dad won’t let him. 

Then he blinks and realizes that the room hasn’t changed all that much.

Within the next week, Simon gets the house demolished and the land sold. 

“Ta-da!” You present to him a knitted, baby-blue blanket. The beginning stitchwork is sloppy at best with considerable improvement the further he looks. Between every thread, Simon can practically feel the love that’s stitched in it. 

“You like it?” You ask him, looking at him expectantly. 

“It’s perfect.” 

“Liar!” Your laugh rings through the cabin, and Simon feels like he’s being bathed in sunlight from the warmth of the sound alone. It’s distinctly yours, and he doesn’t want to be the barbarian who just takes and takes, but he wants it all to himself. He wants to catch it from the air and stuff it in his pockets and save it for when he’s in a foreign country and can’t sleep at night. 

“Why would I lie? It’s perfect.” You’re perfect.

“I messed up, like, five times trying to get this damn thing started! And it was so hard to get into a good groove since Simon Jr. thinks he’s a little football player. He’s been kicking like crazy!” To prove your point, you get closer to Simon and take one of his large hands, placing it on your growing belly. He’s sitting, surrounded by tools and pieces of a crib that he’s trying to build, and all he can do is look up in admiration at you, the most beautiful woman to walk this earth, an angel too good for this world, the mother of his child, his wife, you. Your hand is on top of his, and you squeeze it gently, and he loves the way the diamond on your wedding ring glitters in the sunlight. 

“He’s a strong one, alright.” Simon chuckles, feeling the way his son bumps against your belly. 

“Must get it from you, then.” 

That’s funny. Simon was just about to say that he’s pretty sure he gets it from you. 

When he’s with you, Simon likes to take things slow. He can be rough at times, demanding and conquering you with nothing but brute strength and vulgar compliments. Like a true soldier, you take all of his transgressions in stride. 

Tonight is one of the nights where Simon will indulge and finally take things slow. He likes to savor every moment he gets with you because no matter how much time has passed, the pessimist in him doesn’t stop reminding him that time is fickle, and the future is never promised. 

But Simon wants to build a future with you. Simon has built a future, but he’s greedy. So, so greedy. He wants more, he wants all of you, he wants everything you’re willing to give him. The way you part your legs for him, how you willingly — lovingly — let him in, even though nature resists.

No matter how many times he’s split you open on his cock, even with the slickness of the previous two orgasms he so happily wrung out from you, there’s still resistance as the width and length of his cock struggle to slide into your cunt. 

“It’s okay, love, let me in.” His whispers of reassurance are barely heard over your little whimpers. You’re nodding, trying to be a good girl for him, but the fact of the matter is that Simon Riley is incredibly too big. He is a god among men, and you find yourself squeezing his hand tightly as the first few inches of his cock make its way into your warmth. 

“I know, darling.” He mumbles, but his gentle words are spoken roughly. Desire coats every syllable, and his voice is gravelly. He’s holding back, restraining himself from giving in and giving it to you roughly. His hand, so much larger than your own, squeezes back. He’s slowly pushing more of his length inside your needy cunt, and you moan at the feeling of being complete. 

You don’t realize the tears that are welling up in the corner of your eyes as he completely enters you, the tip of his cock perfectly pressed against your cervix. Simon’s always been good at mixing pain and pleasure, and tonight is a testament to that. 

“More, please.” It comes out like a weak, little whine, and Simon is putty in your hands. Completely malleable to your every whim and desire. His love wants more? He’ll give you everything. 

Your lashes are wet with your tears, and he watches as tiny streams of tears fall down your heated cheeks. Your face feels warm to the touch, Simon realizes, as he leans down to kiss away your tears. Poor thing. You must have exerted yourself too much when you were thrashing around earlier as he refused to remove his mouth from your precious pussy until you came in his mouth. 

You’re no match for the sheer strength and power of Simon, who’s built like a Greek god and probably just as powerful. You surrender to the overwhelming sensation of his cock stroking in and out of your cunt, and you’re damn near shameless in your greed and desire for more. 

“Cum in me. I want you to give me another baby, wanna grow our family with you.” You toss your head back in pleasure, feeling the way his grip on your hand tightens at your words. The two of you move perfectly together; you wrap your legs around his waist as his free hand grips your hip to keep you steady. 

“Yeah? My wife wants me to fuck another baby into her?” Simon grunts, doubling his efforts to ensure that his cock hits deep enough to press against all the spots that have your walls tightening around him. 

The throbbing of his cock and the allure of expanding your family with Simon, with having a part of him always, even after the two of you have left this earth, is enough to send you over the edge. The ecstasy is all-consuming; all you know is Simon. You feel him to the depth of your core, his heat pressed against your own, your shared bedroom heavy with lust and love. 

He loves the way your body goes slack from the intensity of your orgasm. It lets him know that he’s fucked you just the way you deserved to be fucked, filled to the brim with his cock and his cum and all his love. He kisses you hard, savoring the natural sweetness of your lips pressed against his own. He muffles your moans as you feel the endless stream of his cum spilling inside of you, the warmth of it all being almost too much to bear. 

“Mmmf,” You pull back from his kiss, just so you can look him in the eyes as you give him his favorite reminder in the world.

“I love you.” 

He responds with another deep kiss. It says enough. It says I love you, too, and we’re going for a round two. 

He has all the time in the world with you.

He doesn’t feel any pain. That’s odd.

He looks back to the last minute. He heard the distinct sound of a gun firing, and he stumbled a bit as fate had its cruel fun and allowed the bullet to miraculously hit him in the one area his bulletproof gear just so happened to miss. What are the odds? 

He looks down. A dark stain is forming on his uniform, and the spot only continues to grow bigger. He moves a hand down to where the stain is at — it’s wet. A fresh wound. Fuck.

The sentiment is shared with Soap, who for once in his life doesn’t have anything smart to say. Ghost wants to say something cheeky, then. Just to keep him calm. It worked with Tommy. 

What’s the matter? Don’t worry about me. Should’ve seen the other guy. Almost had him in the last round. 

The words, Ghost realizes with growing dread, don’t quite come so easily.

It’s like his brain knows what he wants to do, but nothing is going as planned. Soap is saying something, but he just can’t quite make out the words. Johnny, speak proper fucking English, why don’t ya? 

No. That’s not the issue. Ghost frowns, but he doesn’t think Soap notices because of his damn mask. He can’t speak for shit, and he can’t hear, either. Actually, now that he’s really trying to take in his surroundings, everything’s a bit hazy, too. Like someone’s put some stupid film over everything, and stuff’s all slightly blurry. Just out of focus, just out of reach. 

“—get you home, alright?” The words sound all jumbled up, and Ghost only really catches the last end of whatever Soap’s blabbing on about. He’s a good kid. Great soldier. Stellar human being. He mentioned something about going home, but that’s just silly. The mission isn’t over yet, get it? They can’t go home ‘til the mission’s complete. 

“—don’t close your eyes—”

Home sounds nice. Warm vanilla in the colder seasons, jasmine with equal hints of something fruity and floral in the warmer ones. You fill the house with these scents, even matching your daily perfume to it. Doesn’t matter much to him, though. He hugs you close to his body and breathes in deeply, and he can still smell just you. No perfume will ever compare. 

Oh, and a busy kitchen. You’re covered in flour, his son sits on the counter, his daughter in her high chair. The entire kitchen comes to life, and every time he sees all three of you giggling in unison, his favorite sound of all, this kitchen becomes his whole world. This is what he goes to war to protect.

Baby blue walls and a crib. Crayon drawings of a stick figure family. Watching his daughter’s first steps and his son clinging to your legs. 

Maybe Soap’s right. Forget the mission. He should just head home.

But first, he’s really fucking tired. He’ll shut his eyes just for a minute.

He blinks a few times, eyes struggling to adjust to the light. Light slaps against his face were the cause for his waking up. A damn shame, honestly. He rarely dreams, but when he does, it’s of you, and he was dreaming about something certainly worth remembering for the next time he’s reunited with you. 

He rolls over to confront whoever dared to ruin the one good rest he’s had in a long time, only to come face to face with bright, innocent eyes the same shade as his own. 

“G’morning,” his son says, the words still clumsy on the two-year-old’s tongue. When Simon doesn’t answer immediately, he resumes slapping his father’s face.

“I’m up, buddy.” 

The little toddler claps his chubby little hands together in pure joy. 

“Dada home?”

Like a sight for sore eyes, you appear in the doorway, gently opening the door and pushing it open. You’ve got your daughter in your arms, and you look ready to scold the young boy for disturbing Simon until you realize that he’s already awake. There’s that smile of yours that Simon loves so much, the one he swears could bring him back to life.

“I’m home.”

author's note i intended for these little scenes/glimpses of his life to be the things ghost sees as he's bleeding out on the field. get it? the whole "life flashing before your eyes" thing BAHAHAHA. don't worry, he's alive and very much well, enjoying much needed domesticity with you + your little family. the last scene is him fucking u good and well, and that's the lil dream he was having. muahaha

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Self Control.

Javi keeps refusing himself what he wants. One night puts everything into perspective.

Pairing - Javier Peña x female reader

Age Rating - 18+

Warnings - Cursing, mentions of blood and death

Word Count - 3429

Author's Note - hello lovely people, hope you're all well. i've been a huge fan of pedro pascal since his narcos days, so all of this love for him happening currently is making me very happy. javier peña is perhaps my favourite tv character of all time, so i'm very excited to share this story with you. i'd always love to write more javi stuff, so if you ever have any thoughts, please send them my way. i'm happy to write for all pedro characters actually!! as always, much love x

Masterlist. Requests.

It wasn't supposed to go like this. 

It was supposed to be simple. A routine raid. Get the information and go. 

How did it all go so wrong? 

Gunshots. Blood. A sea of green uniforms scattering the ground. Escobar had somehow known about it. He was taking no prisoners. 

The Search Bloc had lost men. The Colombian Police had lost men. You were just praying that you hadn't. 

Javier Peña and Steve Murphy were still out there. You had no idea if they were okay. They could be shot, bleeding out. Kidnapped. Or worse. 

No. 

You're driving yourself insane thinking of all the possible worse case scenarios. Your mind can't help but go there. It's instinct. 

You're sat waiting. Hoping. Praying. You've made your home at Javi and Steve's desks - they're more central to the action than your own. You're watching the front doors, sat in Javi's chair. It smells like cigarette smoke, and musk, and him. You let the familiar scent envelope you, allowing it to bring you comfort. You breathe him in. He'll be here soon. You know he will.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

Javier Peña was a complicated man. An enigma. He was tough, but gentle. Rugged, but tender. Commanding, but reserved. He was one big juxtaposition. Impossible to read. 

Or so he thought. 

You came along, and challenged every single one of his existing beliefs. You turned him soft - more understanding, more empathetic. He'll tell you he hates it. He lies. 

You weren't supposed to be here. Not really. You'd followed your brother, a DEA agent, all the way from Texas to Colombia. He'd told you he was being sent to South America to assist with the Pablo Escobar situation, and you'd packed your bags without a second thought. You had no one else. Wherever he goes, you go. Except one place. 

He'd died two months into the job. Shot dead by Escobar's men, in a situation that he shouldn't have even been in. And all of a sudden, you were alone. Alone in an unfamiliar place. Alone in the world. 

Javier made sure that wasn't true. He took you under his wing like an injured baby bird, slowly but surely nursing you back to health. He'd been there, when Carrillo had told you the fate of your brother. He'd caught you in his arms when your knees had given out, held you like he was scared you were going to shatter into a thousand pieces. He was holding you together. He has been, ever since. 

You were just a secretary. The odd one out. The only woman. Looked down on. People pitied you, really. You heard the things they said. Even if you didn't understand, you heard. You could take a guess. 

The world was a terrifying place for a woman. It was a terrifying place in general. But it seemed to be less scary knowing that Javier and Steve were at their desks just across the precinct every day. Your safety blankets. Your protectors. Which is exactly why the thought of losing either of them was currently ripping you apart from the inside out.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

Your eyes shot up every time the door opened. Slowly but surely, members of the Search Bloc filtered in - many of them bloody, and injured, but alive. You weren't taking your eyes off the entrance to the precinct. Not for a second. Not when any minute, Peña and Murphy could walk in, and everything would be okay again. Any minute now, you reassure yourself. Any minute now. 

You hear steel toe boots on the linoleum floor, and your breath hitches… but it’s Colonel Carrillo. He spots you from across the room and strides over, ignoring any pleas for his attention from the Search Bloc guys. He envelopes you in a hug - professionalism be damned.

“Are you okay?”, you ask when he pulls back. “What happened? I’ve been going insane listening over the radio.”

“I’m okay, mi amor. We’re still trying to figure out what went wrong. He knew, someone had to have told him.”

You’re just about to ask him about Murphy and Peña when he says,

“We got separated in the chaos. I don’t know where they are, but I’m sure they’re fine. Try not to panic, okay?”

He’s looking at you carefully, and you’re nodding, but you know you aren’t going to take his advice. If anything, now you’re panicking more. Men are filtering through the door every minute, but none of them are the two you’re looking for. Anxiety creeps into your stomach, wraps its claws around your insides. You can’t shake it. You feel like you’re being swallowed by dread - it’s all too familiar. You know exactly what it’s like to have someone you love go into the field and not return.

Carrillo strokes your cheekbone with his thumb gently, and leaves to attend to his men. You sit back down in Javi’s chair, trying to burrow into his scent, the warmth of the leather. You can imagine his big strong arms wrapping themselves around you, the way he nuzzles his nose into the crown of your head when he hugs you, how he traces patterns on your back when he holds you when you’re particularly upset. 

You think about Steve, and the way he winks at you when you catch eye contact across the room, or how he throws an arm around your shoulders whenever he sidles over to your desk to bother you. He’s always stealing candy from your top drawer, and then acting innocent when you call him out on it. You feign annoyance, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. You know you’re lucky to have the two of them looking out for you. You know you’re lucky to have Carrillo on your side too - life would be undoubtedly more difficult without his protection. They make you feel less vulnerable, more equal. You no longer feel like a lamb at the slaughter every time you walk into work. 

Drops of water hit your lap, and you realize you’re crying. Warm, wet tears slide down your cheeks, taking streaks of your mascara with them. Your lipstick has smudged where you’ve been peeling at the skin of your lips, and your nail polish has been incessantly picked at for hours. You know you look just as much of a mess on the outside as you feel on the inside. You close your eyes, and take a deep breath. Calm down, you tell yourself. You’d know if something bad had happened to them. You’d feel it. 

It’s as if time has become molten - sticky, warm molasses. Minutes feel like hours. The world is moving in slow motion, and it’s making you dizzy. Your breath is coming in short, sharp pants, and the urge to curl up into a ball grows stronger by the second. If the boys don’t show up soon, you’re convinced you’re going to crumble into a thousand pieces. You feel like you’re shattering, splitting apart at the seams. Fear sits on your chest like an ugly, relentless creature, choking you with each passing minute. The world is getting colder, darker, and you’re defenseless.

And just like that, your sun appears. Battered, bruised, bloody, but alive. Standing in the doorway, panting and breathless, is Javier Peña. Before you can register what’s happening, you’re leaping out of his chair, and practically running to close the distance between you. You collide with the solid mass of a man, and he wraps his arms around you like it’s second nature. He smells like cigarettes and musk and gunpowder and the outdoors and smoke and home. Relief fills your body, and the weight of it almost knocks you off your feet. You settle further into his chest like you belong there, pressing your nose into him and inhaling. 

You pull away, and notice that his chest is damp. The tears from before are back with a vengeance, sprinting their way down your cheeks, forming puddles wherever they can reach. You’re not sure if you’re crying due to happiness, or fear, or relief - perhaps a mixture of all three. You’re both still panting, looking at each other in disbelief. You fist your hands into the front of his shirt, as if to ground yourself to him. Checking he’s real. In the flesh.

“Don’t cry, cariño. I’m here. I’m okay. We’re okay.” 

He’s murmuring quietly to you, as if you’re the only two people in the room. He reaches out, and gently uses his thumbs to swipe away the tears that are still escaping. Cradling your face in his big, calloused hands, he looks at you earnestly.

“I’ll always come back, bonita. You know I will. Just like I promised.”

He presses his forehead to yours, and for the first time in hours, you relax. You stay pressed together like that for what feels like an eternity, until you hear familiar footsteps approaching. 

You break away from Javier to get a good look at Steve. He too is battered and bruised - hair mussed, shirt torn, blood staining his jeans and his hands. But he’s alive. That’s all that matters.

“Murphy,” you breathe, before wrapping your arms around his neck. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” he smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. You’d go out there and take down Escobar yourself if you could. If it meant you didn’t have to see your friends in pain anymore. This job is killing you all from the inside out, slowly but surely. You’re all shells of yourselves. You wonder how much longer you’re all going to be able to cope before you snap. You have a feeling that these two men in front of you are closer to their breaking points than you think. 

“God, I need to shower. I’ve never sweat this much in my life,” Steve remarks, and now that you’re looking at him, you can’t help but agree. You nod, smirk etched on your face, and the corners of his lips turn up. A slight smile from Steve. That’s a win.

A voice rumbles from behind you in response to Murphy’s statement. Jesus, Javi was closer to you than you thought.

“Yeah, me too. You go. I’ll drive her home.” He places a hand on the small of your back, and you can feel the warmth of him seeping through his palm.  He always runs so hot, you think to yourself. Your sun.

Murphy squeezes your arm and heads out the door, leaving you and Javier standing in the middle of the precinct. Everyone seems to be heading home, the room becoming increasingly quiet. You figure the two of you should follow suit. You gesture at Javi to give you a minute, and make your way over to the Colonel’s office, popping your head in the doorway. 

“You should go home, Carrillo,” you say softly. “You need to sleep just as much as the rest of us.”

He smiles at you tentatively, his face dampened with worry. You can see clear as day that he’s blaming himself for the events of the evening. You also know that there’s nothing you can say to make it better.

“I will, querida. I will.”

And with that, you grab your things from your desk, and make your way over to where Javi is waiting for you. He returns his hand to the small of your back, and guides you to his car.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

Your hands are shaking when you try to unlock the front door to your apartment. You can’t quite get the key in the lock, and it’s becoming frustrating. Why are you acting like you were the one being shot at tonight? All you had to do was sit at your desk and wait. Get a grip, you tell yourself. You’ve had it the easiest.

Javi can see you’re struggling, so he reaches out and opens the door for you. You step inside, immediately kicking off your heels and throwing down your purse. You turn on the lamp in the corner of the living room, and draw the blinds. All the while, Javi stands in the doorway, watching you complete your nightly rituals. It’s disarming to see you like this, he thinks. So domestic. So at peace.

He clears his throat awkwardly, and places his hand on the doorknob.

“Let me leave you alone, cariño. You need to rest. The adrenaline of tonight is going to wear off any minute, and we’re all gonna crash.”

He takes a step, but you lunge forward in his direction to stop him.

“Wait! Wait. I - I don’t… I can’t - please.” You can’t find the right words. In fact, you’re not even sure what you’re asking for.

He steps back inside your apartment, and shuts the door behind him gently, making sure to lock the deadbolt. He’s never been a man to take stupid chances when it comes to your safety. When it comes to you.

“What is it, mi amor?”, he asks carefully. “What do you need?”

“You,” you answer without a second thought. “Please don’t leave. I don’t think I’ll sleep tonight if you leave.”

He looks at you for a moment - carefully surveying. He takes in your appearance, the pain in your eyes, the way you look so small and fearful standing in front of him. It’s not even a question.

He kicks off his boots, and takes his wallet and his cigarettes out from the back pocket of his jeans, placing them on the counter. Then, he strides over, across the room, and smothers you in a hug that he’s convinced he probably needs more than you. 

You stand like that, embraced in each other, for what feels like forever. Two people breathing each other in, trying to absorb the other person. If you could crawl into Javier’s chest, bury yourself into his ribcage, you would. No hug is ever close enough. Never enough. It’s never enough.

“I’ll stay,” he murmurs into your hair. “I’ll always stay.”

You pull back to gaze into those big brown eyes, warm and sweet like chocolate. He looks serene, peaceful, almost. You don’t get to see him like this very often.

“You should shower,” you tell him quietly. You’re worried that you’re going to spook one another, so you both keep the volume to a minimum. “I’ll make us some tea.”

He nods gently, and makes his way to your bathroom. Moments later, you hear the water running, so you begin to boil the kettle, reaching for two mugs from your cabinet.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

You place a mug of tea on each nightstand either side of your bed, and slip out of your skirt and blouse. You opt for a tank top and shorts - the Colombian heat still unrelenting, even in the early hours of the morning. The sun will be up soon, you think. A new day.

Javi stands in the doorway of your bathroom with a towel slung low on his hips. Droplets of water are journeying down his chest, and your eyes follow, as if on instinct. He smirks when he catches you, watching your face heat up slightly.

“Cute bedsheets,” he remarks. “I like the love hearts.”

He’s still smirking, so you get up to smack him on the arm.

“Shut up, Javier,” you threaten, with no real malice. “Your tea is on the nightstand.”

You turn your back when he changes back into his black boxers, which only amuses him further. He can’t help but admire you from his place across the room. The way your hair blows slightly with the breeze from the opened window, the band of skin between where your tank top ends and your shorts begin, the sweat at the nape of your neck. He knows you’d taste like salt and sugar simultaneously. It takes everything in him not to run his tongue up your spine. You shiver from your spot on the edge of the bed, as if you can read his mind.

“I’m dressed, querida,” he almost whispers. You turn around, and shamelessly let your eyes rake over his golden skin, wishing so badly to reach out and touch him. He’s wearing significantly less clothes than you expected. Not that you’re complaining.

He lays down carefully on one side of your bed, stretching himself out on his back. You turn off the lamp on the nightstand, and lay down on the other side, careful to keep some distance between the two of you. You thought that having him here would relax you, but it seems to be doing the opposite. You feel like your nerve endings are on fire - the room is too warm, you can’t seem to get your lungs to fill with air, you’re hyper aware of every little movement in the room. You’re on edge.

Javi’s breathing is deep, calculated. He’s trying to keep calm. Everything in him is screaming to reach out and touch you, to throw an arm around your waist, to tangle his legs in between yours. He’s not sure he’s ever shown this level of self control.

“Javi,” you breathe. “Relax, please. I can feel how tense you are from here.”

He takes a deep breath before he answers you.

“Sorry, mi vida. I’m just - I’m… I’m trying.”

“Trying?”

“Trying to use every inch of restraint that I have.”

Your breath hitches, and he hears it, clear as day.

“What for?” you whisper.

“To resist the urge to touch you.”

You’re breathing quicker now, and so is he. The air in the room is thick with tension - it’s a miracle you’re both still conscious. 

“You’ve never really been one to deny yourself of the things you want, Javi," you whisper. "You’re not usually the patron saint of self control.” 

And with that, he snaps. He grabs your hips, and uses effortless strength to pull you so you’re straddling him, settled in his lap. He sits up to bring your faces level, and presses his forehead into yours, just like he did mere hours ago in the precinct. 

You know that tonight has changed everything for the two of you. You also know there’s no going back from this - you can’t uncross this line. The friendship that exists between you and Javi, a relationship that’s been so carefully built on trust and support and boundaries - permanently altered if you continue. You just can’t seem to find it in you to care. Not really. You want Javier Peña for all he is, all he has. Consequences be damned.

“I love you, cariño,” he breathes into your mouth. “Fuck, I love you.”

You’re convinced that any minute, you’re going to wake up from this beautiful dream. But for now, you make the most of it.

“I love you, Javier Peña. I love you so much it hurts.”

And with that, he’s kissing you. It’s desperate, and it’s needy, and it’s so full of love you’re worried that you’re going to pass out. His lips are on your lips, and he’s got one hand firmly at the nape of your neck, holding you in place. As if I’m going anywhere, you think. I’d happily stay here forever.

You’re so lost in each other that you don’t notice the sunrise. Dawn hits the window, casting an orange hue across the room. Javi looks like he’s glowing, the sunlight glinting off his hair. Golden boy.

He pulls off your shirt, and presses his chest to yours. He’s convinced you’re tethered to each other - he can feel the connection through your skin. It almost makes him want to cry, this feeling. It’s never felt like this before. It never will again. 

You wrap your arms around his neck, and your legs around his waist, ensuring that there isn’t a centimeter of space between you. You don’t know what today holds. You know it won’t be easy. But you’re comforted by the fact that you know Javi will be right there beside you. No matter what happens from this moment on, Javi is always going to be right there beside you.

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” you breathe into his mouth.

“I love you, mi alma,” he breathes back. “Mi corazón, mi alma.”

My heart, my soul. It’s as if he took the words right out of your mouth. 

Mi corazón, mi alma.

My heart, my soul.

[forwhump]

a/n; a radio station in my town took out a massive highway billboard that’s just a huge sign that says LONG LIVE COWGIRLS & I pass it on my way to & from work everyday & GUESS what it makes me think of LOL

anyway I can’t see any of the asks I’ve ever gotten for some reason so I can’t remember if somebody actually asked for more wren pov or if I was just scrolling the folder for fun but regardless here’s some more wren pov <3 a horrible little drabble, as a treat :’)

tw/cw: rape, noncon, transphobia, misgendering, sexual violence, captivity, psychological torture, medical torture, dehumanization

military whump, creepy whumper, mentions of living weapons, sexual servitude

There was a time, not even all that long ago, that Wren’s biggest fear was standing too close to the microwave while it was being used because he had a thing about it blowing up in his face. He would never stand directly under street lamps or traffic lights on the off chance they would fall and crush him. He didn’t like to drive behind logging trucks. He wasn’t a good Texan, and he’d always been a little afraid of horses.

Seems like such a fuckin’ joke now.

It’s pretty pathetic, actually, and Wren’s already crying but he sobs with this, too, muffled by the strip of lacy material they’d gagged him with. It wasn’t even all that long ago, and still, it’s hard to think back on a version of himself that thought the very worst thing that could happen to him was a microwave blowing up in his face.

He doesn’t even think I want to go home anymore. He doesn’t know how long it’s been. He thinks, I want to go back to bed. He thinks, I want Silas.

But he’s in bed, where he’s supposed to be safe, and Silas had been shot so many times in the face that even Medic couldn’t help him. He’d been handed over to the biomedical surgeons so they could try and salvage his brain. Nobody was sure if they could.

Point, of course, is delighted. All of his men are. Silas likes them the least, and there’s less of a threat to their lives when he’s dead. They can relax. They can play with Wren, and they don’t have to worry about his guard dog.

This time, they might not have to worry about him again. They’re celebrating. They use Wren’s body to do it, as they always do.

For the first time in a long time, Wren thinks, I want to go home. He sobs again.

As a kid, he’d been really scared of quicksand and of snakes crawling out of the drain to bite him. As an adult, he’s gagged as he’s gang raped in his prison cell by military guards. As a teenager, a teenage beauty queen in Texas, he had started to transition and that had come with a lot of real world fears that never came close to touching on this. It’s hard to imagine anything worse than this.

Silas is dead, and there’s a part of Wren that resents him for leaving him here but there’s a bigger part that’s desperate to join him. He doesn’t want to be here. He doesn’t wanna do this. He’s so dehydrated the tears had stopped hours ago but he hasn’t stopped crying the whole time. Sometimes he wishes he could. He wishes he could get angry and stay angry and not give them the satisfaction. Sometimes, most of the time, Wren is weak and pathetic and scared and it hurts, it always hurts, and he can’t help it. He cries. He gives them the satisfaction. He wants to be where Silas is.

Point watches from the chair he had pulled up from Wren’s desk. Vineyard is behind him, chest against Wren’s back, holding him in his lap with a broad arm curled around his waist. His other hand is curled around Wren’s throat, not hard enough to cut off his air, not completely, but hard enough that it hurts. Hard enough that Wren will bruise around the throat in the shape of his handprint.

Hurt is between the spread of his thighs, pulling chunks of flesh out of his hips with his fingernails, frantic and feral to Vineyard’s calm and dominating. It’s overwhelming and they’re everywhere, they’re on all sides they’re in all of his senses they’re inside him, and they’re both so much bigger than him and Wren has never felt so small and helpless in his life. It makes his chest feel tight, it makes his chest feel the tightest it has ever felt and he can’t take a full breath in but he still finds it in himself to sob, somehow.

It’s a familiar sort of panic, thinking of Silas in times like this, but this time it snags on the cracks of that tightness in his chest and start to break it open, to fill him with something so desperately empty it has him gasping for breath.

Silas is dead. And what does that mean, really, when Silas is Silas, when Silas dies all the time? But Silas hadn’t just died, Silas had been slaughtered, and it wasn’t a matter of trying to bring him back from the dead but of trying to salvage his brain. To salvage it. He had died so completely Point felt comfortable celebrating the loss of him, and Point was never comfortable when Silas was involved.

I want Silas, Wren thinks, and that’s familiar, but Silas doesn’t come to his rescue this time. Wren has to fend for himself, and he’s so fuckin’ tired. He’s so tired. He wants to go where Silas went, and it’s not fuckin’ fair because he also just wants to die and he doesn’t even get that much. He’s wanted to die for longer than Silas can remember and Silas, of all people, beat him to it? Fuckin’ Silas?

He screams and he doesn’t know why, it’s too hard to narrow it down. Maybe a bit of everything. It’s muffled, anyway, by the gag, and it’s answered only with the rumble of Vineyard’s laughter against his back.

Silas had somehow brought out in him again that idiot kid that was afraid of drains because snakes might be hiding in there, waiting for him. Silas had made him stupid. He’d promised Wren he’d get him and he’d die to do it, if that’s what it took. Wren had made him promise right back not to die, that he had to come with him — he’d hardly doubted that Silas would get him out of here, away from all this. He had a resolve that was inhuman and a strength that outweighed it. He never said it like he was gonna try, he said it as a matter of fact, and Wren had believed him. He’d thought about introducing Silas to his mother — what would she say? She’d been a bit of a judgemental bitch when she was Wren’s mother, but how much had she changed?

Would she even want to see him? What would she think of him now? What would she think if she knew?

Point leans in close, too close, and Wren tries to flinch away but he takes a fistful of his hair and keeps him where he wants him. Wren’s wrists have been tied behind his back so long he hasn’t been able to feel anything but static in his fingers for hours. Point mouths along the line of his jaw, the edge of the gag, and murmurs, “that’s my girl.”

Silas loved him. Silas loved him so completely it killed him. He’d lived and died underground and nobody outside of this place will ever know he’d lived at all, but he had and it had been a life that was short and gruesome and miserable. But he loved Wren so much he died for him, and it’s not fuckin’ fair. How is that any fuckin’ fair? Wren spent a lot of his time reading, and he’d read enough that he knows this is not how this is supposed to go. A love like that is supposed to have a happy ending. A love like that was supposed to save them both.

He sobs and it gets stuck in his throat. Point smiles against his skin. “I’m sorry we had to put your dog down,” he murmurs, just as soft, and the warmth of his breath makes Wren’s skin crawl. “We gave you so many opportunities to be good for us. All you had to do was be a good girl.” Wren tries to turn his face away and Point bites his cheek so hard it makes him cry out. He hiccups out a sob, humiliating, and Point coos against his skin. “Look at you,” he says softly. “How could I stay mad at you?” He kisses Wren’s cheek so gently it gives Wren goosebumps and he sobs again. “You’ll forget all about the freak,” he murmurs. “We’re gonna fuck the memory of that thing right out of you, cowgirl.”

Wren tastes blood and he thinks his cracked lips are finally bleeding. His chest is hitching with trapped sobs but there are still no tears. Hurt groans, long and low and it makes Wren gag under Vineyard’s hand.

He wants to go back to sleep. He wants Silas. He doesn’t want to live like this anymore.

What a privilege to be afraid of the microwave. What a stupid little asshole he’d been.

But he’d been a whole person once, a human being. Somebody with feelings and regulated emotions and irrational fears. He doesn’t know what he is now, not really, but he’s less than human, he knows that much. He isn’t worth nearly as much, either. Nobody even knows he’s here, nobody that’s still alive or that’s not down here with him. Nobody’s coming to his rescue. Nobody’s gonna save him this time. When Wren’s finally allowed to die, he’s gonna die down here, cold and pathetic and worth no more than warm flesh.

It isn’t fair. It’s all so fuckin’ unfair.

He wants to go where Silas went.

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

Beneath Miles of Stone - Part three - John Wick x Plus Size Fem Reader

Summary: John has been in prison for nine months. He’s content to stay if it means appeasing the high table and keeping peace between the owners of each continental. However, he meets someone who erases that willingness. Peace be dammed.

TW: bullying ; asshole security guards ; mentions of traumatic pasts ; heavy drinking ; suicidal ideation ; depictions of suicide

She vaguely wonders when she had become such a cry-baby.

It’s her second favorite activity. The first is drinking alone, although enough liquor and she is immediately crying anyway.

She takes another sip of the vodka in the glass, puts her head in her other hand, lets tears drip onto a scuffed kitchen table.

These tears are from the fear that eviction could soon be in her future. Her new job, although awful, pays well, and she’s been picking up as much overtime as she thinks is safe.

She would be taking more open shifts if there wasn’t a hulking security guard out for her blood.

She tries to rationalize through the misery, but her brain can only sooth with thoughts of disaster, and eventually she always ends up giving in to things like this, so she does that, and lets herself sob for a long while.

Yearning for an actual mother she can call and ask for advice, she picks up her phone and stares at the screen longingly. Maybe a dad would be better for this situation, but she doesn’t have one of those either.

She doesn’t have anyone in this lonely city.

It’s times like these when the thought of slitting open her wrists in the bathtub sounds like a lovely escape. Her eyes catch the glint of scattered kitchen knives on her counter, but she doubts they would be sharp enough. She could walk to the corner store and buy a razor blade, but the fact that she is too lazy to do that right now tells her that she’s not yet fully committed to the idea of suicide.

Sure, it sounds great in theory. Kill yourself and make the pain disappear. Grow up with enough religious trauma, and the thought gets less appealing. The hell of life is nothing compared to the biblical one, at least not from what she’s learned about it, and although she has no belief now, the eternal damnation and fire-brimstone combo still sticks inside her brain and scares her alive.

When she had told her landlord she didn’t have enough for rent, they had hung up on her. That action alone was enough to interpret as a 30 day eviction notice.

So here she is, nothing to live or die for, head on the table, unpleasantly drunk, crying on her poor raw cheeks. Three cups of ramen left for dinner, a fourth case of pop in the fridge, salt and pepper and a bottle of ketchup and expired mustard, half a bottle of cheap vodka, and eight dollars. And too cowardly to even kill herself.

She remembers John telling her something about taking shitty care of herself, and he’s absolutely right. Out of line, but right. It’s funny how a guy that’s known her for a week can see her better than she can see herself. Her vodka brain suggests asking him for more advice since he seems to care so much. She thinks about it for a minute, the irony of asking an inmate for life directions, decides it actually is a great idea. It surely has nothing to do with her wanting to talk to or spend more time with him.

He is very handsome, even sporting that long, unkempt facial hair and prison jumpsuit. And of course she would find a prisoner attractive because he showed her the tiniest bit of non-negative attention. Yes, he’s convicted, but they’re not all bad. Some are in for stupid shit. Maybe he just pissed off the wrong person.

But he is good-looking. Anyone with a functioning brain can see that. Unless they hate tall, dark, broad-shouldered men with muscles. Not obscene muscles either—

She catches her wandering thoughts, screams into the thick wood of the kitchen table, vows to stop thinking about how hot her patient is, because crying is better than jumping down that terrifying rabbit hole.

She reaches for the bottle of vodka, drunken brain convincing her that she doesn’t have to look because she knows where it is. However, her brain is very wrong, and instead of gripping the bottle, she ends up knocking it over.

Before she can rectify the situation, there is already liquid all over the table and floor. The bottle is empty. She tries to look on the bright side because she doesn’t want to cry anymore. At least it would disinfect everything. Less cleaning that she had to do in the morning. It doesn’t work and she’s crying again.

————— ———————

She feels like an idiot creeping into the break room to search for cameras. Of course, there are none. She doesn’t keep her drinks or food in here anymore and she decides that this will be the final time she visits altogether.

Benny can’t get to her if she’s always in the open. The most he can do is scowl at her and make stupid comments, and these things she can live with.

She is at the desk doing her paperwork when she sees him again. Immediately, she wants to run, especially since he is walking her way. She stays put, though, determined not to let him see how scared she is of him.

He slides up to the counter and looks down at her, grinning. “Hey kid, nice shiner.”

She doesn’t look up.

He continues. “I forgot to get your number for the camping trip, mind giving me your phone for a minute?”

“I don’t have a phone.” The lie could have been a better one, but she’s still proud of herself for coming up with it under pressure.

Benny laughs, leans more toward her, his bulging shoulders hunched in and squeezing his cheeks. He reminds her of her old school bullies. “Bullshit.”

She sighs and puts her pen down. “I really don’t,” she says, “I broke it a week ago and I can’t afford another one.” She hopes the square outline of a smartphone in her pocket isn’t visible once she stands up.

His smile dissipates. “You better not be lying to me.”

That registers as a threat. She tries not to shrink, holds herself steady.

Diane, the other, older female nurse, comes through the swinging door of the nurses station.

Benny backs off the counter and leaves, scowling.

She lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

She should have told him off, explained to him that she would rather jump into a ravine full of crocodiles than give him her phone number. She at least likes crocodiles.

She’d like to think she’s never felt this helpless, but she’s wrong. Growing up in  foster care, she had met plenty of men like Benny. It grew hair on her chest, so to speak, formed her into a protector for those who needed one. But all those traumatic experiences never made it easier for her to stand up for herself. If anything, they made it much harder. It’s hard to show your backbone if you never learned how to grow one.

She can’t focus on the paperwork, not when Benny is here and she hates herself for not telling him to fuck off. So, she decides to round on her patients—one in particular she’s very worried about.

Although he did cross a line, the line was already breached anyway, and she can’t convince him or herself that she’s mad at him for it. First of all, because that would be admitting to him…and herself that he can get under her skin even further than he’s already burrowed, and, second of all, because admitting she’s angry at him would be establishing that she has some sort or relationship with him outside of the professional one.

In a provider patient scenario, it’s often the case that the patient feels weak and helpless, especially if the provider has feelings for them. If John finds out she feels drawn to him like this, he will probably hate her and think she’s a creep, and she’d honestly rather get fired than have that happen.

She doesn’t want to put him in a position where he has to tiptoe around her.

Trying to lie to herself, reasoning that this is her job and John is her patient and she needs to check on him periodically anyway, she stands up and pushes her chair in. A bunch of people have been discharged over the past few days, and her case load is light tonight—light enough to be boring. She only has three patients including John. The other two sleep soundly, both with only one wrist cuffed to the bed.

She knows that John won’t be sleeping.

She’s right, he’s not asleep, but he’s got other company tonight. Mike stands beside his bed with his phone held to John’s face. The blue light of the screen illuminates his kind smile. It’s a polite, slight upward turn of his mouth for Mike’s benefit, but when he catches her eyes, it turns genuine.

She smiles right back, almost involuntarily.

Mike doesn’t notice her, flips through his phone pictures. John has seen at least twenty photos or more of his grandkid’s since the janitor began talking to him tonight.

“And that’s my daughter-in-laws little girl, Ashlee.”

She almost steps back out to leave them to it, but John catches her with his voice. He says her name and Mike turns around, smiling wide.

They both greet her, and she greets back. Mike shoves his phone into his pocket and looks at her apologetically. “I suppose she’s here to do her job, and here I am slacking off,” he jokes.

She chuckles. “How dare you take a break, Mike, you know we don’t get those.”

“Right, right,” Mike sighs, sarcastic, “must have forgotten. My age is finally getting to me.”

“You’re like 30,” she tells him, waving a dismissing hand in the air.

“Aw, I love this girl,” Mike giggles, looking at John. “Best nurse in the building, you’re lucky to have her.”

She rolls her eyes, flushing, still smiling. “If you keep lying, you’ll go to hell.”

“Well, I hope so. I already bought my ticket.” He nudges John with an elbow, winking down at him. “I’ll leave you kids to it and get back to work.”

Mike starts to walk out, mop bucket in tow, but stops, addressing John, the freshly awakened guards, and herself.

“Why did the chicken cross the road?” He asks.

“Why?” She asks, already smiling for the punchline.

“Nobody knows,” Mike sighs. He looks off into the distance, adopting a dramatic, grave expression. “But the road will have its revenge.” With that, he is gone.

She’s the only one that laughs. John’s smile perks, although not for the joke.

She promises herself to find Mike later and ask for updates on his adorable little hoard of kiddos, then focuses her attention on the man cuffed to the bed.

“I don’t need anything,” he tells her before she asks. “But, I’m glad you came in.”

“That’s my job,” she shrugs.

“I really am sorry,” John says, looking like he means it with his droopy, apologetic eyes. It makes her heart seize to see him moping like a dejected dog.

“Don’t be sorry because you’re right,” she says, past the point of giving a shit what she talks to him about or what he knows about her. Maybe this is her way of living dangerously because of a shitty existence. Some people choose meth, she chooses alcohol and alluring prisoners. We all have our vices.

“Maybe not,” he says, “you’re alive, that’s saying something.”

She laughs without humor. “But I can’t pay my rent, and I can’t afford food.”

She waits for him to say something mean like ‘you clearly look like you can afford food ’, but instead, he thinks critically on her situation for a moment. “Do you have a partner, children?”

“No.”

Then who hit you. “Get a roommate.”

It’s so simple, and so easily slides from his mouth, and she can’t believe she didn’t think about it before. A roommate could help her afford rent, especially in New York where it is obscenely high. And she could ask for first months, which would give her half the payment she needs while waiting for her own supply of money. Perhaps a portion would delay eviction.

She stares at him. “That’s actually a great idea.”

He raises his eyebrows. “I have those.”

She laughs again, but there’s humor back in it. “You shouldn’t be in prison, John. You should be an advice counselor.”

“That’s what I keep telling them, but I don’t think they’re listening.” His dry humor makes her giggle harder, enough that the security guards glance over at them curiously.

He’s tried more than his share of addictive substances, and her laughter is quickly becoming one of the sweetest to invade his senses.

“No, really, you’re a genius, thank you for that. And I forgive you.”

He just hopes she can pick someone who’s not a scumbag, but based on her judge of character so far, that’s highly unlikely. Maybe he shouldn’t have suggested it.

“Good. Now I can live with myself.” She thinks he’s joking but the only funny thing about it is he’s really not.

[cyandreamzaceattorney]

♡ April May ♡

Oh boy it's been a hot minute since I was last on this site, long story short I've been super busy with real life stuff and, while I've now gotten more time to draw than last week, I may become less active over the next few months :P

Anyways time to talk about the drawing! Yesterday I felt like drawing April May, why? Because not only did I feel like drawing something super cute and pink but, also I actually do enjoy April May's character quite a bit! It was a lot of fun to draw her and design a cute outfit loosely inspired by her canon outfit! I also gave her a fuller figure because she kinda has one in official art though that's probably mostly due to trilogy art style drawing often drawing aa characters (especially men) thicker, but I like drawing all kinds of body types so I decided I'd draw her chubby/mid sized anyways :P

now to talk more about her character >:-). A lot of people seem to think of her a lesser version of Ini Miney or even Dahlia Hawthorne but personally, I feel like all three of these women are quite different from each other, sure there are many traits that are same but that's the case for well, any one if you compare them to someone else, let alone characters in the same fictional franchise :P

So why do I like her? Well the main one is that to me she's to me a women who is unlikable but, you can't help but feel sorry for. I feel this way because while yes she did help Redd White blackmail many and kill Mia, and she does have a rude, harsh and literally catty personality but, she's was also stuck in a bad and potentially dangerous situation. A lot of people seem to forget that Redd White is a powerful and dangerous man, who had enough power to blackmail people with a lot of power and influence. also in one of her dialogue options she does outright mention being scared of him, because he knows how to shut people up. Personally wouldn't be surprised if Mia wasn't his first murder but that's a hc based off that line of dialogue.

speaking of hc's I do have a few for April May! (these do have minor spoilers for AA3, AAI1/2)

She's from Zheng Fa, now I haven't finished AAI2 yet (on case 4 atm) so idk if case 4 and 5 will effect this hc or not, but I noticed both Shi-Long and Di-Jun kinda act and look animal like in a similar way to April, of course her name doesn't really fit with Zheng Fa names but given she has a fake cutesy personality the name could also be fake (or she legally changed it to April May either after moving to America or after she started working at Blue Corp)

She met Dahlia in prison, I feel like she would've been sent to prison for a while due to being an accomplice in many of Redd White's crimes and since Morgan was able to meet Dahlia any other prisoner could as well, including April. I mostly have this hc cuz I feel like these two would at first bound over hating lawyers and how easy it is to fool people with a cutesy act, but than stop bonding when April learns a bit more about Dahlia.

Before working at Blue Corp she wanted to be a model and even dating a bit during that time, but neither worked out. One of her bf's just so happened to be Larry Butz (did I only come up with this hc because I learnt April and Larry are same age? maybe XD)

because she's a one off character in my mind she got her life together after serving her jail sentence. Maybe she got into a completely different job like running a bakery or something, idk lol

I hope you all enjoy my hc's and this drawing X3

[hesbuckcompton-baby]

please enjoy some Yara x Macon in these trying times <3 set during the march in part 9 because i love making people suffer tagging: @latibvles @karasnonsense99

-> uncharted

How long had they been marching? Days? Weeks? In the late winter darkness, it became harder to tell what was day and what was night, harder to draw the line between one day and the next. They existed in some state outside of time, some seam in reality where it didn't matter, where the only thing that did was the simple act of putting one foot in front of the other. Yara's feet had been begging for release for hours, rubbed raw beneath hard leather, every step its own private agony.

Settling in the brick factory for the night had seemed a godsend, huddled together on the floor, the warmth of the furnaces practically a luxury. Stepping inside, the men had made a rush for the glowing embers, gloved hands held out as they jostled for position. She had elbowed her way through, facing less pushback than the other men around her - even after all these months, there were still concessions to be made, liberties she could take knowing that the mere fact of her gender would help her get away with it. These men knew the Seraphim girls were tough as nails - they'd seen it themselves. But no one wanted to be the guy who told the women they couldn't shoulder in next to the furnace.

And yet the exhaustion of the march had taken so much out of their wretched group that the struggle for warmth had only seemed to last minutes before everyone found their places on the floor, unable to sustain any sort of labour even if it promised precious warmth. Yara propped herself up against one of the shelving units, the corner of the wood digging against her spine, but not quite uncomfortable enough to warrant the exertion of moving even a few inches. She wanted to kick off her boots, but she wasn't confident that they'd still be waiting for her in the morning if she did. Everything was so sacred out here that nothing was - nothing could be put down if one didn't want to see it stolen, tucked away into another prisoner's pocket before one could even blink.

Maisie had tucked in beside her, their bodies pressed tightly against each other to keep warm. "Y'know, next week it will've been exactly one year since we went down," She whispered.

Yara blinked. It had been a while since she'd had any sense at all of what date it was. She hadn't realised it had been that long. "... Really?"

"Mhm."

"You been keeping count?"

"Yeah."

"... Huh."

There was so much unspoken between them, so much implied by that simple fact. It wasn't the Seraphim crash that mattered, not really.

One year since they'd last seen Sylvie. Angel. Sadie.

One year since Thea had died.

She pondered this for a long moment, but when she turned to speak to Maisie once more, the radio operator was already long gone, fast asleep against Yara's shoulder, snoring softly into the fabric of her coat collar. Letting out a huff, she folded her arms tightly across her chest, waiting for sleep to come for her too. Then growing steadily irritated when it didn't.

The sudden nudge of a steel-toed boot against her leg made her flinch, shoulders tensing as her gaze darted upwards. Macon sat opposite her, sandwiched between Daniels and Jefferson's sleeping figures, unable to move anything but his legs for fear of waking them, the pair leaning against both arms. "Shit. Sorry," He whispered, her chest slowing its rapid rise and fall as she recognised him in the darkness. "I didn't mean to scare you."

She'd almost denied it. But he had scared her, the feel of his boot against her too similar to that of the guards, impossible to tell the difference in the dark - at least not fast enough to stall the panic in her chest.

"Can't sleep?" She asked, freezing for a second as Maisie squirmed slightly, lowering her voice to avoid her stirring. Richard shook his head slightly, taking a deep breath.

"First couple months we were here, me and the fellas kept talkin' about how we were gonna escape. S'all we talked about for weeks."

"Well, when you manage it, send a postcard," Yara smirked picking at the fraying wool in her glove. He cracked a grin, a flash of teeth through parted lips.

"You never thought about it?" Macon asked. It happened to everyone sooner or later - everyone convinced themselves they could be the one, the person to break out and make it home free. Sometimes it wore off, sometimes it didn't - She watched Kit and Bucky all the time, huddled together in secret conversation, and she knew exactly what they were planning. Yara had given up so quickly that she wasn't sure she'd ever truly believed it in the first place. She didn't need to run for the guards to find an excuse to kill her.

"Nah. I'm waiting it out and goin' home to my sisters."

He was smiling again. "You didn't tell me you had sisters."

"Twins. Maya and Leda - they'll be nearly nineteen now."

Nodding along, Richard shrugged. "Well. When I get back, I'm gonna go to-"

"To your twenty-three acres of loblolly pine, yeah, I know," Yara grinned.

"Point seven."

"Huh?"

"Twenty-three point seven acres," He pointed out. She laughed then, raising a hand over her mouth as she suddenly became conscious of the noise, careful not to wake anyone around them.

A true smile was a rare sight around here.

Hers made him dizzy.

"You should come," Richard nodded.

Her brow raised slightly. "Me?"

"Yeah, you," The corner of his mouth rose in a smile, another flash of teeth. "You think these other assholes are invited? Build you a house - hell, I'll build you a dozen, we got room."

"Shut up," Yara chuckled, shaking her head. "You're sleep-deprived."

He shrugged, as if daring her to argue. "Feel pretty awake."

Her shoulders tensed. She didn't want to think about it - what it could mean if he wasn't kidding, what life could promise beyond the four walls of this frozen factory. She didn't want to think about it, because letting herself think about it meant giving space to hope, letting it permeate the walls she put up around herself. Yara Katz had decided to stop caring about anything but cold, hard survival a long time ago. She cared about enough people here already - too many - she didn't have space to care much for herself as well.

And what would it mean if she let herself admit that perhaps, just maybe, she was glad to have met Richard Macon, the man sitting across from her, staring at her like she was the sun? Did it mean she was glad to be here? Did it mean she was glad for the crash? For everything they'd gone through? For Thea's death? How could she appreciate the one good thing that had come out of all this without disregarding all of the bad?

Yara sucked in a deep breath, rubbing uncomfortably at her wrist as Maisie moved against her again.

"... Ask me again when we're free."

Macon nodded, slow and understanding, pressing his lips into a thin line. "Ok."

Her eyes narrowed, staring at him for a moment. "And stop smirking."

"I'm not."

"Yes you are."

He looked down at his lap, letting out a huff of amusement. "Damn, Katz. You know I'll wait for you."

She shrugged, folding her arms across her chest as she slumped slightly against the shelves, readjusting her body to a more comfortable position. "Yeah, I figured."

[call-me-a-simp]

Heal My Wounds

The Escape (Part 1)

Rhea Ripley x Reader

TW: physical and sexual abuse, toxic relationship

Summary: You are in a toxic relationship with an abusive man but manage to run away. A tall, black haired woman picks you up from the streets just in time so your ex doesn't get you. But who is she and why does she seem so familiar to you? As you get to know each other you start to notice weird feelings you never had before whenever she's around.

"LEAVE ME ALONE" you scream crying. He had grapped your hair so tightly it felt like he was about to rip your scalp off. You kick him in the balls with your knee and he lets go of your hair, so you run to the bedroom to grab the bag you had prepared a long time ago. He follows you and tries to grab you by your waist and pick you up, but you were fast enough to dodge him and run out the room.

You head to the front door but again he's faster than you, gripping your wrists and spinning you around, pinning you against the closed door. "You're not going anywhere without me" he growls, a dangerous look on his face.

You close your eyed in fear, expecting him to beat you up one again. He forces a kiss on you, biting so hard on your lower lip that it starts to bleed. Your whimper from the pain, more tears running down your face.

Eventually he lets go of you, but locks the door and shoves the key in the pocket of his jeans. You can make out a quiet "pathetic" escaping his lips as he scoffs. "I'm gonna make some dinner now, don't you dare try running away again. We both know that you won't make it anyway. You're nothing without me" he spit out the last words and makes his way to the kitchen.

You are too scared to make a move until he was out of your sight. You allow yourself to release a small sigh of releave before quickly heading to your shared bedroom and closing the door behind you. You had to think of a different way to get out, you couldn't take it anymore.

Why didn't you listen to your Friends back then, they warned you about him, telling you how dangerous he was but you just didn't believe them. You thought he was the one, your soulmate, the one you're meant to be with.

You soon realised that they were right. A few weeks after you moved in with him he started showing his true self. At first it were just simple Things like asking you to not meet male Friends anymore without him. Then he wanted more and more control.

You weren't allowed to follow any men anymore on social media, you had to ask everytime you wanted to meet a friend, even if it was a girl, he Chose what you were allowed to wear and so on. Eventually you had to stop going out alone at all. He made you quit your job, so you wouldn't have an excuse anymore to be out alone. The only time you got to get out of the Apartment was when you met your parents.

They didn't notice anything because you were still caught in the thought that all of that was normal. He did hurt you already, hitting you in spots that were easy to cover up whenever you disobeyed him. Not so long after he also started beating you up in places where it was more noticable, meaning you got to see your family less so they wouldn't see your bruises.

You noticed just now that you never got to meet his family. Maybe they broke conatct after he was released from Prison, knowing he wouldn't change. You knew he was in Prison, it should have been you enough of a warning, but back then you belived he changed, that he wasn't a monster anymore.

You tried to run away before, when you were alone. You called the police, but when they came he was already back home, convincing them everything was alright. He could be so persuasive and innocent looking in front of others, but when you were alone with him he could turn into your worst Nightmare.

Your apartment was on the second floor so jumping out the window was pretty dangerous. But what other option was there? You needed to get out as quickly as possible, knowing that he could drug your food, like he did before, so you wouldn't fight back so much when he forced himself onto you.

You open the window, looking down. There were some bushes that could soften your fall a bit. You chleched your fists together, closing your eyes for a second and taking a deep breath. You had to.You decide to throw your backpack down first before jumping right after it.

The landing was harder than you expected, as you crashed right trough the bushes and straight onto the floor, leaving you breathless for a few seconds. Your whole body was aching really bad, bruises and cuts scattered all over your skin, your clothes ripped. Blood was dripping down on your arms and legs, turns out the bushes had thorns. But you didn't have time to care now, you had to get up and run. He could notice your absence any second and if he found you it would be your death for sure.

You get up as fast as your body let you, groaning at the pain. You picked up your bag and decided to head for the next bus stop, hoping to find some people to help you or a bus being there by any chance.

You run as fast as the pain allowed you to, leaving a small trail of blood behind you. You hear screams in the distance, knowing he now noticed your absence.It scares you to death, you try to run faster but your body was already pushed to it's limits.

Just as you hear him screaming behind you and running up to you, you spot a car approaching from in front of you. You scream and try to wave your bruised arms, inhaling sharp through gritted teaths at the pain it causes you.

The driver slows down to a stop and you hurry to get to the car. Although you don't know the woman behind the steering wheel, you hop in. She was you last and only chance. You close the door and she speeds up, leaving your ex behind.

---------------------------------------------------

I'm starting this new series and I plan to make many more parts to this. Already got a head full of ideas, but you can leave your suggestions or wishes for the future of the Story in the comments :)

Taglist: @thatonepansexual2000

[gwopijon]

Donald Trump has won the president four years after he sat for months on Covid being deadly and after he incited an insurection.

He's an abjudicated rapist. He stole classified documents. He's a traitor. He is personally corrupt but it meant nothing to voters.

He hid the fact that Covid was deadly for months. We had empty shells and long lines at food banks but it meant nothing to voters.

He had zero ground game. He’s a felon. He incited an insurrection less than four years ago. But he was running against a woman again, and if there’s one thing Americans hate, it’s women.

In 2016, I still had some sense of hope that whatever happened during a Trump presidency, we could find a way to survive and recover. I don’t have that hope this time. Not after everything that’s happened, not after the past nine years of this utter sh-tshow. This is the American electorate looking at this orange clown and saying “that’s my guy.” This man spewed the most despicable, hate filled rhetoric and someone who is clearly declining physically and mentally. They heard “mass deportations” and they said “anything to bring down housing costs.” They heard every single warning about Trump’s authoritarian fascism and they said “sounds amazing.” They heard the promise of authoritarianism and they said “sign me up.”

What’s especially crazy is that Trump doesn’t even want to be president again. He was just running to avoid prison. This senile, hateful, disgusting 78-year-old man was exhausted and phoning it in for most of the campaign. He kept disappearing for weeks at a time to golf and sundown in peace. When he went to vote in Florida yesterday, he sounded almost resigned to losing. Even he underestimated the stupidity of Americans. Even he can’t believe that people fell for it again.

Kamala Harris was a great Democratic Presidential Candidate. She still lost.

In 2016, in the hours after Hillary Clinton lost, I was partly in a fugue state, half-numb and half-enraged. Accusations flew across the political spectrum – what if Hillary had done more in the Rust Belt, what if she did this or that differently, why did she run given the “Clinton Fatigue,” why did James Comey f–k her over in the final weeks. There’s really none of that eight years later. We couldn’t have asked for a better candidate than Kamala Harris. Kamala Harris was disciplined, joyful, wonkish, fun and cool. She energized the base and she had widespread cross-party appeal. The only things “wrong” with Kamala Harris were: she’s a woman, she’s a Black woman, and she isn’t Donald Trump.

This isn’t even because of one particular demographic – white women, men of all races, Latino voters, suburbanites, they all swung wildly against Kamala Harris.

I hope Kamala knows that she did the best she could with the hand she was dealt. The numbers don’t reflect a failure on her part, in my opinion. The numbers reflect a failure of the American electorate. Good news for the American electorate: Donald Trump promised that this would be the last votes you would ever have to cast, that he will “fix” everything so no one has to vote anymore. Congrats on making it count.

I’m terrified as a woman. As a biracial woman. As someone with complex healthcare needs. As a gay woman. As the friend of many LGBTQ+ people. And I’m genuinely scared for the many Republicans who had the courage to speak out against Trump, particularly Liz Cheney, Fascists do not deal lightly with perceived disloyalty.

Bibi and Putin are celebrating today. Gaza will be nuked into oblivion and Ukraine will be handed to Russia just like Taiwan will be handed to China. YOU did that!

I am struggling with my faith with feeling anger and hatred towards those ingrates who came and found the table set from the blood, sweat, tears, whipping, lynching and jailing of my ancestors and threatened us with a Trump/Vance/Heritage Foundation/ Project 2025 has Harris not tap danced on Gaza knowing full well, she was doing her job as VP she could not supersede the sitting President of this country. Some of ya'll knew she was personally against arming Israel and has always been for a 2 state solution. For those voters: FUCK YOU!

FUCK you if you voted 3rd Party.

FUCK you if you didn't vote at all while you could and should have.

In order it went white men, white Latino men, and white women who overwhelmingly voted for Trump. We should stop with “economic uncertainty” again as a cover.

Sam Alito and Clarence Thomas will fucking retire and this motherfucker will nominate who Leonard Leo orders him to nominate and the fucking Supreme Court will unleash on our asses for the next 40 years. Roe vs Wade and the overturning of Affirmative Action will be nothing to what is next to come...

We black people have no fucking allies. Folks been piggybacking off black blood, sweat and tears for too fucking long. We're tired. We're fucking done. DON'T fucking expect us anymore

What hurts most is, this is apparently who we are as a country. Racist. Misogynistic. It doesn’t happen twice unless that’s just who the fuck we are. The rest of us will continue to fight against it, but it just got a lot harder. I think MVP and others will still help guide us but DON'T fucking expect black women to fight our battles and YOURS. FUCK that. We're done. We're gonna fight our battles nowadays .

I will not protest anything Trump wishes to do. DON'T expect us black women to play Mammy and clean shit after you anymore. We're done playing Captain Save a Hoe for you ingrates. I think he should have full reign to do whatever he plans and America should get it good and hard. It's what they asked for.

This country is not the Eutopia some of you are foolishly hoping for. IF you think a unqualified backbench like AOC or corrupt Nina Turner (the OPPO dossier on her is out there) or Katie Porter or Warren would have fared better or will ever become president; think again. It will NEVER happen. NEVER gonna fucking happen!

We black women as of last night have done what Pontius Pilate did and to wash our hands with America:

[cute-bag-of-bones]

Can't Trust A Supe

Part 13: Pepper Spray

Masterlist

Warnings: Gore, blood, death. It's kinda a gross one.

         Homelander passed out on the couch. It wasn't ideal but I had to get the info to Billy. He had fallen asleep while watching some kind of war movie, the sound of bombs going off and men screaming should mask any sound I make.

         I carefully hobble to the desk and pull out the phone. It still had a full charge. Billy didn't think far enough ahead to smuggle in a charger. I sneak back to my bed and start telling Billy everything that happened today. He was glad to hear everything was signed and official so I'd have some kind of paper trail if something happened to me.

          When I told him about Ryan he wasn't surprised or even seemed to care that much. He wanted more info on Ryan's mom Becca. I wasn't sure why till he told me. I almost couldn't believe it. 

         Billy less than politely told me to try and spend as much time as I could over there. He wasn't happy with how little info I had on the location. I promised him I'd help him get Becca and Ryan out of there. 

        Once we finished for the night I deleted everything and turned the phone off. Homelander had mentioned a doctor visit tomorrow. If I do end up getting bolted to this bed I would have to keep the phone close. I looked around for a hiding spot that was in reaching distance to me. I grabbed the teddy bear in the Homelander costume that was given to me my first night here. I slip the phone into the pants of the bear and wedge the bear between the wall and the bed frame. It was going to have to be good enough. 

         I fell asleep that night to the sound of artillery shells and the screams of dying men. I didn't like how easy it was for me to get a full five hours like this. 

        Homelander was up bright and early today. I wasn't sure if at some point in the night he moved to his bed. He had just gotten home from somewhere. He had been slipping out every so often. I think it's him testing me so I was sure not to take the bait and run. He came into my room and flipped on the light. 

         "Come on, we have an appointment to get to." He says as he pulls the covers off me. I groan and look up at him. 

         "When will the Doc be here?" I ask seeing if I could weasel a few more precious minutes of sleep out of him. 

         "We are going to him. You need X-rays." He says as he grabs me some clothes from my closet and sets them on my lap. Anyday I get to leave this penthouse was a good day. Homelander left and I got around. 

           We had to go to the hospital for X-rays. There was something surreal about seeing Homelander under such harsh white light. He looked like a doll. Not a hair out or place and always smiling.

          He insisted on carrying me in. He said it was a great photo opportunity for the paparazzi. There were a few news crew's outside the hospital and a few press members in the lobby outside the room we were kept in. 

          The X-rays were simple enough. The doctor took off my cast and it was the closest to heaven I'll ever get. It felt so nice to be able to itch the skin that's normal under the plaster prison. 

         Once the X-rays were done a new smaller cast was placed on my ankle. The doctor was a bit worried about me being on it too much to which Homelander asked if I needed to have my leg bolted down. The doctor clearly thought it was a joke because he just laughed. My ankle seemed to have healed itself a bit more on its own. The fracture was much smaller than it had been last night. The doctor was very impressed; he estimated it wouldn't be longer than 2 weeks before the cast could be taken off fully. 

          Homelander took me back home but to my surprise he took me to the tower's doctor. I was scared he was going to try and go over the hospital's doctor to get me bolted to the bed. 

          "Hey Doc. Got her right here." He said as he sat me down on the small examination bed. They both seemed to know what was going on. The Doc pulled out a needle and scalpel. 

        "Homelander what's going on?" I ask looking up at him. I didn't like the look on Homelander's face. He seemed excited. 

         "The chip. I told you about it yesterday, remember? This is how they get it inside supes that don't have durable skin. The old fashioned way." Homelander smirked down at me while he spoke. 

         I had completely forgotten about the stupid chip thing. The Doc had pulled out a black chip with a pair of medical tweezers and held it up for me to see. 

           "I really don't need a chip. I'm not an official member right? Do sidekicks get chipped?" I ask, looking at the old doctor sitting in front of me. He just nods 

           The man came closer to me and I tried to jump off the bed. Broken ankle be damned. Homelander held his arm out like a seat belt to stop me from escaping. I wasn't scared of the needle or even the pain. I knew if it was put in my arm there was no sneaking off. He'd have my location at all times. I struggled more trying to keep my arm away from the doctor. 

         "Why don't we do this like we had to with your booster shots, kido?" Homelander said as he picked me up and took my spot on the examination bed. He put me down in his lap and wrapped his arms around me. Trapping my arms down to my sides. He laid his head against my back and smiled at the doctor. He was so pleased.

           "No Homelander! No no put me down!" I shout as I try to escape him. There was no way I would be able to break his hold. I yell as I kick my good leg against his shin. After one good whack of my heel against his bone I stopped. I didn't need a shattered foot as well. I was helpless to him yet again. I couldn't even try to blind him or anything because my back was too him. My eyes darted to the doctor, he was a feeble looking old man. I could stop him quickly but at what cost? The chip would be put in by a different doctor and I would definitely be in some deep shit. I squeeze my eyes shut and hold my breath. 

           "I think she's ready Doc." Homelander says as he tightens grip. He sounded almost gleeful. I felt the small prick of a needle in my upper arm. I exhale realizing it actually didn't hurt too bad. 

          The doctor made a small cut into my skin and placed the chip in. I didn't want to look but Homelander seemed to have no problem with the blood. He lifted his head from my back to get a better few even. 

            It was done pretty quickly. Something tells me this man had put in a lot of these chips. He sewed up my arm and put a bandage around it. Homelander didn't let me up from his lap. 

          "See that wasn't so bad. You were being a big baby for nothing." He said as he gave me a little squeeze.  "Doc, are we done here? I just use the app right?" Homelander asked as he fished out his phone from his pocket. I couldn't get free even with just one arm holding me. The doctor took his phone and messed with it for a second before handing it back. Homelander looked at the screen and grinned. "Look at that, you are right here." Homelander said as he stood up leaving me to dangle over his arm like I was a coat.

           Homelander made no attempt to give me a more comfortable ride as he walked back to the penthouse. I had to pull myself up so all my weight wasn't left hanging on my ribs. Does he know how much of a pain this is? Does he care?

          We get home and he sets me down on the couch. He turns on the TV and hums as he goes to the kitchen. 

           He wasn't watching a war movie last night, he was watching the History Channel. It was a WWII  marathon of some kind.

          "You interested in nazi Germany?" I ask suspiciously. 

           "Not really but a friend of mine is so I'm just brushing up on my history. " He said as he came back with a drink. 

          I wince at the gory black and white footage of the war. Homelander didn't seem to bat an eye. 

           "Who's your friend? They a history teacher or something?"

           "Nope." He didn't care to elaborate further. 

            "Alright… Can we go to dinner at Ryan's tonight?" The more time I spend with them the better. Maybe if I really play my cards right he will leave me and Becca alone and I can try to make a plan with her. 

         "No, we are going to dinner with Stormfront." I looked over at him surprised. 

          "I thought you hated her? Why the hell are we having dinner with her?" 

         "Adult relationships can be messy, complicated." He says as he kicks his feet up on the coffee table. 

         "Why do I have to come? You have the chip thing now, just go without me." Say as I point to the bandage. Homelander thought about it for a second. He pursed lips and sucked his teeth. 

         "What would you do if I left you here all alone?" 

          "Probably just watch TV. Brush up on the briefing file Edgar left. Might sleep. I can keep myself entertained." 

          "I have no doubt you can." He says in a skeptical tone. He didn't seem convinced. 

           "You get alone time with Stormfront. You guys could skip dinner all together. Maybe go back to her place. Watch a movie, do your taxes or whatever adults do when they are alone." I say with a smirk. He crooks an eyebrow up as he gives me a side eye. 

          "You make a good point. Alright, yeah this might work. I'll call you a  pizza and you stay put and let your old man have some alone time with his new lady friend." He Stood up and patted his sides looking for his phone. "I'm going to see if she wants to um get a drink or something before dinner." He said as he went to his room to make his call. 

            I almost couldn't believe that worked. I tried to play it cool as I changed the channel to some reality show. I didn't want him to have any reason to think I was up to something. Once he leaves I plan on calling Billy. I'll get him to bring over a phone charger and see what he thinks about the chip. I was pretty sure I could get it out but I wasn't too keen on trying alone. I have never had to pull something from the muscle in my arm. I could fuck up and rip something. I felt better having someone there in case I do.

         Homelander came back out with a grin. He seemed a bit rushed. He must have really liked Stormfront. The last person I saw him rush around like this for was Stillwell. 

        "Hey, what ever happened to you and Stillwell? I thought you guys were like dating." I say as I turn the TV down. He chuckled a bit as he finished off his drink. 

         "We weren't dating, we were just having sex and I had to kill her. It's her fault though. She lied to me and you know how much I hate liars don't you angel face?" He asked as he kissed the top of my head. 

          "Yeah of c-course. Um can you hand me my crutches so I can get the door for the pizza when it comes?" I ask as I point to the crutches leaning against the wall in the hallway. He thinks about it for a second. I know he was thinking about making me crawl for them when I needed them but he must have been in a good mood because he just ruffled my hair before bringing them to me. 

          "Here sweetie. Now tell me what I'll do to you if I see your little dot move from this area?" He asks so nicely with a big flashy grin. I look around as if the answer he wanted would be written on the walls. I only had one strong guess.

         "Um you will break my legs?" 

         "That's right, you are so smart. So be good. We want to get you all ready for sidekick duties, right?." He sounded so condescending. I just nod agreeing with him. "I'll call you in a pizza in a few hours. One of the security guards will bring it up. I'm not sure when I'll be back. Don't wait up. Bye love you." He said as he made his way out.

          I waited 10 minutes on the dot before using the crutches to go into my room. I started to Facetime billy. He didn't answer the first time so I kept calling. Finally the phone answered but it was just the ceiling.

          "I got him to leave me alone in the house. He's on a date." I say making sure to show him all around the room. The phone shook as he came into frame. 

         "I don't care if he's out, don't call me, what do you not understand about text only?" 

         "Don't lecture me. I'm doing you a favor by staying with this psycho. I need a charger and he chipped me." 

          "He what?"

          "Is that Simone?" I heard Hughie ask off camera.

           "Hey Hughie, can you make Billy bring me a charger?" I ask as he popped into view behind Billy. 

           "Will you two cunts focus! What did he do?" Billy asked as he tried to get Hughie out of frame. 

           "All the 7 members are chipped so he had one put in me. Think M.M. can help me get it out? And I need a charger for the phone. I can't leave the penthouse but you guys could come here." I say as I plop down on the couch. 

           "I'll see what we can do. Tower security and cameras are the issues. I'll work it out. Be ready for us. Make sure and text if things change." 

         "You got it, thanks guys. See you soon." I say as I wave at the screen. Billy let's Hughie have the phone as he waves back to me. 

          "See you! Stay safe." The call ended and I tossed the phone on the seat next to me. I wasn't sure how they'd get in but if anyone could it would be them. 

           I tried to watch TV but with every passing minute I feared something happened to them. There are so many ways this could backfire for them and me. 

           An hour passed when I heard a knock at the door. I grabbed my phone and put it in my pocket before getting up to answer the door. As soon as the door is opened 3 men push their way in. They all had some kind of hat covering their heads. I knew right away it was the boys, at least some of them. 

           "Ma petite poulette! You have gotten taller!" Frenchie exclaimed as he ripped off his hat. He had some kind of controller with a screen on it in his hands. 

           "Hey kid we don't have long." M.M. said as he sat down and opened his medical bag up. Hughie tossed me a charger as he held out his arms for a hug. I wasted no time hugging him. Frenchie hugged us both as he laughed. I was so happy to see them. I was a little disappointed that Billy didn't come but I understand. He's laying extra low.

           "You have gotten taller and um your leg." Hughie says as he looks down at my cast. 

           "It's alright, it's almost healed. Come on, sit down, make yourself at home." Frenchie looked around with a disgusted expression. 

           "This is exactly what I thought Homelander's house would look like, ugly. 

           "No it's not too bad. The couch is um nice kinda." Hughie says as he sits down. 

           "Alright kid come here let me see what I can do." M.M. said as he patted the spot next to him. 

            "I think I can use my powers to get it out. I'm just not sure I'd be able to get through all the tissue. The guy really tucked it in there." I said as I grabbed a hand held mirror and sat down. 

         "You can do that? See inside of yourself?" M.M. asks as he starts to undo the bandage. 

          "I think so. Never tried it in a mirror before but I don't see why it wouldn't. If it doesn't you can take it out right?" I say as he gets the bandage off and looks at the fresh stitches. 

          "Looks simple enough, yeah." M.M. start to cut the stitches. 

          "You are not going to give her something?" Hughie asks as he scoots as far away from us as possible on the couch. 

          "Local anesthetic takes time to get, time we didn't have. Stop moving the couch." M.M. says as he looks over at Hughie. Hughie stands up apologizing under his breath as Frenchie looks through the house. 

        "What's that thing in your hand Frenchie?" I yell from the living room. He pops his head out from the hall. 

          "It puts security cameras on a loop whenever it gets near. He says as he continues his snooping. 

           I wince as M.M slowly snips at the stitches. He takes the mirror from me and hands it to Hughie.

            "Here, get behind me and hold this for her so I grab the chip as soon as I see it." He says while he gets out a pair of tweezers and holds a towel under my arm to stop blood from getting on the couch. Hughie gets into place and closes his eyes. 

             "You need a hand to hold, Poulette" Frenchie offers as he comes back into the room. I chuckle a bit and shake my head no. I help Hughie move the mirror where I need it and try. 

            At first my vision doesn't work in the mirror. I could see through the boys' bodies so I was sure it was working. It was like flexing a muscle in a literal sense as well. I can see the familiar glowing blue hue as I try to focus on my arm in the mirror. Slowly it starts to come into view. I can see the muscles of my own arm. 

            Blood starts to drip faster from the wound as I move the muscles and tendons to push the chip forward. It was awful. It felt like a bug was digging through my arm. The issue arose when the chip passed the muscle but was still hidden by fat and tissue. I had never worked with fat cells before; they are normally an afterthought. They were slippery and very difficult to move. I was so focused on my work I hadn't realized how badly my eyes hurt.

          "I'll get it, stop." I heard M.M. say. He sounded a bit worried. I knew one wrong move and I could blow out my whole arm. All the movement around me was pulling my attention from what needed to be done. M.M. started to yell about something so I closed my eyes. As soon as I did it was like someone hit me in the chest. All the air left my lungs. Gasping, I open my eyes and for a brief second all I see is red. A towel is pressed against my face by Frenchie. He wiped my eyes like I had been crying.

          "I said I could get it, kid just sit back." M.M. yelled as Frenchie finally lifted the towel from my face. It was covered in blood. My eyes must have been bleeding. That can't be good.

          "It's not out?" I pant as I lean against the back of the couch. 

           "No, what the hell's wrong with you? I told you I could get it. You didn't need to strain like that." M.M. scolded me as Hughie pulled the mirror away. 

            "I didn't realize I was. I have done way more taxing things. Why was that so hard?" I was speaking to myself as much as I was to M.M. he seemed to know that because he didn't offer an answer. He held my arm tight as he used the tweezers to look for the chip. This hurt way more, I pulled from him ever so slightly. 

          "Don't fuck with me right now, Simone." He warned as he continued to dig. Hughie gagged and moved away from the couch. 

         "If you puke I'll make you eat it Hughie." I say through gritted teeth. I hated how much I sounded like Homelander. This was pretty gross, I can't blame him. 

         "I'm good, I'm good." He said as he choked back a gag.

       �� The tweezers caught something hard. M.M. pulled out the small black chip. 

          "Alright I got it." He cleaned it with the towel and handed it to me. Frenchie didn't ask this time as he grabbed my hand to hold. Hughie excused himself and went into the kitchen as M.M. sewed up the cut again. Somehow that was the worst part. The needle slipped back through the tender skin over and over. It made me want to punch something. 

          We cleaned up and triple checked for any blood. Just as we said our goodbyes there was a knock at the door. We all looked at each other in horror before the boys scrambled into my room to hide. I opened the door and there was a man in a security guard outfit holding a pizza box. I grinned remembering Homelander was going to get me a pizza. 

         "Thank you so much." I say as I take it. From the man, he wasn't one of the normal security guards, I didn't recognize him. He stuck his foot in the door to stop me from closing it. 

        "Wait you are Homelander's daughter right? I'm a big fan." 

        "Oh um yeah thank you." I say as I try to close the door again but his foot didn't move. He made a disgusted face.

         "No, I'm not a fan of you. I'm his fan. I know what you are up to." He said as he pushed his way in between the door more. I started to panic. What did he know? Did he see the guys come up?

          "You really need to leave." I say as I try to push him from the doorway. I couldn't get any grip with my crutches and cast.

           "You are taking advantage of his kindness. You might be his daughter but you don't deserve his love. You just want to use him." The man had managed to step fully inside now. I put the pizza down and tried to pull him out. I was losing my patience with this lunatic. 

          "Whatever man, just get out before I call for real security." I warned him. I didn't want to have to kill this guy. It was too big of a risk. What if Homelander didn't believe my story?

          "Your gold digging whore of a mom probably put you up to this." The man spoke as he pushed his way into the penthouse further. "Is he here? I want to talk to him. He needs to know he's being used." I wanted to hurt him, I knew he wasn't talking about my real mom but it still made me mad. "That's all you girls do. Use good men like Homelander and I." He continued his rant and I had to just laugh at him. 

         "Yeah, you and Homelander are so alike, real great men. Get out before I have to hurt you." I said as I followed him to the living room. He was looking around amazed. Each thing impressed him more than the last. When he got close to my room one of the boys pulled the door shut. 

          "Was that him?" He asked as he marched over and pulled on the doorknob. I had about enough. I tried to pull him by his jacket when he turned around and pulled a can of mace out and sprayed me with it. I scream and fall to the ground grabbing my eyes. My bedroom door is slammed open and he's attacked by M.M. and Frenchie. Hughie slips out and tries to help me. 

          "Holy fuck did you get pepper sprayed!?" He yelled as the man screamed in pain. I opened my eyes and got the most intense burning feeling. But I had to try and help. M.M. was making quick work of him but he still had the mace. He got M.M. right in the eyes causing Frenchie to join in. It was a shit show. We all were coughing and crying from the mace. I got so fed up with this ruckus I let my anger get the best of me and I pulled the man's esophagus out from his neck. It wasn't painless but it was quick. 

           Hughie opened the windows as the three of us used the bathroom sink to try and get the spray off of us. Hughie must have caught a glimpse of the man's throat on the outside of his body because he ran into the bathroom vomiting. 

           "You guys need to go. I have to get a hold of Homelander." I panted out. My eyes were sore enough from straining them but now they were on fire. They kept bleeding on and off as I scrubbed them. I knew I would have to take a break from my vision till the pain stopped.

           "No way, we need to help you clean this up. There is a body in your hallway." M.M. said as he dried his puffy face. 

           "No, leave him, leave it all. I know what to tell Homelander." I say as they try to gather themselves.

           Frenchie used his controller thing to make sure the man entering was caught on camera but they were not. M.M. wrapped up my arm while Hughie focused on not vomiting again. 

           It was a painful goodbye because I wasn't sure when I'd see them again but also because of the pepper spray still lingering in the room.

            Once they left I hid all my paraphernalia in my room and avoided the puddle of blood that was forming around the man. This was a mess but at least I had the chip. I was sure to keep it in my pocket as I stumbled down to the front desk on the crutches. Making a big show of how weak and defenseless I was I fell in the lobby as the two normal security guards rushed over to me.

           "Call my dad please! I was attacked." I cried out. A guard ran for the desk phone as the other held me. This part was almost too easy. Foot in a cast, my face red and puffy from the spray. How could they not fall for it? Homelander would be the real obstacle.

[m4ndysk4nkovich]

Seeing Ian in season 1 puts into perspective the amount of BS he had to go through. Like when I think of things I wish were addressed with more weight, Ian's abuse at the hands of older men is one of them. I know Ian doesn't see it that way but others do (Mickey and Lip) and it feels like it's constantly glossed over. Lip says he wanted to call the police on Kash but he couldn't bring himself to do it. A scene of that would've reinforced just how wrong it is, instead of the situation ending with Kash is a sad middle-aged man and that's why Ian shouldn't want him. Not, Kash is a predator and Ian is a victim.

We can also talk about how both Lip and Debbie are victims of grooming. Grooming was never seriously addressed on the show.

i’m actually so pissed that grooming was never addressed as it was such a big issue for ian, debbie, lip, and also kind of carl but not really (with lori i think her name was, his boss). the only time grooming is ever brought up is with tami but it’s just a one episode thing and it’s irrelevant to the plot tbh.

ian’s situation devastates me because he never ends up thinking it’s wrong. he was constantly objectified by these older men he was with, too. to them he was seen as just a “boy toy” or the “forbidden fruit”. not only were his relationships with kash and ned creepy, but the guys at the club, too. for example, the one who dragged him out of the club, barely conscious, after giving him a roofie. ian graciously accepted the pill like he was used to it, and he probably was. he let this guy drug and grope him, and i always see people saying “imagine what would’ve happened if mickey hadn’t come” and i’ll tell you what would’ve happened, he would’ve been raped. and i can guarantee you with how used to it he was, it had happened before. and i’ll say more about this with lip and debbie, but i firmly believe the reason he indulged into these relationships was to fill the void frank created.

debbie’s situation is also devastating. if you recall, when lip was trying to convince ian that what happened with kash was wrong/grooming people is wrong, he said “ok so what if it was debbie and a 30 year old dude”, ironically, in the next season she gets with a 20 year old dude who for some fucking reason, a good percentage of the fandom sympathizes with/sides with. here’s the real deal: matty groomed her. he was into her, knowing she was 13, but didn’t want to have sex with her, in fear of himself going to prison. prison was the only thing stopping him, he said it himself that he thought she was sexy and wanted to. and before anyone says anything about how debbie did tell him she was 16 at first when he first started to like her, he could obviously tell. the point was that it was obvious she was lying. and yeah, what debbie did was wrong. i’ve said a lot about this before, but what he did was wrong, too. he led her on, flirted with her, promised to have sex with her, slept in the same bed as her, and also talked to all of her friends for some reason, he was a creep!! no grown adult should be hanging out/flirting with an adolescent girl, and it scares me that people defend him. like i said with ian, she was trying to fill a void. not only that, but she was mirroring fiona’s actions. she had seen her sister get into unhealthy relationships, so she did just. and the worst thing was debbie didn’t even like him, it was just comphet. so it was some adult with a one-sided crush on a teenager. creepy. at this time, frank was dying and fiona was working/locked up, she needed attention because she was lacking it, so she went to him for it because she knew he’d give her it.

lip’s situation i have less to say about because technically, he was an adult, but regardless, it was creepy as fuck. more so, his attachment to her was creepy. this is what happens when you get groomed, you grow attached. and lip was so fucking attached it destroyed him when she ignored him. like his siblings, this was to fill the void a parent created. but this time, frank isn’t responsible, monica is. i’ve never really spoken about this despite having a lot to say, but lip and monica’s relationship effects him a lot. i hate to say this, but he’s treated women like shit because of it (i’m not saying he always does, but he has- i’ll explain more in depth sometime) and his mother abandoning him clearly altered his perspective on women. i think that monica leaving made him (and every other sibling, especially debbie) grow attached easily, and i think it also made him lose respect for some women because he just saw his mom in them. i saw a post that explains this a lot better than i am right now so if i find it i’ll definitely link it so it makes more sense.

[weirdowithaquill]

Can you do Duncan x Cody headcanons

I did some of those a little while back (you can find those here) but I get the feeling you mean less about how they got there and more about how they act once within the relationship. In which case, I've got a few ideas!

1: Duncan secretly loves reading, but only certain books, especially those that criticize the government or question society through philosophy. This can range from something like 1984 through to All Quiet on the Western Front and even into longer novels like Crime and Punishment. It's this weird idea in his mind of rebelling against his parents, by reading these books that question a lot of the values his parents tried to instill in him. Cody is less fond of these deeper, psychological books - but he does enjoy curling up with Duncan to read his own books alongside the punk. They have a rather massive bookshelf in their apartment which is filled with books and has their favourite reading couch beside it.

2: Cody hates jump-scare horror films, but he watches them with Duncan anyway, even if it means burying his head in Duncan's chest throughout most of the film and trying to ignore the film. Duncan keeps taking Cody to watch these films because he likes the feeling of having Cody in his arms. He does like the really shitty B-list horror movies though, having watched way too many of them with Gwen - but only if he can dissect them loudly and spend the film lambasting the characters' mistakes.

3: Duncan is a very, very light sleeper. It comes from his juvie (and later prison) days, when the worst things happened at night, and has transferred over to his return to normal life. It also means that Duncan likes to sleep as close to a wall as possible - another hold over from his prison days - and their bed is shoved right up against the walls of their bedroom. Duncan sleeps next to the wall and Cody sleeps beside/on top of him.

4: Cody still makes money from his time with the Drama Brothers, and this makes Duncan feel a little... inferior. Cody, after all, is a successful musician, not to mention he likely goes to a good university and has some sort of degree. Duncan has none of these things - what he does have is a police record, and it makes him feel almost like he doesn't deserve Cody. When Cody finds out about this, he does try and help Duncan with these feelings - but it takes some time for those feelings to fade.

5: Duncan still talks to Gwen, which makes Cody a little jealous. He's not worried about Duncan cheating - Gwen burnt that bridge to the ground and then tossed the ashes off a cliff - but he does envy how naturally they click. Cody had to work to gain anything resembling their easy friendship with anyone who isn't an insane superfan, and it leads to a similar situation as Duncan's inferiority worries, where they have to work on it.

6: Sierra and Courtney are not allowed anywhere near their apartment. Sierra has a restraining order placed against her by Cody (one which Cody's friends helped finalise) while Courtney was never given their address by anyone because of how uncomfortable she makes both of them. This does get a bit awkward as Courtney enters into a relationship with Gwen, but the three can spend time around each other in neutral settings without kicking off so it's less of a problem.

7: Speaking of people that our main men don't like, Alejandro ranks high on the list. After Heather ditched him for the final time, he is quietly removed from their contacts list and faded out of their lives. It's not for quite the same reasons as Sierra, but more because of how untrustworthy he is. There's a real fear that he'll reveal their address to Sierra, or worse yet Chris, and moreover he just exudes a toxicity that they're trying to move beyond.

8: Duncan and Cody both, however, like Heather. It's a bit of a surprise to a lot of cast members, but the pair really do get along with the Queen Bee. Duncan likes her brutal honesty and sharp wit, while Cody likes how much she evolved and really tried her best to help him get away from Sierra. She's one of the first people to accept them, and they end up loaning her their spare bedroom when she breaks up with Alejandro for the last time.

9: Speaking of, they own an apartment in Montreal. It's where a good chunk of the cast settle after TD, being outside of Ontario (where Camp Wawanakwa is) but also still a pretty central part of Canada. It's close to Ottawa, the US border and Quebec City, and a lot of the cast just sort of gravitates towards it. It's a nice apartment in a nice area, with an open-plan kitchen/living room, two bedrooms, a bathroom and an en-suite, a study and a balcony from which they can see the St Lawrence River. It's also got a lot of white noise, which they both really appreciate after TD, prison and Cody's childhood estate of a home.

10: Cody and Duncan both end up going to university after they settle in. Cody goes first - he's most of the way through his degree or even finished by the end of Season 5 of TD, and I feel like he'd either study music or journalism after breaking from his parents' expectations for him to pursue law. Duncan has to wait a little longer - he takes a few low-skill labour jobs to make some money first - but then he goes to Uni and startles everyone by doing psychology and philosophy. Duncan just really wants to understand the mindsets behind people's decisions and also just enjoys questioning everything in society and driving his professors up the wall.

No pictures this time - mostly cause I exhausted them all last time. Whoops.

[french-unknown]

𝖍𝖔𝖗𝖗𝖔𝖗 𝖜𝖎𝖙𝖍 𝖓𝖆𝖒𝖎

𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖗𝖆𝖈𝖙𝖊𝖗: nami 𝖈/𝖜: home invasion 𝖜/𝖈: 2k + 𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞: The original plan was to spend a quiet evening watching a good horror movie in the Thousand Sunny just you and Nami. Unfortunately, an unexpected visit from former enemies will turn your home into a prison.

| m a s t e r l i s t | - | e v e n t . s u m m a r y |

𝖓𝖆𝖒𝖎

You and Nami were comfortably snuggled up together under the covers of the beds in the Sunny's women's quarters.

What was less comfortable, however, was the horror film that was projected in front of you and which gave you both chills. Indeed, since you were the two in charge of guarding the boat for this stopover, Nami had offered to rent a Cameko* that had previously recorded a horror film from the town rental store as well as the Proko* that went with it in order to be able to project said film. After all, what's better than a night alone while all your other companions were scattered on the ground, to watch a horror film when you were two scared cats?

Immersed in the projection, you felt that your stomach was in knots and that your heart was beating fast but the slight tremors of the navigator against your arm reassured you. You weren't the only one who was afraid.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw a suspicious shadow on the corner of the porthole that looked outside. Terrified, you couldn't even move your head in fear of seeing what it was—probably just a normal shadow—since you were already scared by the movie. You froze, afraid, but the shadow in the corner of the window didn't move. This reassured you a little, it must have just been the shadow of the mast or the sails against your wall. You then resumed watching, this time much more uncomfortable. Yet, a few minutes later, a jump scare appeared on the screen and you barely had time to avoid it by looking away from the film.

Only to find eyes staring at you through the porthole.

It took you two seconds of pause to understand that it was not some normal shadow that you had been seeing since earlier, but rather a man observing you through the window. As soon as the information finally reached your brain, you jumped violently out of the covers, drawing the redhead's attention to the newcomer.

Nami screamed.

Immediately, a macabre smile formed on the stranger's lips and you just had time to see the reflection of the moon on a metal surface he was holding before your door crashed open. The wooden panel crashed against the wall and this man, accompanied by two others just as menacing and all armed with sabers, entered your bedroom.

Your blood started pounding in your ears.

The film was completely forgotten. You reflexively picked up one of Robin's books that was lying on her headboard and you threw it with all your might at the first man. It didn't do him much harm but it at least gave the navigator enough time—and a diversion—to get her stick and hit them to knock them out.

The men seemed quite disoriented then. Not being able to stay in your room where there were already intruders, you took advantage of their confusion to pass them and leave.

It was pitch black in the sky apart from the moon and the stars, and there was no one other than you for miles around.

And, even more, none of your crew expected to be back for at least another forty-eight hours.

So you arrived in a panic at the exterior corridor in front of your dorms and it was only thanks to the habit of walking on the Sunny that you were able to slide down the steps leading to the deck without falling. Apart from the few glimmers of the moon, you could see nothing.

“Come back, Straw Hats!” A voice yelled behind you, followed by growls. “You'll pay!”

The first thought you had was of the padlocked fridge in the kitchen. You looked at Nami who was already running on the deck and, from the look on her face and where she was looking, you guessed she had the same thought.

However, your attackers were much tougher - and faster - than you had thought because, before you could reach the middle of the lawn, the fastest of them was already reaching the stairs. Your blood boiled in your veins as you ran after the redhead towards the slide on purpose to go back to the kitchen. Neither of you had thought about the route, instead going for the nearest way up, but you bitterly regretted it the moment you saw the slide still soaked from the last downpour.

It was impossible to mount it upside down.

The fastest of the intruders came up behind you and you felt a hand slip through your hair before closing on your roots to pull your head back. You heard more than felt your neck crack under the force of the movement. With your throat exposed, a regurgitation of disgust mixed with fear rose up your esophagus when a warm breath hit your neck. The horrified eyes Nami had when looking at you petrified you. Yet, the second you realized that a thin, cold blade was moving up against your hip towards your throat over your nightwear, you regained control of your body.

You used what little room to maneuver you had left to smack the man holding you in the face with your head, then elbowed him hard in the ribs. A growl reached your ears and, miraculously, the grip around you loosened.

The look you gave behind you terrified you even more.

You saw that the man who was holding you before was now doubled over on the ground while holding his nose in one hand. Unfortunately, his two compatriots, on the other hand, had already reached the last steps of the staircase and were now rushing towards you with their murderous looks and their sabers clearly in evidence.

You no longer had the time—or even the possibility—to go up the stairs on the other side of the deck, so you grabbed the redhead's hand before running towards the door of the bar-aquarium. At least it had the advantage of being on your floor and nearby.

As soon as you had passed the door, you closed it just as quickly before leaning against it and made sure to keep the handle raised. A weight collapsed heavily against the wood and you felt it shake dangerously against your shoulder. You heard a sound of tearing fabric coming from behind you—where Nami was—but you didn't turn around because, at the same time, the door handle began to be forced. You felt the pressure they were putting on the piece of metal and you did the best you could to keep it from lowering. The knocking continued to the point where you had to lean further against the door until the handle was a few centimeters above your shoulder and you could use it for additional support.

Nami then propped a piece of cloth against the porthole, to prevent them from seeing what was happening inside, and leaned towards your ear. Suddenly, a kick at the door was so aggressive that it bent it to the point where the navigator caught the panel in the forehead.

“We go up by the dumbwaiter to the kitchen.” She hurriedly explained to you, quickly running her hand over her forehead. "I'm going and, as soon as you have an opportunity, you run. Ok?!"

You nodded, unable to speak and hold the door at the same time. Before she left, you had a flash of Sanji speaking into the escargophone that was still in the kitchen. At least one member of the crew always had another one of these weird animals with them in case of trouble.

“Snail.” You groaned despite the effort.

You felt your body starting to hurt from resisting.

"OK." she whispered before running.

You just heard the sound of the button she pressed before the mechanism silently started. You were never more grateful for the fact that Sanji had complained for days to Franky to remove all the noise from the mechanism under the pretext that "it ruined the meal experience".

However, you were cut off from your thoughts by the repeated attacks on the door which grew harder and harder. From your ear near the panel, you heard the wood cracking blow after blow while the hinges began to squeak unpleasantly after the multiple attacks. Tears welled up in your eyes as despair filled you. Your wrists were hurting like hell from holding back the repercussions of the violence and your shoulder would most likely bruise if you stayed alive long enough for them to form. The attacks continued to intensify. The punches and kicks became almost unbearable.

“We’re gonna get you, bitches!” You heard them screaming on the other side of the door.

At least Nami will survive.

But, suddenly, a huge noise was heard in the kitchen above you. Immediately, the blows stopped, as if frozen in time.

Without a second of hesitation, you let go of the handle and sprinted like crazy towards the dumbwaiter. You could have cried when you saw that the navigator had taken care to bring it back down once she reached the top. But now was not the time to slow down because there was nothing stopping the intruders from entering. You threw yourself head first into the small cavity while curling up as best you could and you pressed the button countless times, without being able to stop, to climb back up.

The door then opened suddenly.

Two of your attackers entered the room but, fortunately for you, the dumbwaiter had already started its ascent. Before they even got halfway between you, you were out of reach.

You jumped from the device as soon as you saw the kitchen decor and immediately took a chair from the dining room to smash it against the mechanism whose niche had already started to come down. The machine stopped. You then looked around and noticed that the sofa had been moved against the door, which in turn swayed under the attacks of the intruders. Nami was facing the Den Den Mushi and waited impatiently for someone to answer her call.

You saw her nervousness while she repeated glances towards the door.

You ran back to her. You barely set foot near her when the Den Den Mushi began to speak.

"Hello? I'm Monkey D. Luffy! I'm gonna become the King of the Pirates!" screamed the snail.

"Luffy!" Nami exclaimed in turn without saying a single word for the presentation. You heard her tone of voice fluctuate because of her fear and her tears. "There are intruders on the Sunny! They're going to kill us! We're in the kitchen!"

The noise at the door, which was holding as best it could, accompanied by the screeching of the gongs supported her statement.

“We’re going into the fridge.” she announced abruptly before hanging up.

Immediately, you started rushing towards the padlocked fridge and opening it wide. Inside, you stopped the refrigeration first before collecting everything that took up space like meat, fish, prepared meals and even the floor dividers in order to throw them unceremoniously against the kitchen floor. When you had enough room for both of you in the appliance, you took refuge inside before quickly closing the door behind you.

You heard the automatic closing lock with a "click" then nothing.

It was dark, cold and you could hear everything going on outside. But it was the safest place on the ship. Even Luffy had never managed to open that fridge. So, if the intruders managed to get you now, then you were destined to die.

You don't know how long you spent in that fridge with Nami, holding each other close with your bodies shaking as tears painfully ran down your cheeks. The noises in the kitchen eventually faded away. .

Suddenly, the door was unlocked and opened.

In front of you was standing a worried Sanji. You both jumped into his arms and, over his shoulder, you saw Luffy with Franky and Brook being over the three unconscious intruders.

It was over.

You were saved.

𝖎𝖓𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖘 SOURCE | onepiece.fandom.com - Den Den Mushi - The Cameko (カメコ, Kameko, VIZ: "Cam-snail") are baby Visual Den Den Mushi who have yet to gain the ability to display signals from other Visual Den Den Mushi. They are able to store images and videos, as well as transmit them as signals to their adult form, the Proko. - The Proko (プロコ, Puroko, VIZ: "Pro-snail") are an older Visual Den Den Mushi that have gained the ability to receive signals emanating from the Cameko, while simultaneously projecting and disseminating the visual content captured by the Cameko onto larger video displays either via wires connected to a display or by using their eye to project the light.

°˖✧ Salut ✧˖°

I just wanted to warn that this is the first times that I have written texts with a somewhat horrific style, so I am sorry if you got excited about the title for nothing and were disappointed. I'm also not a consumer of horror material because I'm a big—huge, you can't even imagine how much—sissy, then the stories risk not being very original.

So, if you see points that can be improved, don't hesitate to let me know so that I can get better. Thanks! ~

See you tomorrow!

𝖏𝖔𝖎𝖓 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖙𝖆𝖌𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 𝖎𝖋 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖉𝖔𝖓'𝖙 𝖜𝖆𝖓𝖙 𝖙𝖔 𝖒𝖎𝖘𝖘 𝖆𝖓𝖞 𝖚𝖕𝖉𝖆𝖙𝖊

𝖙𝖆𝖌𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙: @iheartamora @bontensh0e @opchara @lys-ada @xomingyu @dozcan123