#she had time to make plans and practice her target shooting AND knife throwing. she has many skills...

[swallowedabug]

You come for my boy, you come through me.

KILLJOYS 5.01 (2019)

[fortuositywritings]

Collide pt 4

Summary: The incident takes a toll on you and it makes certain impacts.

Warnings: cursing, blood, throwing up, angst

You feel incredibly guilty. You don’t go on ice cream dates anymore. You spend all the free time you have training and this time not only with Wanda for her experience with her powers but with Steve and Nat. They’ve trained Wanda how to fight in case she can’t use her powers. They think you want to train for the same reason. You don’t. 

You want to use Wanda’s powers as a last resort. You don’t want to hurt someone else. You don’t think you can trust yourself in using her abilities out in the field without losing control again. In lieu of relying on her powers on missions, you begin to use yours, getting creative with them. You actually make progress with them. 

It turns out you can walk through more than walls. You can penetrate through practically any solid matter but cooler than that is the reverse where you let things go through you. This one took you a bit by surprise, mostly because the thought originally occurred to Natasha and putting the theory to the test without talking to you about it first, she threw a knife at you. 

You nearly fainted when you heard the knife hit something but that something was the punching bag behind you. Wanda being in the same room to watch this happen gave Nat an earful that day.

You’ve also been practicing turning other objects than just your body invisible, but the furthest you have gotten is making the clothes on your body disappear with you. Others would say it is huge progress. Those “others” of course are those on the team that had seen you naked when you first met them. 

Despite doing all you can to not use her magic again, there is only so much your powers are useful for. This is made especially evident on your latest mission. The mission was going as planned until it wasn’t. One minute you are sitting at the betting table at this sketchy underground casino, reading minds to figure out why the subject of interest is here, and the next you are fighting off bad guys. 

Natasha had been the first to notice something wrong and warned you and Steve over comms, “We’ve been made.”

Not two seconds after she says that do several of the tuxedo clad gentlemen around you pull out guns and point them in your direction. 

You think quickly, mostly panicking, and remember what you did when Natasha had thrown a knife at you. Bullets fly from their guns towards you and then to their shock through you, hitting bad guys behind you. 

They pause, wondering what the hell just happened and why you aren’t dead. People are running out of the venue. While they are distracted you pull your disappearing act. Suddenly you are nowhere to be found. The gunmen point their weapons around in search for you. 

You take several of them down using moves Natasha taught you. She and Steve are also beating down some bad guys. Natasha realizes the person you are here for is getting away. 

“Rogers, two o’clock!” she yells.

“On it!” Steve rushes in pursuit of the target meanwhile you and Nat stay behind to knock out the rest. 

You think between you and Nat, you can take down the remaining few. You count seven. Nat could probably even do it on her own but luckily you can make it easier with you being invisible and all. 

You knock out three guys and go to help Nat but she’s already got the other four down on the floor. You appear again and she looks at you and the rather large guys you took out yourself. She raises an eyebrow in disbelief. 

“Well don’t look too surprised. You did teach me those moves,” you quip, smirking.

“Shit,” she says, looking behind you. Your smile does when you see that they’ve brought reinforcements. “I hope you picked up more moves. We’re going to need them.”

You and Nat take cover behind the poker table. The men shoot at you two and Nat shoots back with a gun she picked up from one of the men on the floor. 

“Captain, we need back up!” you yell through your earpiece. 

“My hands are a little full at the moment. Hang on,” Steve grunts.

“Fuck, I’m out,” Nat informs you. You can feel the bad guys getting closer. It’ll be a few seconds when they realize that Natasha has run out of bullets and then you’re done for. Luckily, she’s a quick thinker. “Go invisible and come up from behind them. I’ll distract.”

She doesn’t give you an option as she runs from the cover of the poker table and jumps behind the bar. You do as she says. You sneak behind and try taking them down one by one but there have to be like 15 men. They’re on to you after the third guy and one manages to elbow you in the gut. 

You stumble back, winded, and for a second your invisibility falters. The armed man points his gun at you but you move out of the way just in time for the bullet to graze your arm. You turn invisible again and duck in case he tries to shoot again. 

“Find her!” the man shouts. “And can someone kill Red behind the bar already!”

“Shit, Steve. We really need you here right now,” you rush into the earpiece again. 

“Fuck.” You run from the place you stand, one of the bad guys having heard you and shooting in your direction. You dash to the poker table once more but not before taking a gun with you. You try to shoot the two closest men approaching Nat but nothing happens. “Shit, I think the safety is on. How the hell do you use this?”

Your hands are jittery trying to figure out the gun. You accidentally drop the magazine thinking you are releasing the safety. 

“Just toss it to me!” Nat yells. Better idea. You don’t even know why you bothered with the gun when Nat was the expert. You throw the gun and then the magazine. Nat catches both and with almost inhuman speed she loads the gun and begins to shoot the men. 

One by one they all go down. All go down but the one out of her field of vision who points a gun straight at her head. It’s at this moment that you realize all that time training and preparing for something like this was pointless. What you should have worked on is how to control your emotions. Your emotions are what push the magic to do what it does and what it does next you will never be able to scrub from your mind. 

What Nat sees is the end of her gun shooting the last guy twice on his legs and you behind that guy at the poker table looking at her. She reads panic and maybe anger on your face and suddenly your eyes are turning red, like actually red and you raise an arm that’s covered in magic, pointing it towards Nat. 

You shoot out energy and Nat freaks out internally for a second thinking you were aiming at her. She feels a wet substance splatter on her face and quickly realizes it’s blood, not her own. She turns and sees who you were actually targeting. The guy’s body falls with a thud and without a head. 

Steve rushes down the stairs and picks up the pace when he can’t hear anymore gunshots. He expects two different outcomes; you and Nat took everyone down or they got you. He hopes for the former and when he bursts in the room, he’s relieved to see you two still standing. 

He takes a look at the damage. There are guys knocked out and some groaning on the floor from bullet wounds. And then he sees the body sans head. He feels bile needing to be released but he forces it down. He looks away from the body, choosing to look at Nat instead. “What happened?”

Nat turns her head and instead of answering Steve with words she looks at you. You feel them both staring at you now but you can’t look away from the body. You three stand there for what feels way too long but in reality is probably 17 seconds. Then when Steve takes a step forward in your direction, you finally react, turning your body around and throwing up right on the floor. 

Nat springs over the bar, rushing to your side, wiping the blood off the side of her face. Steve orders Nat to take you back to the tower and that he’d take care of this. Natasha leads you to the exit and when you try to turn around to get another look at your victim she shoves your head into her neck, keeping it there until you are out of the building so you couldn’t see. 

You are in shock the whole way back. You can’t believe what you just did. You took someone’s life from them. You killed someone. And the way you did it was so gruesome. 

Nat could only imagine what that looked like. She only saw the aftermath. She knows you are replaying the whole thing in your head and you would do it for a long time. There was so much blood. Some of that blood still resides on Nat’s face. Nat, who is trying to call your attention, crouched beside you as you are out of it, eyes out of focus looking at the seat in the quinjet in front of you. 

“..at me. Y/N, look at me.” Her voice finally reaches you. You turn your head and she holds your hand in your lap with one of hers and her other hand comes up to hold your face. “Hey, you saved me. That’s all that happened back there.”

Is she delusional? Did she not see what you did? What is she playing at? The way she is recapping the event infuriates you. “Are you serious?! I just fucking killed someone, Natasha!”

You pull your hands away and bolt up from your seat. You shake your head furiously, your breathing goes unsteady. Natasha sees you’re about to have a breakdown. You start tugging at your dress. You feel it’s squeezing you too tight but it won’t loosen up as much as you pull. You begin to pace. 

“Fuck. I-I killed someone,” you state, more for yourself than for Nat. Nat stops you from pacing. 

“No! You saved me. He was a bad guy who was going to kill me if you hadn’t done what you did. Because of you I am standing here,” Nat insists, tone firm and leaving no room to argue.

She holds you by the shoulders and holds eye contact, making sure you are listening. You begin to calm down but the tears soon fall. She pulls you into her arms as you sob, “I didn’t want to hurt anyone.”

“I know you didn’t. I know, Y/N,” she coos, rubbing your back. 

“I can’t do this anymore. I wasn’t meant to do this,” you say and pull away from Nat. Before Nat can ask or say otherwise, you continue, “I don’t want to be here anymore. I want to go home.”

“Okay. Let’s go home,” she nods and pushes the button for the jet’s door to open. You are on the pad of the tower. Nat doesn’t know what you meant by home. She steps out and looks at you expectantly, offering you her hand. You shake your head, staying right where you are. Nat frowns. 

“Hey, how did it go?” A smiling Wanda appears, jogging up to you two. Her smile dies and is quickly replaced by concern when she notices Nat’s frown and you refusing to step out of the jet. “What happened?”

“I want to go home,” you repeat. Wanda immediately understands what you are trying to say. Something really bad must have happened on the mission for you to want to leave, but she could fix it. She could get you to stay. 

“You can’t fix this, Wanda. I’m sorry, I can’t do this anymore. I don’t have control over it and I should have stopped when I left that guy wheelchair bound. Please just take it back. I can’t- I won’t hurt anyone else,” you tell Wanda. 

“Y/N, you can’t leave. We need you. I need you,” Wanda implores you to stay, walking past a confused Nat on her way into the jet to stand in front of you. You couldn’t leave. She’s grown too fond, fallen too deep. She is convinced you belong here with the team, with her. 

“No, the team needs your power. You just want me to fill your role but I can’t do it. Not anymore. So please, take it back,” you beg, reaching your hand out for Wanda to grab. 

So many thoughts run through Wanda’s mind. Most of them are her figuring out a way to get you to stay, but she sees it on your face, no matter what she tries, you are leaving once she takes her powers back. 

You can’t leave. Not yet, Wanda decides. Not until you see that you belong here, that they need you even without her powers. She takes a step back away from you, shaking her head in refusal. You feel like you’ve been punched in the gut. 

“Wanda, please,” you ask once more, a tear running down your cheek. 

Wanda is fighting back her own tears, seeing the desperate look on your face and how she is hurting you right now, but she can’t have you go. She shakes her head and with a choked up voice she breaks all the trust you gave her,  “No.”

___________________________________________________

oh shit. reader can’t catch a break in this one

Taglist: @ineedafinghug @starmako26 @musicinourlips @sapphic-girl @dandelions4us @frvny @romanoffomixam

[secretlittl3whore]

Out Of Bullets

summary: Y/N has always had a crush on the man who beat her record on the range. So what happens when he returns from a mission to find that the little lady has taken his words to heart and gotten better?!

Warnings: it’s smut y’all. P in v. Unprotected sex (please wrap it before you tap it). Fingering. Virgin sex.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem/reader

Totz my first smut! Critiques appreciated! Luvs y’all!

————————————————————

The compound was pretty quiet during the twilight hours, and that was the absolute preference of Y/N. She did love people, don’t get her wrong, but there was something about her boots echoing off the empty hallways that brought solace. She continued her path to the shooting range, but almost turned around when she heard that distinct sound of bullets flying towards the paper targets.

“Ugh.” Y/N groaned. Then she caught a glimpse of a figure and couldn’t stop herself from drooling at the sight. He must’ve just returned from a mission, cuz he was still clad in his tactical gear. Holsters still attached and filled with weapons. Her eyes traveled downward resting on his thighs. Even those pants couldn’t hide those delicious features. A fire pooled deep within and subconsciously y/n started to rub her thighs together trying to create some sort of friction.

Did she hate him for beating her in everything? Yes, but that didn’t mean she hated him. No, every fiber of y/n’s being wanted him to bend her over the table and fuck her within an inch of her life. Not caring if someone walked in and saw, though someone definitely would eventually see cause of all the damn cameras Stark installed.

Almost as if he had heard her lustful thoughts, the man turned to look at her. He nodded a greeting and then went back to his drills. Must’ve went bad, y/n thought to herself.

She came to a stop beside him and watched him empty his clip before turning to her.

“Good morning Buck,” she stated cooly. Bucky just stared. “Bad mission?” His nostrils flared. Bingo.

“Sam is...fuck. He never has a fucking plan. Just jumps in.” He roared, gloved hands coming to pinch the bridge of his nose. Y/N stayed quiet, knowing to let him rant and not interject till he was finished. She learned the hard way that by doing so, he would shut down and not talk. Y/N prided herself on being a confidant. “He’s going to get someone killed!”. Absentmindedly he started twirling a vibranium knife in his gloved fingers before sinking it into the target that he had just been shooting at. Y/N closed her eyes quickly, knowing her pupils had blown out and stifled a small moan. Could he be any less sexy when he was mad?! Bucky took a deep breath, a sign that he was done ranting and y/n could talk.

“We both know that he’s stupid and reckless.” Bucky let out a gruff laugh, “and that’s why you are his partner because you balance him. The missions are most always successful with you two. It’s just going to take a few to get the rhythm right.” His eyes narrowed at y/n. She spoke truth, and he hated it. With a smug smile, y/n dumped her bag onto the other half of a table.

“Looking for a challenge or you done for today?” Bucky’s eyebrow raised quizzically and he smirked.

“A challenge? Have you been practicing what I showed you?” Y/N grinned and shook her head,

“No.” But that was a total lie. Before he had gone on the mission three weeks ago, they had spent around 6 hours in the range. It was grueling but he pushed her through drills and training. Since then, she had been in the range every day from twilight till noon practicing. Something flashed across his eyes, but disappeared just as quick. There was no way he could know she was lying...could he?

“You first doll.”

By the time y/n was nearly out of bullets, a small crowd had gathered in the viewing box. She was sure that she could see a certain redhead watching intently as y/n performed drill after drill. So focused on the target that she was missing the fact that his eyes hardly ever left her. How they softly caressed her figure and imagined stripping her, being inside her. Watching y/n go through these drills smoothly caused his dick to strain painfully against his pants.

Y/Ns gun clicked and that was it. She was officially out of bullets. She turned to Bucky and caught his eyes immediately. Had they always been that dark? She shook the thought out of her head and went to retrieve the targets. Bucky joined her silently. As they pulled down their targets he briefly dragged a digit along her hand, the leather feeling strangely cool against her skin. It caused a shiver and immediately a blush formed red hot across y/ns cheeks. No stop it! She told herself, it was an accident. Wasn’t it? Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of his profile. His eyes were still dark and he looked almost like he was in pain. Turning back to her target, she grinned widely. Her splatter of shots were centralized around the winning position. No outliers. She had certainly improved, and he had definitely noticed.

“I think you might have actually won this one.” He said through gritted teeth, enunciating the last word almost painfully. Y/N couldnt stop herself from celebrating out loud!

“Fuck yes! Told you I’d beat you Sarge!” There it was, that flash across his eyes, but this time it didn’t disappear as quickly. Y/N gulped as the man stared at her with such ferocity that she actually felt small.

“Want to try that again?” He asked, his voice quiet. She looked behind him and notice that the entirety of the audience had disappeared, almost as if they had never been there.

“I’m out of bullets.” Y/N said softly, her eyes.

“Did I say drills?” He said darkly, leaning in closely. She tried to sputter out a response but his lips captured hers in a gnash of teeth. Her response was immediately, letting that winning target float to the floor out of sight out of mind as she wrapped her arms around Bucky’s neck.

Their lips moved with each other rhythmically. She felt his tongue on her lip and she welcomed him in, his taste intoxicating her, sending her head spinning. He pulled away suddenly, earning a small whine from her lips.

“Doll, I need you.” He said almost in a whisper as he leaned his forehead against hers. She almost gasped when she felt it, his dick pressing against her leg. Eyes darting she found the locker room and grabbed his hand, leading him quickly towards it. She found that small medical bay and locked them inside, pressing him against the door. Y/N leaned upwards to kiss him,

“Let me taste you.” She said seductively. He groaned throwing his head back against the door. She took that as a yes and dropped to her knees, making quick work of his pants. Her release was almost ripped from her when she released his dick and it slapped against his stomach. For a minute she paused. He was huge! Thick and glorious. The tip pulsating red and precun dripping. Was now the time to say she was a virgin? Would that make him stop? No, she had done enough research to know how to please a man...she hoped.

Languidly, she kitten licked along his shaft, taking in his scent and the taste of his skin. Bucky’s breathing quickened and she could hear the whirring of his vibranium arm as he clenched his fist. She licked a long stripe on the underside before taking his tip into her mouth. His breath hitched as she sucked.

“Doll,” his breath strangled, “doll you’ve got to move.” Fear struck, but she fought it and started bobbing her head. “Fuck, yes like that doll.” His flesh hand came to rest on her head, threading into her hair making a makeshift ponytail. He started taking over her movements. Y/N hollowed her cheeks like she learned, but it didn’t help when she felt him touch the back of her throat. She gagged painfully and pulled backwards roughly. Bucky stared down at her, eyes full of concern as she coughed harshly.

“Fuck doll. Shit I’m sorry. You just felt so good.” He cooed as he leaned down, grasping her face. She offered a small smile,

“I’m sorry.” Bucky grimaced, kissing her forehead softly.

“No y/n, it’s my fault. Nat said you were a virgin and I should’ve remembered...” he stopped dead in his tracks at the look upon y/ns face.

“She told you?!” She gasped. Bucky started scratching his the back of his head against he sat against the door, dick still hard and angry at being left without attention. She wasn’t angry at the fact that he knew, more so confused at all the conversation came up...or did Nat just offer that information freely l, that devious Russian mink.

“Ugh, yeah, she um...I’m sorry.” He made a move like he was gonna to get up but Y/Ns hand shot out and grabbed him by the vest.

“Don’t go. I...” she paused to collect her thoughts, Bucky looked at her sadly, pondering at what her response would be. “I still want you.” Bucky’s eyes snapped to hers,

“You do?” He asked surprised. Y/N chuckled at his response and leaned in towards him,

“I wouldn’t have sucked your dick if I didn’t.” The darkness returned to his eyes.

“I’ve wanted you for so long doll, are you sure?” She kissed him ferociously,

“Yes James,” Bucky groaned at the sound of his real name dripping from her lips. So low and sultry. He wanted to have her saying it over and over. He pulled y/n onto his lap, straddling her legs over his hips. He captured her lips as he kicked his pants off, but not before grabbing a certain leather strap.

Y/N’s whole body was on fire. This man’s smell, his taste, the feel of his skin, was so intoxicating she felt drunk and high at the same time. Was that even possible?

Suddenly her legs felt cold and then something warm was pressed against her ass. She pulled away and looked down, no he fucking didn’t. Looking back up, y/n noted a shit eating grin as he embedded the knife in the door behind him.

“You owe me new leggings.” She murmured, reaching down to unzip his vest. He shrugged it off and then took his shirt off. She couldn’t help but letting her hands explore the new territory, even taking a moment to trace the area where the metal met flesh. Y/N placed small open mouth kisses after the trails of her fingers, the scarred skin and metal creating a tingly texture against her lips.

“I’ll owe you a new shirt and bra too.” Before she could protest, they too were ripped from her body, that knife now embedded in the wall behind her. She tried glaring at him but couldn’t help but laugh at his grin.

“You are trouble Sarge.” He rutted his hips into her at the pet name and y/n bit back a moan. The movement caused his dick to slip underneath her and now it rested against her stomach, the red tip pleading with her for attention. She sighed and gripped him softly, before pumping. Bucky’s head hang low against his chest as his hands came to rest at her back. She hissed at the metal’s coldness but didn’t stop pumping. His breath quickened as she quickly spat into her other hand before switching them.

Bucky threw his head back against the door, eyes slammed shut and mouth agape, taking small uneven breaths.

“Doll...doll please,” he begged, his metal hand coming to clasp hers, stopping her actions. “I...want to feel you.” Y/N gulped, she was much smaller than this super soldier, he was going to rip her apart. Slowly she raised herself on her knees and Bucky gripped himself, pumping slowly. “Are you ready?” He asked gently. Despite the pounding in her ears, she nodded, but he didn’t move his dick forward. Instead she felt his flesh fingers touch her lips.

He gathered the wetness on his fingers and then gently circled her clit. Y/N felt her whole body shake and she leaned forward to grip his shoulders. As he leaned forward to capture her lips, he entered her with a single finger. Y/N threw her head back and let out a moan. Bucky took the opportunity to latch his lips against her neck, kissing, licking, biting, ensuring that she was marked. A second finger was entered and she could feel him working in and out of her. Breathing quickening, hands gripping, Y/N felt that she was going to explode. Then his thumb began playing at her clit.

“Ah...Bucky...I....” she moaned and he stopped. She groaned when he removed his fingers and stuck them in his mouth. Licking plump lips, he smiled deviously at her,

“Delicious,” he whispered. Leaning his forehead against hers he gently placed his hands on her hips. Guiding her onto himself, slowly, allowing her to get used to the feeling. Y/N felt tears on her cheeks, she felt full but also a dull burning pain. He kissed her cheeks, licking the tears away. And he was fully inside. He groaned at the feeling, burying his face within her neck.

They stayed like this for a moment before y/n felt a surge of confidence and, as Nat told her, started to rock forward. Bucky moaned against her neck, bringing his flesh hand to grab her ass while his metal tangled within her hair. Y/N quickened her pace, enjoying all the noises she heard from him.

Gripping y/ns hair tightly, he started to rut up into her, creating a rhythm. Y/N bit back a moan. He trailed his lips up to her ear,

“No doll, don’t hold those back, let me hear you.” As he said that, he hit a certain spot and Y/N saw white, moaning loudly. Such a promiscuous sound, she felt embarrassed, but as he continued at that angle, she forgot all embarrassment.

The feeling started in her stomach and started to grow. Her breath quickened and her heart started pounding again.

“Please, please, please” she moaned over and over again. “Buc...James...I, shit, I...”

“I got you doll, just let go. Cum for me.” And she did. He felt it on his legs and smelt it. God she smelled good. He continued his pace, going quicker now, chasing his own release. He pressed hard into her as he groaned her name against her shoulder, biting down on her clavicle.

Y/N leaned her forehead against his, eyes hazy. His blue orbs looked back at her and he chastely kissed her swollen lips.

“That...that was better than I imagined.” She whispered finally. Bucky chuckled,

“Oh so you’ve imagined riding me y/n?” She knew he was teasing her but she still blushed crimson. “You’ll have to tell me what else you’ve imagined and you’ll have to tell me which is better.” Oh she definitely knew now, which was better, but she couldn’t deny that she was excited to feel him inside again.

[remakethestars]

Being Batman’s Daughter Would Include:

Headcanons.

❝Listen, Robin. At their core, people are cowardly and self-serving. Trust no one until you know them. And even then, never completely.❞

— Bruce Wayne, “The Lesson Plan”

TRIGGER WARNING: Plant murder. Mentions of drugs/tranqs (stopping dealers), violence/physical harm, broken bones (knee cap), limb dislocation (shoulder), (Jason’s) death, smoke, waterboarding/drowning?

Headcanon masterlist.

You know how every teenager has that paradigm shift because as much as they love the people around them, they’ll never know the inner workings of your psyche? And they realize they’ll never truly be known? And it makes them feel really lonely?

Yeah, you never come to feel like that because you know Bruce digs so far into everyone around him he probably knows you better than you do.

Honestly, he probably reads your diary. At least, he reads the fake one you hide under your mattress. And the second decoy in the A.C. vent above your dresser.

If you’re as paranoid as Bruce, you probably don’t have a diary, and the aforementioned “decoys” are just to mess with him.

Sun Tzu’s The Art of War was practically your Bible growing up.

You’re torn between giving yourself the tactical advantage of being underestimated & being non-reactive, which — besides giving you the lioness role in the lion–gazelle dynamic — gives you the advantage of having time to think carefully on the repercussions before speaking.

Because, as Sun Tzu said in chapter seven, verse twenty-one, “Ponder and deliberate before you make a move.”

Seeing as Bruce and Damian both have eidetic memories, I’m guessing you do too. 

Which means you totally read the dictionary when you were young and whip our big words nobody’s heard of.

Bruce always assured you it’s okay to be scared. As a matter of fact, like he told Dick (seen in flashbacks in “The Lesson Plan”), he taught you to “Let terror embrace you. The better you know fear, the better you can use it against others.”

And we all know Bruce is the paragon of using fear against people.

Take that, Scarecrow!

(See, I chose that gif because earlier in that move, he displays a fear of bats, & in that scene, he summons them to use as a distraction and walks through them completely unperturbed. No? Okay, I’ll see myself out.)

You started into the vigilante business young, a little bulge under the back of Batman’s cape that made the rest of the Justice League in the meeting think Bruce was host to an alien parasite until your little mask-covered eyes poked up over his shoulder.

The League’s known you since you were young, so they kind of all see you as their niece. That just quadruples the amount of people who are overprotective of you.

Eventually, in your tweens, you think enough’s enough and start out on your own — being underestimated may be an advantage, but it’s getting ridiculous — and you tackle unsolved cases.

You set up various safe houses around the world for your own disposal (using the zeta tubes) and anyone who sees the inside of one in an emergency is always surprised. You don’t really understand why; what serious vigilante doesn’t have secure, state-of-the-art safe locations scattered across the planet?

Sometimes, it gets you into danger, but you always get yourself out of it. If there ever comes a time you can’t, well, you’ve got a direct link to Batman, and if communications fail, you can always yell for your Uncle Clark at the top of your lungs.

If the latter ever comes to fruition, you ask Bruce if he’s disappointed you had to call for back-up or that you called Superman instead of Batman, and he says, “It takes a strong person to admit when they’re weak, [Y/N]; if anything, I’m proud of you. Besides … you’re not the only one who yells for Uncle Clark when they get in over their head.”

Your training entailed hacking and mechanics, so you like to fix computers and sell them on the internet Hugh Jeffreys style. It started out with Macs from the dumpster behind Gotham Academy and turned into a surprising side hustle. Large portions of your profits go into either savings or funding your extracurricular activities. 

You’re using a MacBook that’s running Linux and an iPhone 4 that’s running your own program. 

At some point, your phone falls into the wrong hands, and someone asks why it has such high security. You deadpan and say, “I have three older brothers.” No further explanation required.

One such solo case led you to a ring of drug dealers working in a small town outside of Gotham. You made some tranquillizers and heavy-duty smoke bombs and busted out your shinobi-iri training.

After sliding on a mask covering the bottom half of your face that filtered out smoke, you set all of the bombs off at once in the ventilation system, filling the building and using the infrared in your domino mask to sedate everyone before the cops arrived so no one got hurt (because there would inevitably be a firefight if the cops got involved).

You never go into a situation expecting to go hand-to-hand with someone; you always have a plan to take our your targets quickly an efficiently.

One night, when you’re working on a cold case in Gotham, you stumble across some intel that Poison Ivy’s been stockpiling chemicals and is going to wipe out all human life on Earth.

Luckily for you, Bruce’s paranoia is hereditary; you just happen to carry some white kryptonite in your belt, so you won’t have to go all the way back to the cave to obtain some.

You type out a quick debrief on your wrist computer in case you end up needing to send out an S.O.S., pop on your bottom mask to filter out spores or pheromones she might send in your direction, and bust out your shinobi-iri training again.

Of course, you try the peaceful approach, explaining to Ivy that you agree with her on the tree-hugger front to build rapport (T.B.F., who doesn’t?), but it comes to physical confrontation. You kill every vine that comes your way with a quick punch from your kryptonite ring, toss an expanding polyurethane foam bomb (see Batgirl #38) at her feet, and manage to get an inhibitor collar on her.

Gordon takes her away, and by the next morning, it’s on the news.

“You took down Ivy by yourself?” Bruce asks when you come down for breakfast.

“… Yeah,” you say after a moment, expecting a tongue-lashing.

“Are you hurt?”

“No. She didn’t get a hit in. And before you ask, I had a contingency set up in case things went sideways.”

“… Good job.”

Your dad has the article framed in the batcave, which is the bat-equivalent of having your drawing on the fridge or getting a sticker back on a test.

You’re fighting a grin for the rest of the day.

It bugs you you can’t tell anyone why you’re so happy, so you visit Dick in Blüdhaven while he’s on patrol and give him a play-by-play. You even get a hair-ruffle!

Deathstroke targets you at some point. One of Batman and Nightwing’s worst villains, and he targets you because he knows they love you. You’re the smallest bat at the time, the weakest; he thinks you’ll be the easiest to take.

Boy, was he wrong.

He was trained by the League of Assassins, so you know dropping a smoke bomb’s not going to give you cover (and his mask probably has infrared). His brain processes faster than yours, so tricking him is improbable. He’s probably done enough research on you to know you favor foam bombs and has fast enough reflexes to dodge before they go off.

And he’s jammed your comms so you can’t call for backup. You’re worried he’s got kryptonite on him and will hurt Superman if you call for help.

It’s just you and him.

He has enhanced stamina, so he tries to wear you out. You maintain distance to avoid taking damage and wearing faster.

You always admired Tim for his ability to plan ahead (see, like, the entirety of the Red Robin comics). He doesn’t know how he does it; he just does. He can’t really teach you, so you just watch and learn.

You realize your fight with Slade is just a matter of managing the distance and immobilizing him, so you strike. You duck behind a pillar or grab onto a railing or something and shoot him through the thigh with your grappling gun, reeling him in. He, of course, draws his sword or a knife to cut the line, but you’re already throwing high-density expanding polyurethane bombs.

And, just like that, you’ve single-handedly taken Deathstroke.

It sends a clear message to the rest of the Gotham villains, Blüdhaven’s villains, the League of Assassins — don’t mess with the bat’s little girl. She can hold her own.

Now it’s time for you to come up with another plan to take him down; you doubt the same method will work twice, and you’ve just made a very powerful enemy.

As Wonder Woman’s said, “Do not mistake a desire to avoid violence for an inability to deal with it.” You might go into most situations with a plan to take down your opponent already in motion, but when it comes to an all-out brawl, you’re perfectly capable and don’t pull your punches.

You’re working on an unsolved case in Blüdhaven (Dick’s got enough on his plate) when you get an S.O.S. from the aforementioned along with the feed and recording from his mask. You listen to the mission briefing while you ride back to the cave and then the audio from the Young Justice mission. They got jumped by the League of Shadows in an abandoned factory, and Talia’s trying to coerce Damian into joining the League or whatever.

The usual dropping some smoke bombs and tranqing everyone isn’t going to work on thirty armed League assassins who were trained to fight blind, so you load up on polyurethane foam bombs and call Jason and Cassandra.

The three of you take out the guards outside before splitting up and taking either end of the building (Cass stays with you). You meet in the middle, in the room the team’s being held in.

You highjacked the speakers, so they’re blasting AC/DC’s “Shoot to Thrill” upon Jason’s insistence. You wanted Zayde Wølf or Alice Cooper’s “Hey, Stoopid,” but big brothers will be big brothers.

Jason pops them with rubber bullets from above to slow them down for you while Cass demolishes them and you drop foam bombs, slinging your signature custom shuriken, bonk them over the head with Tim’s staff you picked up along the way, dislocate their arms, or shatter their kneecaps. 

You and Jason get a couple slices from swords that got a little too close, but it’s nothing compared to what you’ve had before. 

When the fighting’s done and the building’s quiet, the team’s, like, “Who the heck are you guys?” 

And Dick’s, like, 😏 “They’re our siblings.” 

Speaking of siblings, you’re older than Damian, and as such, you take upon yourself the honor of teaching him all things pop-culture.

“I have a lot of amazing older siblings. I want to be a good big sister.”

First things first, you give him one of your refurbished e-waste phones and take him to Target to pick out an OtterBox or a LifeProof case or something that’ll keep it safe in the pocket of a vigilante.

Vigilantes are always coming to you when their phone’s broken anyway; you’ve got a stack of spares you’ve repaired.

Then you help him set up a Spotify account (follow me at @remakethestars 😉) and try to help him find his rhythm.

Poor child’s never had Oreos before, so you drag a pack of Double Stuffs out of the cabinet and a glass of milk and show him the best milk-dunking method you know.

You think about handing him a cookie and telling him to waterboard it until the bubbles stop coming up, but cookie-dunking is something every kid does; it’s sacred, and you don’t want him to associate it with violence.

You show him how you and Alfred feed the bats in the batcave.

And you show him Vine compilations and your favorite shows and movies and as many classics as you can, and you put up with him pointing out the inaccuracies and calling them stupid.

Every time he doesn’t get a reference, you write it down so you know what to show him later.

If anything ever happens to you, Damian finds your list and makes it his personal mission to watch/read everything on it. It makes him feel close to you.

You build a relationship with him that’s similar to his and Dick’s, and he comes to you with things he might not be able to come to anyone else with.

Plus, since you live in the manor still and he doesn’t want Bruce to think less of him, it’s you he comes to after a nightmare.

If you know Alfred has pictures of him curled up in your side, you ask him to send them to you. Not for blackmail purposes; just to have.

You’d never use the need of comfort or the sharing of emotions against him because (A) it’s perpetuating toxic masculinity and (B) you don’t want him to think it’s wrong or confirm any of the stupid “strength” things the League of Shadows taught him.

You gave him a stuffed cat that looks like Alfred (the cat, not the butler) with some of your perfume spritzed on it. He verbalized his revulsion when you gave it to him, but on nights he has a bad dream and you’re not home, it brings him comfort.

Titus comes to get you when Damian’s upset. 

Even when he’s not with Damian, he seems to know. Pets are like that.

You’ve learned to trust Titus’s instincts. Damian thinks it’s suspicious when he’s feeling down and you just happen to call.

You never realized it until a long time later, but Ace was acting weird the day Jason came back from the dead.

And he was acting weird the day Jason came back to Gotham too. He ran to the door and began barking. Alfred swept security, but nothing seemed to be off. The whole family was on edge that day.

You were the reason Jason knew he wasn’t completely forgotten; he spotted you through a café window, and you were wearing his jacket.

Visit my headcanon masterlist.

[shurisneakers]

shut in [9]

Summary: When your high profile mission goes terribly wrong, you’re forced to hide in a safehouse with a man you’ve never met before. With seemingly nowhere else to go, you’re forced to work together to figure out who is trying to have you assassinated before it’s too late. (Sam Wilson x Reader, Hitman AU)

Warnings: cursing, anxiety, ptsd, shooting

Word count: 2.8k

A/N: ok ok ok ok sam deserves the world and im mad that he’s not getting it

i also appreciate feedback so if you would like to, please consider dropping me an ask or comment ly guys!!

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

Previous Part || Shut In Masterlist

He was gone.

10:00am

Time had begun to slip past you. Days where you were forced to wake up at 4am were just a dreary memory you didn’t want to revisit. The rough shoves in the morning to have you awake enough to be in training by 4:30am only fell into the category of things you had forgotten over the time you had stayed here.

Maybe sleep wasn’t a luxury you weren’t allowed to afford.

10:30am

By the time you step into the kitchen, the loose structure of the day you had ahead of you was forming. Maybe if you revisited the small makeshift shooting range you had set up for Sam and you to practice. A couple of old soup cans, a flat boulder for them to sit on and you were good to go. He had allowed you to use his giant board for knife throwing too, laughed when you asked for permission before saying it was for the both of you. 

You made a sandwich for yourself, forcing it down your throat with water. Bread was starting to feel like cardboard and the jam just tasted like nothing. Peanut butter was even worse.

Losing appetite wasn’t an option, even though it had eroded a while ago. The best option was to just scarf it down with water. 

11:00am

Sam isn’t in the house, you had deduced. A morning run or maybe just some fresh air.

You checked for the notes he sometimes left for you when he went out. Something along the lines of when he’d be back, or why he’d left, or where you could find him. 

You looked on top of the fridge where he generally left them; someplace he knew you’d see. You didn’t find one.

You shrugged it off. 

Something felt wrong about the arrangement of the kitchen but you couldn’t place a finger on what it was. All the chairs were in its place, trash appropriately in the bin, no bowls were left from soup day in the sink to wash. 

The origami swan you had made still rested next to his paper airplane. Nothing seemed wrong or out of place. 

You pushed yourself to shake off the nerves, to get dressed instead. The shooting range was waiting for you.

12:45pm

When you shoot for thirty and get all thirty, it tends to get a little boring. Not that you were complaining; if even one was off you’d spend the whole day trying to make up for it.

Violent hobbies weren’t ideal. They weren’t even hobbies per se. Just skills you needed to keep sharp if you wanted to survive.

You even shot at the targets that you had hung up on the trees. Dangerous and completely Sam’s idea. Said the wind made them act like moving targets. Nevermind the possibility of a ricochet.

The target board was empty too. Admittedly, knife throwing was a little harder  to get used than shooting to but it still only took a few tries before you were hitting bullseye over and over again.

There just wasn’t anything to do. And you realised it had been this way for a while but you never noticed due to his lively chatter or how competitive it got with stupid games you were making up as you went. 

1:00pm

You learned against the counter as you ate, eyeing the room, trying to figure out what you had misplaced. The air was cold, even more so after the shower, so you threw on an extra t-shirt to aid you.

You made a noise of disapproval when you couldn’t find what was wrong. A quick wash of your hands before you made your way to the TV, fully intending to doze off while watching Megamind for the fourth time. 

You passed by the mini fridge on the way, noting how you needed to restock the ice cubes when you suddenly stopped in your path.

Your eyes peeled back to the small paper bowl Sam had crafted expertly that was still somehow managing to stick together. But that was what was wrong.

The keys were missing.

The fucking car keys and the pocket change you had taken from Pierce’s house were no longer there. 

Your body moved on autopilot, dragging you towards the front door. You yanked it open, door creaking under the pressure you applied on it.

Your heart sank. 

The car was gone.

1:20pm

You had all the possibilities listed out in front of you with the rest scratched out after you had rationalised it.

Someone had come in and taken the car, which wasn’t likely. 

Sam had stepped out but hadn’t mentioned it to you. If he did, why would he need the car?

Someone had abducted Sam, which was absurd on paper but still left a twinge of uncertainty because you couldn’t definitively rule it out. 

He had just left. Decided he was done and left. 

You stared at the last option. 

“Fuck,” you cursed.

You could feel his muscle shift as he looked at you. 

“What’s wrong?” 

You opened your mouth but shut it again. How do you explain it to him without sounding utterly ridiculous?

You wondered if it was that conversation. 

He wouldn’t leave after you told him, would he?

You hesitated before shaking your head.

He’d come back. He would.

1:45pm 

You had added a few more possibilities to the list but discarded it almost immediately.

You now found a place in front of the TV, watching but not registering what was said. Your fingers kept itself busy by playing with the hem of your shirt. You had thrown another one on since his jacket was missing with the rest of him. It had gotten colder.

The woman droned on about how much her husband loved the recipe she was making. It was Sam’s favourite segment, not because it was particularly fantastic or anything, but because it gave him forty five minutes of free content to trash talk.

Your eyes kept glancing up at the clock. Was it broken or was time much slower than you initially thought?

You almost felt like you were in a cognitive dysfunction; you couldn’t do anything other than while away time till you figured out what had gone wrong. 

2:00pm

If you weren’t paying attention, you wouldn’t have heard the soft crunch of twigs. The whirring of the wheels as it turned gently only made you sit up straight, hands on the gun that rested on the couch beside you.

It came to a stop. The gun was fully in your grip now, TV turned off to determine what the noises were.

It was the most agonisingly slow minute you spent listening as the car opened and shut, muffled by the distance. You were near the door, using the adjoining wall as a hideaway. 

The doorknob shook as someone tried to push their way in. 

“Sam?” you called out cautiously against your better judgement, mentally cringing. 

It took a second for his reply to return. 

“Hey, sweetheart. Let me in, will you? Stupid door’s not opening.”

Of course it wouldn’t. It was fingerprint activated.

Relief flooded your system, letting yourself hold the gun with only one hand as you hastily made your way to open the door.

However, you paused. As much as you wanted to fling the door open blindly, you waited, hand on the knob.

“Is someone out there with you?”

“What?” he sounded confused. “No, it’s just me.”

You opened the door slightly, peeking out through the sliver of open space. 

Sure enough, it was only him. The car was returned to the same spot that it was.

“Where were you?” You yanked the door open. You sounded way more aggressive than you planned to, you were sure. It didn’t matter though.

“Went to the store,” he said nonchalantly, stepping inside, and dropping the keys back where they were.

“What?” 

He was so relaxed about it, like it was nothing. It only irked you further than you already were.

“Drove the car till the highway, walked into town and went to the store.” He set the bag down. “What’d you do all day?”

“You went to the town,” you emphasised. “To the fucking store.”

“Yeah, I figured you would be up by the time I came back.”

“You were gone for hours.” You crossed your arms over your chest, fighting the urge to yell. You could talk it out calmly. You didn’t have to snap

You hoped he had a good reason. You sincerely hoped, for his well being and security, that he risked his life to go to public space.

“We’re way further out than you think. Nearest dollar store’s almost the next fuckin’ state if you’re walking. Had to ditch the car because it’s a little too flashy, even for me.” He lifted up the bag next to him. “Got us some ramen. And juice. That’s all we had cash for anyway.”

You stare at him, mouth slightly agape. 

“You could have been seen, Sam,” your tone was corrosive, the next best you could do instead of yelling. “For all we know, you could have been followed.”

“No one followed me. I made sure.”

That did nothing to alleviate the anxiety that was crawling into your head. 

“You’re ridiculous,” you muttered. “Fucking ridiculous.”

“Where are you going?” You ignored him, turning on your heel and walking to the bedroom. You didn’t care if it was his day that day. He could rot in the kitchen with his stupid ramen for all you cared.

You cursed as you slammed the door behind you, launching yourself onto the bed. 

There was no denying you were relieved that he was still alive and here. But fuck him. Fucking dickhead. 

Fucking juice.

You spent the next couple of hours feeling absolutely embarrassed for yourself. Why did you spend hours worrying if he was safe when he was out there, gallivanting in public for some stupid noodles?

Both of you could have been absolutely fucked if he wasn’t careful. He may have just jeopardised your entire set up.

But deep down, no matter how much it was annoying to acknowledge, you knew he wouldn’t have. He was smart, strategic. 

Why would he do something like this?

How much you were worried scared you. There was no time where it had occurred that maybe you were in danger too. Every possibility you came up with only pushed the thought of him possibly in trouble further into your head. 

But the more you spend time overthinking, the more you realised that him being in danger wasn’t the entire cause of your worry. 

What if he didn’t come back? Why’d he come back? 

He had the means to leave, the will to and clearly was able to go undetected for a while. He didn’t need to return, but he did. 

And for what; to give you some food he bought from the dollar store. 

He seemed excited about it too, before you had closed the door on his face and decided to spend the next few hours self-destructing.

Fucking ramen.

Maybe if you could just lie there until you decomposed, then you wouldn’t have to have a conversation with him about this. That’s what you would have done a couple of months ago. 

But now the idea of communicating had been implanted and implemented several times before. It didn’t feel right to push it away, not when you’d come so far. A chance to heal.

You groaned, shoving a pillow onto your face before getting up grumpily. 

Fuck this man and his stupid, healthy methods of coping. 

___

You opened the door slowly, creeping into the hallway to assess what he was doing. It had been a few hours of silence in the house. He had given you space, not come knocking on the door to explain himself. 

You took note of the kitchen. The table had been laid with two bowls of noodles covered with a plate along with a glass each of juice. It was domestic. Cute.

He was watching Die Hard but the volume was turned down low. If he was anything like you, he wouldn’t have been paying too much attention.

You cleared your throat awkwardly to grab his attention.

His neck craned to look at you, surprise flashing across his face for a second before he leapt up, turning off the TV in an instant.

“Y/N,” he stated as normally as he could.

“Samuel,” your tone was steady. 

He scratched the back of his neck nervously. “Wasn’t sure if you were gonna show up.” 

“Neither was I.” You looked at the table, gesturing towards it with your shoulder. “Watchu got there, Gordon Ramsey?”

Because screw him, but the longer you stood there staring at the bowl, you were starting to understand the lengths he went to to get something other than bread, peanut butter and soup. As much as the prospect of being petty thrilled you, you had survived on nothing but them for the past few weeks.

“Got a few packs of ramen and a gallon of juice from the store. Thought you- we deserve somethin’ nice.” You noticed his quick coverup but didn’t acknowledge it. “It’s not Michelin star worthy, but it’ll do.”

You nodded, avoiding looking at him.

“I-”

“Hey-”

Both of you started at the same time, only to be cut off by the other. You mentioned for him to continue.

“Listen, I’m sorry. I should have told you before I left,” You didn’t expect the sincerity that exuded from every word he let out and you found yourself unable to look away. “I’m not used to people worrying about where I go... but things are different now. I won’t do it again.”

You weren’t used to the feeling of lightness that accompanied an apology. Relief. 

“Thank you,” you said breathily. His face noticeably brightened. “But why’d you come back?”

His small smile left as soon as it came, as his face fell into a frown. “What?”

“You could have just left. You had the car, the-” you stopped yourself from listing out reasons why he should have. “Why’d you come back?”

He looked completely confused. 

“Because I wanted to,” he voiced. “Leaving you behind was never an option. I wouldn’t-”

He trailed off, eyes never leaving yours. 

“You’re stuck with me,” he urged softly. “We’re a team.”

You lingered on him longer than you wanted to admit. He wasn’t lying, you had realised. 

“Care to join me for dinner?” he asked, extending a hand to you.

You rolled your eyes but took it, feeling the heat creep up your neck. He smirked at you and fuck, he was frustratingly cute. 

You understood. You totally understood when you nearly died at the first bite you took, vowing to never take food like this for granted again. It may have been the absolute bare minimum; just the seasoning and noodles he had cooked in the microwave, but it was the best goddamn meal you ever had.

“Good, right?” He looked about as content as he could be. 

“Best fuckin’ day of my life.”

He kidded around some more. You choked out a laugh at some, wholly ignored the others to which he took complete offence. You saw it as a way to humble him.

This was the normalcy you had crushed your craving for so long ago, accepting that it wouldn’t ever happen. A normal dinner with someone who made you smile, no impending doom lurking around the corner and maybe a shot at a glimmer of something happy. 

It was strange that you found it with another hitman in a safe house, hiding from authorities and who knows what else, with food worth a couple of cents. You wouldn’t want it any other way.

Yet there were things that had to be discussed. Conversations that needed to happen.

“Sam, we need to talk about it.” You didn’t have to explain, he knew what you were talking about.

“What’s wrong?” 

“I need to tell you something and I need you to hear me out before saying anything,” you pulled away from him, shuddering at the sudden cold that enveloped you. 

“I’m listening.”

“We do,” he agreed, and you could feel the atmosphere in the room begin to shift. “But we don’t have to do it now.”

He reached across from where he was sitting, hesitantly interlacing your fingers. The sense of fluster you experienced wasn’t healthy, you decided.

You just ducked your head, fighting against the damn smile that was trying to make its way onto your face. You didn’t pull away.

“Okay.”

Next part

[kozumekenza]

house of memories :: seven

:: kageyama tobio x f!reader :: playlist :: masterlist ::

:: taglist: closed :: wc: 1.7k ::

the last you had heard of kageyama tobio, he was following his grandfather’s footsteps and leaving you behind to join the syndicate. a chance meeting throws him back into your life, along with all of the memories.

tw: mafia elements, profanity, kidnapping, gun and knife violence, knives, gunshot and knife wounds

You have never seen Kageyama Tobio cry, but right now, there are tears in his eyes.

The cold steel of the gun makes you whimper. Never in your life have you ever been in a situation like this. Hell, you’ve never even imagined you would be in a situation like this. All you can do is stay still in Hajime’s grip and pray that he won’t pull the trigger. Kageyama is looking back and forth between you and Oikawa, seemingly looking for a way out.

In your heart, you know there isn’t one.

Somebody will die here tonight. Would it be too self-sacrificing to say that you wish it is you? Kageyama would never allow it, but between you and him, he’s the one who is worth more. When you have to put a price on life, his wins.

You watch Kageyama carefully. His right hand is slowly drifting towards his back, subtle enough that neither Oikawa nor Hajime have noticed. He must have his gun, right? He’s looking straight at you, his eyes more emotional than you’ve ever seen them. What is his plan here? If he pulls the gun, Hajime will definitely shoot you.

Think, y/n. Think.

Hajime had knocked away the gun you had, but you can’t recall if he took it or left it on the floor. There’s a high chance that he has another sort of weapon on him, maybe a knife or something. With the way he’s caging you, there isn’t an easy way to try to grab for something; your hands are trapped at your sides. Plus, with the gun against your head, you don’t want to risk anything.

Four things happen at once.

Kageyama grabs his gun from the back of his jeans and simultaneously pops the safety off and points it at Oikawa.

Hajime loosens his grip on you and points his gun at Kageyama.

Oikawa shoots at Kageyama, who ducks.

And finally, something solid slides across the floor and hits your foot.

Kageyama’s switchblade.

With Hajime momentarily distracted, Oikawa shooting at Kageyama, and Kageyama ducking and trying to shoot back, you duck down to the floor and reach for the knife, flicking it open and stabbing behind you. You know you’ve met your mark when Hajime’s grip loosens completely and he falls back, clutching his abdomen.

There’s a gunshot, a shout, and Kageyama slumps to the floor.

---

There’s a particular memory you have, of a summer in high school, Kageyama teaching you how to use and care for the switchblade. You were more interested in tricks than any practical uses, but you remember one topic that you thoroughly enjoyed.

Throwing.

The way the knife spins through the air, slicing before it hits the target, mesmerizes you. When you brought it up to Kageyama, you never thought learning would be pragmatic. It was supposed to be a party trick; something you could show off at a darts board at a bar, something you could impress people with if you were drunk enough.

Nevertheless, he taught you, and you picked it up with ease. It was simple, at least for you. Something that required less brain power than studying for a test, something that required a routine that stayed the same every time. The only things that ever changed would be your target, the distance, and the weight of the knife.

Luckily for you, the same knife you had grown up practicing with is the same one that’s currently in your hand.

It’s like second nature to you; like the back of your hand, the curve of Kageyama’s jaw, the distinct smell of the grass in the summer after a heavy rain back home.

Before Kageyama has even hit the ground, the knife is out of your hand, spinning, spinning, spinning towards your target.

You don’t think you made a noise when you threw, but Oikawa must have a sixth sense for this sort of thing, because he turns and locks his wide eyes with yours as the knife arcs through the air and embeds itself deep within his chest.

You don’t have the time to think about whether or not you just committed murder; your only concern now is getting Kageyama and getting the hell out of here. He’s still conscious when you dash over to him, and you scramble out of your t-shirt to press it to the wound. Nearly identical to the one he had stumbled into the penthouse with that night, you worry about him surviving another gunshot wound to the same area.

Carefully, you support his weight and stagger to his Artura. When he’s safely secured in the passenger seat, you dial Miwa and set off towards the penthouse.

---

Miwa meets you in the garage; Kiyoko’s already with her. Kiyoko takes Kageyama upstairs as Miwa pulls you into a hug. You’ve been missing for over twelve hours, it’s now five in the morning, she says. You follow her upstairs where she wrestles you into bed with food and a glass of water. You put up quite the fight; you’re exhausted and could pass out at any moment, but Kageyama is your only concern.

She stays until you’ve finally given up, sleep pulling you under.

---

When you wake again, the sun is setting. You’ve slept the day away. You’re alone in Miwa’s room, and you bolt out of bed. Kageyama must be better by now, surely someone would’ve woken you up if something was wrong. When you reach his room, the door is open. He’s sitting up, Miwa in a chair at his bedside. Tears are falling from your eyes as you cross the short distance, carefully wrapping your arms around him.

“Thank God, you’re alright.”

“I could say the same for you.” His voice is scratchy, but you’ve never been so glad to hear him speak. You hear Miwa push her chair back and leave, pulling the door closed behind her.

You pull away from Kageyama, instead sliding under the covers next to him. “I thought I told you not to do anything stupid.”

He chuckles, a small grin on his face. “Nothing is stupid when it comes to you.”

“You literally walked straight into a gun.”

“To come get you.”

“Not the point.”

He sighs. “Well, it all worked out, didn’t it?”

“I guess.” You bury yourself in his chest, mindful of his injury, before you remember the promise you made to yourself while kidnapped. “Tobio?” Your voice is soft.

“Yes?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, y/n.”

---

Kageyama makes a full recovery, as do you. There are many mental hurdles to tackle as you become more and more immersed in Kageyama’s business, but with Miwa and Kageyama by your side, you feel like you can take on anything. You move out of your apartment and into the penthouse when you graduate with your bachelor’s degree, although you’ve practically been living at the penthouse anyway. It all ends up working out regardless; Hana and Ushijima are engaged and bought a house together.

You get into your medical school of choice and begin working under Kiyoko for the time being. She teaches you things that medical school won’t; things specific to your role in Kageyama’s life.

Kageyama is content for you to remain on the sidelines, simply watching, but you disagree. When you graduate from medical school, you want to share some of Kageyama’s burden; you want to become his partner in everything. He concedes eventually, grumbling something about how “all the women in his life are happy to throw themselves in the way of danger.” You and Miwa laugh; because really, did he expect anything less from you? Kageyama’s only caveat is that you learn how to protect yourself, something you’re happy to oblige. Miwa provides lessons, and you learn quickly. Everything from hand-to-hand combat to how to shoot a gun is covered.

The nostalgia of being with Kageyama makes itself known every day, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

---

“Stop moving.”

“I’m not moving.”

“I’m going to get mascara in your eye if you don’t stop.”

You sigh. “I don’t know why you’re putting it on anyway, I’m just going to cry it off.”

Miwa grins, holding up the tube. “It’s waterproof.”

The door swings open, Hana dashing through. “You look so, so gorgeous, y/n. I’m so happy for you.”

“Thanks, Hana.”

The door opens again, this time Ushijima and Miya Atsumu walk through. Ushijima stops to talk to Hana while Atsumu strides towards you. In the years since the two of you were first introduced, it’s become somewhat of a running joke for Atsumu to flirt with you just to piss off Kageyama.

Miwa steps back to let you look in the mirror and Atsumu steps closer, placing his hands on your shoulders. “Y’know, y/n, it’s not too late to be with me instead.”

You roll your eyes and slap his hands off. “I do have a knife on me.”

He just winks. “Even better.”

After the finishing touches are put in place, the ceremony begins. It’s an elaborate thing; far out of your comfort zone, but something that has to be done for appearances. Kageyama wasn’t too pleased about the extravagance either, which is why you two had said your vows in secret weeks ago, with only Miwa as witness.

He’s grinning and crying when you meet him at the altar. “Hello, wife.”

“Hello, husband.”

The ceremony is long and you’re relieved when it’s finally over. The relief doesn’t last for long though because you’re quickly shuffled to the reception, another over-the-top event with too many people. At the earliest chance, you tug Kageyama by his suit-clad arm and into the hallway.

You groan when you’re finally alone. “Why did we have to do all this, again?”

He shrugs. “Not sure. I need a drink. Or something.”

Grinning, you lift a flask from where you’d hid it under your large dress. “Something like this?”

“Perfect.”

After you’ve both drained the flask of its contents, you sigh. “Can we just leave?”

“I don’t see why not. It’s our wedding anyway.”

“Great, let’s go.”

Later, when you’re both exhausted and cuddled up beneath the sheets, you lean in and press a kiss to Kageyama’s cheek.

“I love you, Tobio.”

“And I love you, y/n.”

taglist: @lilith412426​ @itoshibaby​ @wallywaffle​ @princess-sunshyn​ @zukoslosthishonor​ @fatal-impact​ @kageyamakock​ 

[yandearest]

May The Odds Be Ever in Your Favor (Hoseok x Reader Hunger Games AU) Chapter 3: The Assessment

Summary - Living in District 4 you never thought you would have to worry about being selected for the Hunger Games. With a training centre right near the dock of the houseboat you lived and fished from, your district was known for volunteers who trained their whole lives for a shot at glory and riches. But at age 18, your name is called and no girls volunteer to take your place. Your devastation is answered when Kim Namjoon volunteers for the males shortly after. Tall, muscular, highly intelligent and charming, the years of diligent preparation have bestowed Namjoon with the expectation of being the next District 4 champion after Finnick Odair last won 3 years ago.

Fishing for a living has granted you skills with a knife but, as your mentor Finnick is quick to describe, your beautiful face may well be your best asset.

Upon arrival in the Capitol you are quickly faced with the reality that Namjoon may not even be the biggest danger inside the Arena. Especially when you capture the obsessive attention of District 2′s own volunteer, and killing machine, Jung Hoseok. Hope soon fades from ‘survival’ to ‘the mercy of a painless death’ but Hoseok certainly has other plans.

Pairing - Hoseok x (fem)Reader

Genre - thriller, angst, yandere

Word Count 7K

Warnings - [in later chapters] major character death, graphic depictions of violence, swearing, obsession, dubcon-smut (smut will be marked so reading is optional), gore, unrealistically beautiful oc because I’m a sucker for that shitty trope and want to live vicariously through my writing (sue me)

The following is a dark fic featuring a yandere character, violence, obsession, and coercion. By no means does writing about this in a fictional setting condone any of those behaviours, much like Stephen King writing horror doesn’t mean he approves of psychotic killers in reality. Please avoid reading if any of these warnings makes you uncomfortable.

Previous Chapter: 1, 2

Cross posted on A03 so people can subscribe for updates/notifications

Throughout the course of your life you had found that the more you dreaded something, the faster it arrived. As you sat in the waiting room, waiting for the call to go into the training center alone for your final assessment, you couldn’t help but think of just how fast the training process had gone by, and that in less than twenty-four hours you would be inside the dreaded arena.

During your knot tying session after your incident the on the first day, you had formed a slight friendship with Krystal, who had asked if everything was okay. You had lied, saying you were fine, too afraid of telling her the truth after Namjoon had just blown up on you, and she simply had nodded in acceptance. But you could tell she didn’t buy that answer from the way she seemed to treat you with a little extra kindness. You stuck to her like glue for the rest of the training period, refusing to separate within the career pack without Krystal by your side. It was an odd dependency given she was the smallest of the lot of you, but she had taken to it rather well. She never asked you about it, but immediately went along, making sure you were always by her side during any activity. You could tell Hoseok was furious – constantly shooting glares in Krystal’s direction – but there was nothing he could do without disrupting the whole alliance, and proving that he was indeed the psychopath he had revealed only to you in private.

You had spoken briefly to Finnick about things the night after the incident with Hoseok. As a mentor he wasn’t happy, but his hands were also tied as there was nothing he could do to interfere with another district. He had suggested he could speak to District 2’s mentor to try and get more information on Hoseok’s background but you had immediately shut that down, terrified that it would somehow get back to Hoseok and he would think you were reciprocating his own interest. The idea was also dangerous because it would expose just how threatened you were to their mentor, who could easily use that to their advantage when coming up with game tactics. Finnick had reluctantly agreed not to do anything, but turned the topic of conversation onto your remaining training time. He had suggested a focus on weapons, particularly knives given you already had some experience with them.

“Focus on what you already know,” he had said “Don’t waste time trying to learn new things that others are already experts with. You cannot hope to beat a master with only a few days of training. Hone the skills you already have.”

So that’s largely what you had spent the rest of your training time doing. By her own admission Krystal’s report card had suggested training with a weapon that could compliment her own agility, which worked out well with knives too, so you spent a lot of your time training together. You found out that despite being a District 1 tribute, she was also reaped, and not a volunteer, like yourself. But unlike you she had been trained at an academy, which was standard practice in 1. A far more interesting detail you had learned was she was Yoongi’s younger sister, and he had volunteered after her reaping. You filed that detail away in the back of your mind for future reference, grateful that some sort of partnership already existing in the alliance could potentially lessen the target on yourself later when it came to splitting.

You played off each other, regarding your knowledge of knives. Krystal was far more skilled in close range combat, and she gave you pointers when you trained in sparring using a prop version (made from a material of the same weight, which still caused some bruises, but wouldn’t actually cause stab wounds). She also helped you improve your skills in countering attacks and using a larger opponents’ body weight against them. Looking at Hoseok and Namjoon respectively you were terrified to know her lesson would very much be a life or death skill you needed to learn. In return you talked to her about your experiences with spear fishing and occasionally using a knife instead in shallow waters, passing on what you could about how to throw a knife. It was a skill you had picked up when you much younger, after being taught by your father when you were seven. Your mother had been furious when she found out and immediately banned you from knives until you were old enough to be working on the boat, but your father had still snuck in training sessions whenever the two of you were alone. It was never something you thought you would be using to potentially kill a human, rather than a salmon or tuna. You hadn’t even thought of it then, but it was likely his way of trying to prepare you for if your name was ever drawn from the reaping. Even though it was essentially impossible, a part of you desperately hoped you would survive in order to be able to thank your father in person.

You and Krystal worked well together, you had a natural chemistry, and both of you didn’t feel a need for wasting oxygen with meaningless small talk or chit chat. Your skills both complimented one another and you found yourself learning a lot. It wasn’t much of a bond from merely a couple of days, but you hoped whatever you had worked to build would translate into some sort of partnership in the arena.

The remaining of your training had passed as well as you could have hoped for right up until the final moments of the last day. You and Krystal had taken a bathroom break. Afterwards, when you were about to walk out of the washroom and back into the hallway outside, you could hear familiar voices beyond the door. Frowning, you opened the door just a crack to hear Namjoon talking to Yoongi, Hoseok and Athena.

“Seriously, she thinks you’re in love with her,” Namjoon laughed, clasping his hand on Hoseok’s shoulder. You felt the blood immediately drain from your face and a stone cold chill run throughout your body. You had seen Namjoon and Hoseok getting on better within the last day, but you weren’t expecting Namjoon to be at a level of already throwing you under the bus.

“Really? When did she say that?” you could hear Hoseok ask, although you couldn’t see him from the crack in the doorway.

“First day, back when she was in tears over that pathetic report,” Namjoon replied with a scoff. “Asked her what happened and she went on some crazed rant that you were going to save her. Honestly lost her mind on day one, why the hell we’re supposed to drag her around the arena is beyond me.”

“She’s not that bad, have you seen her throwing the knives with Krystal? Could be useful,” the only female voice had to have been Athena, and you made a mental note to thank her later.

“Please, she’s a baby. Wouldn’t be able to hurt a fly,” Namjoon scoffed. You wanted to storm out and show him how willing you would be to hurt him, but remembering a warning from Finnick held you back, ‘play along and act dumb so they think you trust them and are too stupid to make plans for yourself'. You couldn’t wait for the chance to stab Namjoon in the back at this rate.

“So why are we keeping her around then?” A bored voice you had rarely heard asked. That had to have been Yoongi.

“Her brains may be non-existent, but the empty head that carries her around isn’t too bad to look at. I say we keep her for the sponsors, get us some supplies from her capital fans. Maybe if we can get her to flash those perfect tits she’s covering up we can get extra out of them. Plus, if the arena gets cold I’m sure she can also make herself useful as a bed warmer too.” Your jaw dropped open at the vulgar way your supposed teammate was talking about you. You hadn’t even spoken to Namjoon since the incident on the first day, ignoring him whenever you were in the same living quarters and spending your training time with Krystal. Like hell you would be going anywhere near his ‘bed’ in the arena. Krystal looked equally as disgusted.

“Gross,” Athena deadpanned.

“What? It’s not like what I’m saying isn’t true, and it’s better her than you, right? Beautiful face, hot body, but not the sharpest tool in the shed. Throwing knives from a distance isn’t much of a threat in close combat so we can easily take her out at the end. Hey, Hoseok seeing she acts like you’re going to be her precious Romeo you can be the one to take care of our dear Juliet when the time co-” before you could snap and storm out to attack Namjoon yourself, Hoseok beat you to it. Like a viper, his hand shot out in lightning speed to grasp Namjoon by the throat and slam him into the nearest wall.

“Or how about I take care of you?” he practically purred, springing a jackknife he had somehow slipped into his clothing out and holding it against Namjoon’s throat, until you heard a scuffle of someone trying to pull him off. Yanking the bathroom door open you rushed out into the hallway, Krystal following quickly behind, to see Namjoon leaning against the wall rubbing his throat, as Athena and Yoongi restrained a livid Hoseok.

“What the hell is going on?” Krystal asked, looking between everyone. Even if you had overheard everything, you just stood there next to her, wanting to play up the ignorance they dismissed you as having.

Nobody answered, looking between each other as if waiting for them to be the first to talk. Of all people, it was surprisingly Yoongi to be the one to break the silence.

“Put that thing away,” Yoongi snapped, nodding at Hoseok’s flat knife. “Do you want us to all get beaten to a pulp by the guards before we even get to the arena?” Hoseok complied without any words, smoothly placing the knife back into a hidden pocket in the front of his pants.

“What the hell do we do now?” you asked, staring at the others. “A day before the games and a fight breaks out? How are we meant to work together in there?”

“Nothing changes,” Hoseok spoke. You frowned back, like hell nothing had changed.

“You just pulled a knife on my district partner,” you replied. You weren’t complaining but he didn’t need to know that.

“Nothing changes,” Namjoon repeated to your surprise.

“Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously. We’re men. Men fight. Shit happens but we get it out of our system. Logically we’re still each others best bet in the arena.” Namjoon continued. You had to physically restrain yourself from rolling his eyes at the ‘men’ declaration.

“He’s right,” Hoseok agreed and all you could do was stare dumbly, wondering how the hell the two of them had gone from pulling a knife a second ago, to now suddenly agreeing.

“Like hell I’m leaving you, Athena isn’t leaving me, your district mate isn’t interested in leaving you either, and I assume Krystal has interests in working with you from all that training you’ve done together. Yoongi’s not going to leave his sister, so we’re all stuck together.”

“What if I don’t want to work with any of you?” you challenged.

Namjoon scoffed.

“If you really had the balls to walk away, you would’ve done it on day one. Especially given how I treated you when you were telling the truth.” You glared back at him for blatantly exposing you.

“If you split, you’re the easiest target for all the other tributes.” Hoseok stepped away from Yoongi and Athena to walk towards you. “That’s 18 other people trying to kill you, so you know I’m not going to let that happen. As I just told you, I’m not leaving you.”

You hadn’t heard much from Hoseok since that moment in the hallway on day one. A part of you had managed to convince yourself it was all a stunt, just like Namjoon had said, to psych you out and cause division in your alliance. Hearing him bluntly announce his intentions to the whole alliance, as he came to stand directly before you, caused the delusion to shatter.

“Leave her alone.” You were becoming so entranced by Hoseok’s presence that it took you a moment to process Krystal’s voice as she moved herself closer to you, standing so her shoulder was slightly in front of yours. Your heart momentarily warmed at the gesture before it was doused in the cold ice of your conscious as you remembered his sickening threats from the last time you and Hoseok were alone ‘I don’t care about the others… I’ll slaughter every one of them in cold blood… I’m going to kill them all for you baby and I’ll make you watch so you can see just how far I’ll go for you’

“No Krystal, don’t!” you cried in a panic as you reached out for Krystal and pulled her into a protective hug, putting your body in front of hers before Hoseok. “You don’t understand,” you whispered in a rush to try and explain. “He’s crazy, he said he was going to kill all of you. I tried to tell Namjoon and he didn’t believe me so I was too scared to tell anyone else, because I was scared you’d think I was crazy.”

You were trying not to cry, you couldn’t panic, you couldn’t be weak again like the state they had found you in last time, but it was so fucking hard. Why did you have to be reaped? Why did one of the tributes have to form an obsession with you? Why was your own district mate an asshole who had invalidated you when trying to protect the alliance? All you had wanted was to not be alone in the arena, and now you had a hope of someone you could trust and she was in danger because of you.

“It’s ok, I’m ok,” Krystal whispered back, patting your lower back reassuringly. But a sudden grasp on your waist from behind pulled you away, causing you to lose your hold on Krystal as you slammed backwards into a hard chest with a cry.

“Yoongi take care of your sister unless you want me taking care of her in the arena,” Hoseok’s voice hissed from behind your ears, making your blood run cold.

“No, don’t hurt her, please, please don’t hurt her,” you begged, twisting in Hoseok’s hold but his arms were locked around you tightly. Yoongi didn’t say a word, walking over to Krystal and putting his hand on her shoulder to lead her away. She initially moved to shake him off but you vigorously shook your head and mouthed ‘go’ to get her to leave.

“We’ll see you at the cornucopia tomorrow,” Yoongi turned back to say, before you exhaled in temporary relief as Krystal reluctantly left with her brother.

“Whatever you do with her, I don’t want any part of it. We’re aligned until six and then that’s it,” Athena sneered, drawing your attention over to her as she glared between Namjoon and Hoseok.

“Fine with me,” Hoseok shrugged. Namjoon who was now leaning casually against the wall merely nodded. You could swear you saw a torn look of sympathy from Athena in your direction, but it was gone in a second as she shook her head in disgust and walked off to re-join Krystal and Yoongi.

With Athena gone the tension that hung in the air was so thick it was suffocating. Namjoon continued to rest against the wall, his arms crossed over his wide chest watching as Hoseok still held you by the waist. With Krystal now safe with her brother away from him you realized there was no longer a need to stay compliant in his grip.

“Namjoon, help,” you hissed, trying to move your arms to shove Hoseok off but they were both pinned to your sides by his hold. Hoseok merely chuckled, instead flexing his muscles and causing his grip to tighten.

“No can do little dove,” Namjoon mocked with a pout, moving off from the wall to stand to his full height. “Your boyfriend here’s the one with the knife in his pocket, and I’m unarmed.”

Namjoon raised his hands in mock surrender, his long legs taking lazy steps to walk around the two of you. Hoseok turned, forcing you to turn with him, to avoid his back being left open. Namjoon ignored him, keeping his eyes on you.

“But don’t worry, because in that arena I’ll be armed, and I’ll take really good care of you then.”

“Like hell,” Hoseok scoffed causing Namjoon to laugh.

“Oh, would you look at the time?” Namjoon was now further down the corridor that separated the bathrooms from the training center, where he could see the large clock on the wall.

“Only five minutes left until end of training before they start preparing for our grading. I’ll leave you two alone for now, but don’t expect this generosity again from me in the arena, 2. I trust you won’t harm our little dove until then…”

And with that lingering comment, Namjoon was gone, abandoning you when you needed him.

You felt Hoseok’s arms beginning to loosen, briefly you thought he was going to release you. But instead you found yourself being turned around to face him and backed against the wall. Any thoughts of pushing him off vanished upon feeling the hard metal of the folded pocket knife pushing against your hip as he caged you in.

“What are you doi-” your question was cut off by Hoseok raising his hand to the side of your face and pushing his thumb over your mouth in warning.

For a moment Hoseok was still. He relished the feeling of your plump lips falling silent beneath his thumb, so pliant, like a kiss against his finger. He watched the rise and fall of your chest as you tried to regulate your breathing, inhaling deep breaths in through your nose causing your lungs to expand and your full breasts to push against his chest. Every little detail about you was so soft, so warm and inviting, like you had been designed purely for him. He was absolutely enamored by you and could spend the rest of his life in this exact moment, feeling you against him, but time was not on his side.

“Look at how they all just left you,” he maliciously purred, his eyes narrowing into a focused glare, “you know they’re going to do the same thing in the arena, darling.”

“That’s not true,” you hissed back, “Krystal tried to stay.”

“And yet all it took for her to leave was a simple pocket knife and her brother. And really, when it comes down to it, who do you think she will choose, Her brother or you?”

You tried to swallow the growing lump in your throat and stayed quiet… he’s just trying to psych you out.

“Meet us in the cornucopia tomorrow, you’ll be much safer with us six than left to fend off eighteen others on your own. You’re smart, you have to know they will chase down any career left alone.”

You frowned but nodded, you had already agreed on this, so you didn’t know why he was bringing it up again.

“Good girl, then you know you have to stay with me once we’re all together. Yoongi sees you as a threat to his sister. Your friendship makes her judgment weak so he will take you out if you’re alone with him. And like I just said, do you really want to side with Krystal when she would choose her brother over you at the end anyway? Athena is threatened by you; thinks you’re distracting me from protecting her in the game as part of our district alliance. I don’t blame her for that though, she is right. I would choose you over her. You know I’d choose you over any of them. And then of course there’s your own district partner, who I’m sure you just heard before… would you trust a man who wants to use your body to sell you to fans from the capital for supplies? The one who didn’t believe you when you tried to warn him about me? The one who just walked away and left you to me now?”

An aching wave of hopelessness washed over your body as you slumped back against the wall. If it wasn’t for Hoseok’s arm holding you upright, you would have just let yourself fall to the ground.

“Please stop,” you whispered, the lump in your throat felt like a golf ball choking you inside.

“I can’t, darling,” Hoseok murmured, his fingers over your lips moving to smooth the faint hairs that had come loose from training back behind your ear.

“Not until you understand that you need me in that arena.” His hand came to rest on the side of your cheek, cradling your face in his palm.

“I’ve trained for this my whole life, I’m the only one you can trust to protect you.”

“But how can I trust you? Like you just said you spent your whole life training for these games, training to kill people like me. It’s all hopeless, no matter who I choose.”

“Don’t say that,” He scolded, shaking you by the hold on your waist.

“You saw me pull that knife on Namjoon before, and I didn’t even know you were there. It’s exactly like I told you on the first day of training, I’ll kill anyone who tries to harm you. No one in that arena matters to me, only you. You’re mine.”

“How can you keep saying that!? We don’t even know each other. I don’t understand how you could possibly feel this way about me. It all just sounds like a cruel way for you to take me to the e-”

Hoseok’s mouth silenced your protests, his lips pushing against yours and hands holding you in place. His kiss was searing and dominant, offering no chance for refusal, though as you felt the shivers running down your spine, you didn’t know if you would have been capable if a chance were provided. You had found him physically attractive the moment you had met, and somehow it was like the passion you had seen in his eyes was magnified a hundredfold through his kiss. He was strong and powerful, yet simultaneously gentle. His arm supporting your waist held your body impossibly close to his, whilst the fingertips from his hand on your face were tenderly stroking the skin on your cheek.

Your eyes had unconsciously closed when his face had moved in to meet yours, which only seemed to heighten your other senses. The places where his body made contact with yours were tingling as if flames from a nearby fire were licking against your skin. Everything about Jung Hoseok was warm; his sun kissed skin, copper hair and the heat radiating from his body into yours. You were stunned, and in your frozen state Hoseok moved his lips against your pliant ones to deepen the kiss, the tip of his tongue dancing along the line of your mouth before sliding inside to meet your own tongue and try to coax it to return with his.

What somehow felt like an eternity was in reality a mere few seconds before an announcement echoed through speakers throughout the training center, instructing tributes to cease everything and make your way to a designated area for the mandatory final assessments to shortly begin. Hoseok broke the kiss, leaving you breathless as he whispered upon your lips,

“If you can’t believe my words, then believe that.”

Pressing his lips back to yours quickly once more, he finally pulled back.

“Come on, we have to go.”

You mutely allowed Hoseok to lead you out of the corridor and back into the training center where a Capitol representative with a clipboard was lining everyone up to be taken to the waiting area. There was no talking from anyone as you were all put into your lines and made to follow the representative into a smaller room, whilst the training center was to be rearranged. The waiting room was small and cold with metallic coloring. Black chairs were organized by districts and you were told that one by one you would be brought before the judges to present your chosen skill, where you would then be graded on a score out of twelve. The scores would be announced later in the afternoon, before your final interviews with Caesar Flickerman in the evening.

You wordlessly sat beside Namjoon, not even looking in his direction even though you could occasionally feel him trying to catch your eye. No doubt he would want to dissect your conversation with Hoseok but you had no interest in telling him about anything that had happened. Especially not after how he had treated you the last time you had tried to warn him. Instead you kept your eyes solely on the ground, nervously bouncing your leg as you worried about your upcoming grading.

Everything was happening so fast. It felt like only moments ago when your name had been reaped, since then you had already travelled by train, appeared in the parade and completed your three days of training. You felt sick in your stomach at the thought that the short time that had passed between your reaping and this very moment could possibly be longer than the time you had between now and when you would meet your end in the arena. You immediately tried to stamp that thought out, trying to hold back the overwhelming wave of grief threatening to crash over you. You couldn’t let yourself go down without a fight and giving in to the misery would only reduce you to a walking corpse.

“District 1, female.”

The man with the clipboard had returned to the room to officially begin the assessments. You noted how he didn’t even call for Krystal by her name, just a district number and her assigned gender. How cold and clinical, much like the room they were keeping you in. You wondered if reducing tributes to numbers without names made it possible for the man to sleep at night, knowing he was part of a system that sent innocent children to the slaughter every year.

“District 1, male.”

As Yoongi left with the clipboard man you couldn’t help but notice Krystal didn’t come back into the room with him. So you would be allowed to return to the dorm and prepare for the interviews as soon as you were done. You were grateful this would at least mean a few hours’ break from Hoseok, you would just have to lock yourself in your room quickly before Namjoon would finish after you, and try to interrogate you in your living quarters.

“District 2, female.”

No one had spoken since the line up. All too focused on mentally preparing for the assessment. You felt for the younger tributes who had never picked up a weapon before a week ago, now having to present themselves as fighters before a panel with only 3 days of training. Once again you were grateful for your father for his insistence on training you with a knife, which at least gave you somewhat of a starting point to work with.

“District 2, male.”

You kept your head down and eyes on the floor, watching as two pairs of shoes walked directly past you on their way out of the room.

“No kiss good luck?” Namjoon snickered next to you, deliberately keeping his voice quiet enough that only you could hear him.

You ignored him.

“What’s the matter, trouble in paradise?” he mocked again.

You continued to ignore him, making sure your eyes were pointed on the exact same spot you had been staring at on the ground since you had sat down. Your knee continued to bounce at the exact same pace. You didn’t want to give him a single flinch, not even a minute sign of a reaction, given that was exactly what he was trying to get. You wondered what he was trying to achieve by riling you up. Did he want you to snap back at him and get in trouble? There had been no specific instruction not to talk, the weight of the occasion had instead resulted in the silence, so you doubted it. Most probably, he wanted to get in your head and psych you out before your assessment, likely trying to lower your score. Internally you scoffed, it’s not like you were a major threat to him anyway. You both knew you weren’t a trained career like he was. He was already going to outscore you anyway.

“District 3, female.”

Namjoon had gone from dictating your alliance, to spitting in the face of your concerns, to now mocking you. You wondered if he would’ve treated an actual trained career better if someone had volunteered for the females of 4. Perhaps it was to do with his ego that Hoseok had singled you out and wanted to work with you, even though he was clearly the more powerful tribute between you. He had taken it as a threat. A threat to his chances if you did side with Hoseok given Hoseok and Namjoon were on near equal footing, and the thought you had chosen Hoseok could have been seen as some act of betrayal. Never mind the fact you had done everything you could to try and avoid Hoseok, including telling Namjoon himself and asking for his help. Was he really that stupid enough to be mad you didn’t continue to beg him after his rejection?

“District 3, male.”

You supposed if he hypothetically succeeded and did psych you out into getting a terrible score it would be his own way of re-establishing himself as the desired tribute from 4. A reminder over your head that you weren’t a real career, and being brought into their alliance was an act of charity. A mercy killing to grace you with their presence before taking you out later in the game as an easy option. You longed to prove him wrong. Not just him but Hoseok also, the both of them for thinking you were pathetic and in need of their protection. His mockery and attempted sabotage was only acting as fuel to your fire.

“District 4, female.”

Your head snapped up to see the clipboard man standing in front of you. Wordlessly you nodded and got to your feet. You ignored the feeling of the eyes from the other tributes in the room staring at you as you had to walk past them to the exit. You were lead back down the same pathway you had taken from the training complex to the waiting room, only this time when you re-entered the training center you were the only person inside. Clipboard man hung back in the corridor and the only other people you could see were the game makers through the window in their viewing room. The center layout had been rearranged, with dummies and targets placed in optimum viewing range from the game makers’ vantage point.

“L/N, F/N, District 4, Female, 18 years of age” a voice crackled through the speakers overhead by means of introduction, as you walked over to the marked spot on the floor you had been instructed to stand.

It was a strange feeling looking up at the pompous judges dressed in their flamboyant outfits with pretentiously fluorescent dyed hair and beards. It was as if they were dressed up for an expensive night on the town and you, and the other twenty-three, were their performers for the evening. It was weirdly easy to put the judges in the back of your mind, despite being able to clearly see the room of around twenty people intently staring at you with interest. The all looked so fictional and outlandish that it was easy to dismiss them as some sort of strange figment of your imagination. They didn’t look like real people, which somehow made it possible for you compartmentalize them as imaginary, and instead focus on the task at hand.

Looking at the assortment of weapons on display, you mostly ignored the large range on offer and went straight for the knives. Running your fingertips along the handles you picked out a hunting knife with a blade that would have been around 8 inches long. There were smaller, thinner, knives specifically made for throwing on offer, however the ones you had practiced with back at home were the larger kind on your boat. Gingerly you bounced the handle in your palm, trying to get a quick feel for the weight. Looking up you examined the range of targets that were on display – some quite close and others much further.

You went for the closest target, that was five meters away, as a warm up.

Thwack

The blade sailed easily through the air landing in the yellow zone, on the first circle outside of the bulls-eye. You shrugged your shoulders and rolled your neck with an exhale, not a bad start and a good way to get the nerves under control.

You retrieved a second knife from weapons trolley and took your aim for the next target that was ten meters away.

Thwack

Another yellow circle, except this time your knife landed in the second circle outside from the bulls-eye. Your pursed your lips with a shake of your head. It was still in a decent range but you were hoping to improve on your last throw rather than getting further from the bulls-eye.

You went back for another knife, choosing another one like the last two you had thrown, and lined up for the fifteen-meter target.

Thwack

Red zone, just outside the yellow. If you were aiming at a person, rather than a circle, that would have been lucky to connect. You let out a sharp exhale with a sigh, you weren’t doing bad – you’d made contact with all three targets so far – but you weren’t establishing yourself as a threat either. Not on the level that you knew the other careers were going to be scoring.

Returning to the weapons rack you found there to be one knife left that was in the same size range as the others you had used so far. You turned the knife over in your hand weighing up your final options. There was a final target twenty meters away, but with the rate you were throwing, you’d highly likely just continue to move further away from the bulls-eye. You could always try to throw on one of the other targets again and work to improve your existing result, but it would be difficult to improve much on the first impression of being ‘good, but not great’. Your last option would be the dummies. The dummies were situated on the opposite side of the targets and provided a more human edge to demonstrations. You had elected to use targets in the hope of showcasing solid aim through a bulls-eye, but that hadn’t exactly worked out. With one knife left you decided to try and showcase something a little more realistic.

The dummies were grey and faceless, just human shapes of rubber, which was a lot different from what you would be facing in real life within the arena. If you couldn’t land a shot on a stationary figure you were practically as good as dead. Not only did you need to prove a score to the judges, but you wanted this for your own confidence. With a frown, you turned and launched your blade ten meters across the room into the head of a dummy with a satisfying Thwack.

You didn’t bother to look up to the balcony and see their whispers and nods of approval, instead walking straight over to the dummy and pulling the knife out from the rubber. You weren’t finished yet; you were going to show them what a fishing district knew how to do best…

Grasping the handle, you plunged the blade into the sternum, deep enough to reach what would be the back bone of a human, and dragged the blade down to the pelvis. Pulling the knife out you made horizontal slashes along the chest and the hip where your line down the body had began and ended. Tossing the knife aside, you reached your hands inside of the dummy, pulling it open.

Granted the physical anatomies between a fish and a human were quite different, but the concept of gutting was quite easy to get across.

x

Once the assessment was over you were lead back to your living quarters. With the pressure subsiding and adrenaline wearing off, you found your hands beginning to tremble. You were thankful to have your water bottle as some sort of distraction, shakily taking sips to try and calm yourself down. By the time you finally arrived back to the dorm you were only able to answer Finnick’s “How did you go?” with a quick “fine” as you hurriedly rushed to your bedroom, not wanting to stick around and see Namjoon again until you absolutely had to.

The assessments were scheduled to run until 4:00pm, with the results being broadcast at 4:30pm, before tributes were due to report at the auditorium at 5:00pm to begin preparing for interviews. You were grateful to be from one of the earlier districts, which left you with more free time between the conclusion of your assessment and your next schedule. Your bedroom contained its own en suite bathroom so the first thing you did upon entering was strip off your clothes and head for the shower.

You spent a long time under the hot running water, sitting on the tiles and letting the shower cover up the sound of your crying. It had become somewhat of a routine for you to return from training and cry under the safety of your showerhead where no one else could see or judge you for it. The emotional toll it took to bury your feelings and avoid crying in the training center, in front of the career pack, in front of the judges, or out of fear every waking moment of your life now was strenuous. The shower was your haven, a place where you could wash away the sweat and grime from your day, and allow some form of pent up release. Today’s shower would be the longest one you had taken since entering the capital.

A knock and Finnicks’ muffled voice through the door told you it was after 4:00pm and the results would be broadcast soon, so you reluctantly turned off the taps and began to dry off. You were told that hair, make up and styling would take place in the auditorium later, so you dressed in the most comfortable clothing that you had been provided with; a cashmere sweater and matching sweatpants. You waited in your room as long as possible, before putting on a pair of slippers and walking out to the lounge room at 4:30pm.

Finnick, Periwinkle and Namjoon were all seated on the sofa facing the giant television, which was currently displaying Caesar Flickerman and a co-host you didn’t recognize behind a desk. Wordlessly you joined them, choosing a spot next to Periwinkle on the lounge, the opposite side of where Namjoon was sitting.

“And now for the moment you’ve all been waiting for, the scores!”

You frowned at how enthusiastic Caesar seemed to be over his job. His mouth was spread into a wide grin, showing off his artificially white teeth, and his emerald green eyes (that had to be contact lenses) were practically glowing with excitement. You all sat in dead silence, if it weren’t for Caesar’s voice reading out District 1 you would have been able to hear a pin drop. The results weren’t surprising to you in the least. Krystal and Yoongi both scored 9s, Athena a 9 too and Hoseok 11. The girl from District 3 who had fallen in front of you on the monkey bars only managed a dismal score, the same as her district number. Her male partner only fared slightly better with a 5.

“District 4, F/N, L/N! Oh, she certainly captured many people’s attention at the parade, but is she as deadly as she is beautiful?”

You rolled your eyes with a scoff.

“You better not do that when he talks to you on stage,” Finnick warned.

You sarcastically put on an overly fake smile and fluttered your eye lashes back at him, until your expression was wiped blank by Caesar’s next words.

“Miss L/N, 10.”

Your jaw dropped as Periwinkle burst into enthusiastic applause, Finnick cocked an eyebrow with an impressed nod and Namjoon let out a low whistle.

“Someone’s been hiding something~,” Namjoon sing-songed as you closed your open mouth and took in a deep breath. You shook your head.

“Just the same knife throwing I’ve been practicing,” you replied.

Technically that was not a lie, just an omission of the gutting part. You wondered what it was about your little stunt that had pleased the judges so much. You were hoping to bump yourself to an 8 or 9 to at least try and blend in with the careers, instead you had somehow managed to establish yourself as a threat amongst them. With how much you had been pushed around so far you were glad to at least have one moment of impact. But now you had to be worried about the extra target being a threat could potentially put on your back.

Namjoon didn’t reply further as Caesar read his name and announced his score of 9.

You blanched. There was no way in hell you were more skilled than Namjoon was with a weapon. You looked over, expecting him to be furious, but he merely sat there with a content expression on his face nodding at the TV.

“Someone’s been hiding something,” you repeated Namjoon’s words back to him.

Namjoon’s only response was a smirk.

You didn’t like the way he looked like he knew far more than what he was sharing.

I'm a bit annoyed because I planned to combine the final training day and interviews into one chapter. But I found it was starting to get too long, as this part was already hitting 7000 words.

Next chapter will be the interviews and fallout from certain things the characters say in them

Chapter after will FINALLY be what everyone here wants (especially me) - the actual Hunger Games in the arena

Sorry to keep dragging it out, my brain hates me.

[chaseatinydream]

pirate king (87) || atz

Hongjoong stares, eyes wide and lips parted. Kill the... kill the sea goddess?

“Kill a god?” Yeosang repeats, so incredulously that his voice wavers. “Did I just hear that right? You want to kill the sea goddess?”

“Do the gods even exist?” Wooyoung mumbles under his breath, trying to put two and two together. The expression on his face is doubtful, suspicious. “That’s it. This voodoo stuff is a bunch of bull. San’s sorcery hands are the most I can deal with.”

His father doesn’t reply, merely staring straight at Hongjoong with his head held high. Eyes unrelenting, burning with determination, he almost feels the urge to take a step back in response. “You’re going to kill the sea goddess. How?”

His father’s hand reaches down in response, beginning to pull something from his belt. At the sight of a metallic gleam, Wooyoung and Yeosang react instantly, the gunner yanking his shotgun from his back to aim it squarely at the man while Yeosang ducks behind him for protection.

“Don’t shoot!” Hongjoong’s voice is harsh, and Wooyoung’s finger stills on the trigger. He’s trembling for reasons he himself doesn’t understand, hands barely able to grip and hold the gun steady. Everything about the man before them throws him off, from how normal he appears to the way he can declare such outrageous things without the slightest change in expression. Does he really believe that he can kill a god?

“Don’t worry. This blade can’t hurt you.” Hongjoong’s father unsheathes the blde at his belt fully to reveal a shining black dagger, the handle curved and carved with elaborately twisting designs reminiscent of surging waves and the ebbing tides. “It’s a sacred relic I tracked down, crafted by witches in the ancient times. I don’t know what their purpose was in making this,” he holds it up, and even in the blinding afternoon sun the black metal seems to swallow the very light that glances off it, “but it’s worked on all mythical creatures I’ve encountered.”

“You’re not,” Wooyoung snarls, teeth practically bared, “getting that anywhere near Chin Hae! What are you, some kind of monster?” The thought of you even being hurt, by that terrifying blade no less, scares him worse than if the blade were to be used on him instead. He won’t let anything happen to you, he can’t-

“Call me all the names you wish.” The commander lifts a shoulder in dismissal, mismatched eyes clear, not wavering in the least. “I knew what I was getting myself into the second I set this plan into motion. And I can assure you,” his gaze narrows as he looks down at the gun in Wooyoung’s hands, “that your weapons will do nothing against me.”

An icy cold sensation trickles down the back of Wooyoung’s nexk, and he finds himself swallowing involuntarily as he tightens his grip on his shotgun. “So what?” He retorts, as harshly as he can muster. “That isn’t going to stop me from trying.”

“Wooyoung.”

Wooyoung’s mouth clamps shut the second Hongjoong speaks, voice hard and eyes lost in thought. Hongjoong can’t help but feel like there’s something that his father has not yet revealed, something that would connect all the dots to reveal his father’s true intentions. Something so large that he just can’t see it yet. He’s still looking at individual stars, but he needs to see the entire constellations to read the night skies, just like his father had taught him to navigate the seas.

“One more thing.” Hongjoong says slowly, fingers curling around the handle of his blade. This question will link everything together, from his father’s intentions to the very reason he’s standing here right now, facing down his own parent with a sword in hand. He thinks he knows the answer already, but he wants to hear it spoken out loud in confirmation. “Tell me. What does any of this have to do with Chin Hae?”

For a moment, there is nothing but the sound of the sea winds sweeping over the sandy beach. His father takes a deep breath, exhales and speaks.

“The being you call Chin Hae...” he says softly, words carried over by the wind, “It is the essence of the sea that people call the sea goddess.”

Wooyoung stills completely, so shocked by the man’s words he can’t seem to move except to utter a single ‘what?’ from his lips. Yeosang, too, seems similarly stunned, eyes wide with surprise. Only Hongjoong swallows at the confirmation from his own father’s mouth, jaw clenched.

“What you call Chin Hae is nothing more than the essence of the sea in a vessel of clay.” His father says calmly, and every word resounds in his ears like a gunshot. “All the memories, every kind word it has said, every warmth and every embrace it has ever shared with you: it is most likely fake. The sea goddess has some sort of agenda in mind, I know it. The gods do not extend compassion to human beings - it simply isn’t their nature.”

You had come to his ship without memories, and they had found out that you were a a living, breathing, walking body of clay. The way all of the people they had encountered in the attempt to discover your identity had spoken of you as if you were something not quite of this world, something special, it all points to what his father is saying: you’re the sea goddess, and the very same one who had saved him all those years ago on the beach his father had marooned him on.

The sea is a cruel mistress, it does not discriminate, he remembers his father telling him that all those years ago. It is unfeeling and merciless, and cares nothing for humans. You must learn to overcome it yourself, son.

Hongjoong remembers the way your eyes had flashed stormy grey last night, the colour of a raging sea ready to pull him under, the knife in your hand an inch from ending his life. What if... but no...

The silence is broken by a snort, before it suddenly turns into full blown laughter. Hongjoong turns to see Wooyoung wiping away the tears at the corners of his eyes, laughing so hard that he can barely keep himself upright if it weren’t for his shotgun supporting him.

“Sea goddess!” Wooyoung wheezes. Hongjoong presses his lips together, and Yeosang inhales slightly. Is their gunner alright in the head? “Chin Hae, a sea goddess?”

Hongjoong’s father does not reply, simply watches as Wooyoung regains his bearings. The gunner shakes his head, determinedly raising his gun once again to point it at his target.

“You thought just telling us that she was a sea goddess was going to be enough to get us to give her up to you?” Wooyoung says sharply, teeth gritted. “Let me tell you something. You’ve never felt the warmth of her hug or the softness of her hand in yours. You’ve never seen the way she cries because she’s worried for you.” Wooyoung’s hands tighten on the gun, shaking near imperceptibly with his anger. “But we have.”

At those words, the air suddenly drops in temperature. Thunder rumbles somewhere off in the distance, lightning faintly crackling overhead, and Hongjoong shivers ever so slightly. Unease begins to pool in his gut, rising with each passing second as the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. What is happening?

“You’re talking about things that you do not understand.” Hongjoong’s father’s voice turns cold, and for the first time in his life, Hongjoong senses anger in his father’s words and his heart plummets in his chest. “Do you know just what the sea is capable of? Have you ever been on board of a ship in the middle of a hurricane as the waves and storm rips your hope to shreds right before your eyes?”

Wooyoung falls silent at his question, unable to say a word. His father presses on, voice growing more and more quiet until there’s another voice speaking with his, distorted and mangled like an echo overlapping with his words. “Have you ever stood at the helm, watching your crew members get swept overboard by waves as you try to steer the ship out of the storm? Look on as their friends scream and cry for them before they too, in the next second, are lost to the sea? If you have, tell me if you think that anything capable of doing that could ever be kind and loving?”

Hongjoong bites his lip so hard he tastes iron in his mouth. The Treasure has had some rough experiences before, and he’s watched a few of his men fall prey to the sea with his own eyes, seen the way the survivors had grieved and mourned and cursed the seas. But still, you weren’t like that. You were different. You had to be-

All of a sudden, his father stumbles back a step, one hand pressed tight to his eye and face drawn in pain. Instinctively, Hongjoong steps forward, concern hanging from the tip of his tongue before he catches himself: his father might not be the villain he had made him out to be, but he certainly is not someone to be trusted just yet.

“Sorry, give me a moment.” His father says slowly, voice strained with pain. “The human body wasn’t meant to contain this sort of power, it’s been getting more and more unstable recently.” He coughs, and an unnatural mixture of both blood and clear water trickles from the corner of his mouth. Hongjoong swallows at the sight - it reminds him far too much of you and your disintegrating body. “I don’t have much time left to find the sea goddess. Hongjoong, please.”

His father is dying too? A weight lodges itself painfully in his belly, one that he didn’t even know was there. Hongjoong had never thought that he would feel sadness or even care about his father after his betrayal, but when being confronted with the thought of the one person he had cared about when he was a child really dying and leaving him forever...

He doesn’t want to admit this feeling.

The thought of it scares him.

He forces it down, gritting his teeth, burying his fingers in the soft red fur of his coat. Remember, he chants to himself desperately. Remember who you’re doing this for.

“Whether you live or die doesn’t matter to me now.” Hongjoong says, with as much harshness as he can muster, and watches raw pain flicker across his father’s face. “You’re not touching my crew. So take your armada with you and get lost before I decide to kill you where you stand.”

His father stares at him for a moment, before he sighs, head bowed forward in disappointment. For a moment, Hongjoong wonders if he might actually listen to his words and relent, but then when his father raises his head once more, Hongjoong is horrified to see both of his father’s eyes have gone dim. Instead of the green shade that perfectly mirrors his, all he sees now is the depths of some terrifying, unknown darkness.

“Then I have no choice but to resolve this my way.” His father’s voice drops to a harsh, low whisper, and in that instant the winds tear through the beach in an instant, so strong that he has to raise his hands to shield his face from the flying sand. The gales stir up the water near the beach, the waves crashing back and forth unnaturally as if moved by some invisible force, and Hongjoong turns to stare in horror at his father. The man who he once loved so much as a child steps forward with merciless eyes, and Hongjoong realises that he can’t move a single step as his father approaches him. “I apologize, Hongjoong. As a captain, I hope you understand.”

Is his father going to kill him? For getting in the way of his plans?

An icy cold feeling washes over his body, and his limbs feel like there are leaden weights holding him down, preventing him from moving. Run! His body’s instinct is to flee before the thing that is walking towards him right now, but his legs won’t seem to obey. His father steps closer and closer, until Hongjoong can feel the pure power radiating off him, and bites down on his lip so hard he tastes blood.

Move, run, lash out, anything!

But his father steps past him, and in that second the immense pressure is lifted off him, Hongjoong collapses to the ground, panting and trembling, while Wooyoung and Yeosang run to him to help him up. Wheezing, Hongjoong grits his teeth and shouts after the man he had once called his father.

“Aren’t you going to kill me?”

His father stills for a moment, almost hesitant, before he speaks once more.

“You may not believe this, Hongjoong.” He says, so quietly that the winds scream over it and the sound of falling rain near drown it out, but Hongjoong knows just exactly what he’s saying. “But I told you earlier, you are my son, whom I love. That, no matter which sides we’re on,” his father turns back to give him one last, final smile. “Is something that will never change. That is why I will never hurt you.”

Suddenly, the waves swirl and surge once again, water from the both the sky and sea clashing in the middle and sending water arcing through the air. Lightning flashing and tears the sky itself in half, the cry of the wind rising to a fevered scream, and Hongjoong feels some part of him deep within his soul twisting at the presence of something it has not felt since that day he was a child.

Just like that day from his memory so many years ago, the sea itself parts, whipping up in massive waves to make way for its only master, and Hongjoong can only stare as a being walks over the surface of the sea even as it writhes and churns beneath its feet.

It’s just like he remembers.

The wind tears his eyepatch away from his face, and his fingers come up to grip his blinded eye tightly as the storms roar overhead. That figure walking out of the storm overlaps with his memory, stained red with blood in his mind, wearing the face of the woman he’s come to know and love over all this time.

It’s you.

“Chin Hae.” The name falls from his lips without thought, and it feels like the first time he’s saying those words all over again, from the very first time he’d named you and taken you in as one of his own. Then he’s scrambling to his feet, trying to reach you while Wooyoung and Yeosang simply stare at you in sheer shock. “Chin Hae! What are you doing? It’s dangerous!”

As if you’ve heard his words somehow over the howling of the gale and storm, you look directly into his eyes - Hongjoong just knows. Then you smile slightly at him, but it’s a sad, resigned smile, and Hongjoong’s heart plunges into his chest.

No. You’re supposed to wait for him. You aren’t supposed to come out to meet him before he returns, in this manner.

“Chin Hae is here.” You say aloud, and the thunder echoes your words like a chant, a prayer. Your eyes burn with unearthly light, and for a moment, Hongjoong almost can’t recognise you at all. “What is it that you want with me, Commander Kim?”

Hongjoong can only watch as his father smiles, stone cold, and raises the dagger to point it straight at your chest.

“Finally, we meet again, sea goddess.”

[falcor-thee-luck-dragon]

What a Time to be Alive - Diego Hargreeves x reader

Chapter 3- The Swedish Job

Summary: After learning of Diego’s wonderful ‘cough cough ‘terrible’ cough cough’ plan to stop the assassination of JFK. And figuring out Sir Reginald is in the recovered footage, you, Diego, and Five went out to find him. Ending the night with Diego getting shanked by his own father. Now here you are in the aftermath trying to convince Diego, he needs to rest.

Tagged: @white-wolf-buckaroo @la-vie-en-amour1 @fandomoverlord221 If you want tagged just hit me up.

This is like 55% smut ngl.⚔️

To make a long story short, you didn’t end up talking it out with Sir Reginald Hargreeves, or find anything worth dying for either. No hidden notes or files were to be found. And all that you took away from this fun little adventure. A bleeding Diego, and a cranky old man in a 13-year-olds body who also happened to get scratched by an aggressive monkey. Who turned out to be baby Pogo, things have been weirder. So you took it in stride, and hauled Diego’s ass to Elliot’s house, while Five drove, you keeping pressure on the wound the whole time.

——

Getting some medical supplies ready, you glance at an unconscious Diego, who’s sleeping soundly on the couch. Shirt off and looking as handsome as ever, contrary to the bloody bandaid covering his injury that you applied earlier. So far he was doing fine, and that’s all you needed to know. You cursed yourself for not stepping up in time to prevent this little mishap. But how could you have known Diego would get stabbed? All that mattered was that he’s alive and not dead. Ben wouldn’t want anyone else hanging around Klaus most likely anyways. He deals with enough nonsense already, you assume.

While holding the steel medical instruments, one in each hand, you carefully position yourself next to Diego. Slowly bringing the utensils closer to his damaged skin, preparing to cauterize the bloody cut. A second later you make contact, hearing a gross sizzling sound and smelling the burning of human flesh. Disgusting. Instantly Diego’s eyes shoot open, gasping at the hot pain your causing him. Being dramatic and starting to get louder, sounding like drums in your ears. Not helping whatsoever.

“Would you quite yelling I’ve never done this before” You tell him honestly while concentrating on the task at hand.

“What happened?” Diego asks you, confused as to how he got here.

“I saved you...again.” You reply bluntly, still working on his wound.

“Did you even listen to the plans?” He mumbles sassily.

“Your plans were stupid and it was entertaining watching you get your ass kicked by your own dad, if I might add.” You reply while finally looking up at him.

Suddenly he goes wide eyed again, lifting his head up to better access the situation. “Where are my clothes Y/N?! The hell happened to my clothes?” He says distressed, trying to get up.

Frustrated with his lack of listening skills you push the cauterizing tool closer into his skin, listening to the sizzle once again. Diego looks down at the damage as he yells out loudly in agony, then abruptly laying down with a groan in defeat. Falling unconscious from the large influx of pain, and conveniently not moving again either. Good.

Focusing back on the task of playing doctor, Five sighs, walking into the room. “Oh. He isn’t dead.”

“Disappointed.” Lila asks, trailing in after him from some hidden corner.

“Oh, to see you? Always.” He jabs back.

“So much hostility in such a tiny package. How are you two friends?” She asks, glancing at you unamused by Five’s rudeness.

“He’s an added bonus for dating Diego.” You vaguely explain, smiling to yourself as she nods and focuses her attention back to Five.

“Did you cut yourself shaving? I could tech you to shave like a big boy.” Quips Lila bluntly.

Snorting in amusement at her banter with Five, you look over to him. Who’s holding up a cotton pad over his scratch marks. “No, just ran into an old family friend.” He says tiredly with a sigh.

Looking briefly behind him, he points to Elliot who’s still tied to the dentist chair, unable to properly speak. “Neither of you untied him?” He asks.

“I was preoccupied.” You shrug.

“I wasn’t told otherwise.” Lila says, while sitting down and reclining in a chair.

——

While you’re throwing one of Diego’s knives into the nearby wall for some pastime target practice. An annoying alarm begins to sound throughout the room, “Hey, we got one. Hey, one of those machines you asked for his going crazy.” Announces Elliot from across the room in his swivel chair. Five speeding past you to see what the commotions about.

“Which one?” He asks quickly.

“It’s the, uh, atmosphere radar.”

“Good.” Five adds.

“I don’t get it. What are they tracking? A hurricane? A storm front?” Elliot wonders, confused as to what his radar system is showing them.

“Sound waves.” They say collectively in realization.

Five starts to back away, you knowing exactly what he’s about to do. A flash and he’s gone.

“Wow. What...Hey, where are you going?” Inquires Elliot, not used to Five’s way of handling things. Which is usually alone.

Giving him a shrug you turn back around to throw another knife, hitting the bullseye with a thud, and splintering the wood in the process. “I wonder if he’ll actually find Vanya?” You think, pondering the possible whereabouts of the rest of your friends.

——

Halting your arm from throwing another dart, your ears prick, abruptly catching the sound of Diego creaking the bed from the other room. Oh that man is not about to get up, you thought, turning to Lila. “I’m gonna have to forfeit, wolfman apparently thinks he’s okay enough to get up.” You tell her while rolling your eyes, setting your spare darts on the table and turning to find Diego.

Walking into his makeshift room you watch as he painfully stands up from the bed, grimacing and trying to breathe steadily, as not to cause anymore pain for himself.

“So what are your plans now tough guy, by the way Elliot’s made mushy tuna.” You tell him while leaning against the door frame.

“No. It’s a tuna mold.” Replies Elliot while walking away with his tuna mold, half offended.

“Y/N, where’s my shirt?”

“Last I checked you had a stab wound, so if you can all of a sudden miraculously harness my healing powers. Your ass is staying in bed.” You tell him sternly, knowing he’s not gonna listen.

“What, no I can’t, this is all connected to JFK, and my Dad’s right in the middle of it.” He explains while putting pants on. “That’s why he attacked me last night.” Looking to your right you pick up a mop-less wooden stick, and decide to have some fun getting him to shut up. “Cause he knows that I’m actually getting closer to..” he doesn’t have time to finish before you poke him directly into his bandaged bloody wound. Earning a gargled yell from him in the process, he then falls directly onto the bed grunting in pain from your cheap shot.

“Yeah you look like you’re ready to throw hands, why don’t you fight me right now. And if you win I’ll let you go.” You tell him with a shit eating grin plastered onto your smug face.

He looks up at you slightly offended and very much frustrated. “What is wrong with you?” He exclaims from the bed, still in pain.

Throwing your arms up in irritation, you try and reason with his stubbornness. “Just going out on a limb here, but if I remember correctly, you almost got killed last night. Take a day off, D.” You tell him, setting your temporary weapon off to the side. Swiveling back around on one foot, you gracefully jump onto the bed, positioning yourself right next to Diego’s discouraged and mostly naked form.

Propping your left arm up to look down at Diego, he tells you sadly, “I can’t believe I got shanked by my own father.”

“Wild right. What a prick.” You say trying to comfort him with a little humor. “Listen, if it helps any, he didn’t know you were his son when he shanked you.”

“Still, he cheap-shotted me.” He says still looking sadly off into nowhere. “Man to man, that son of a bitch wouldn’t stand a chance.” He tells you with hidden fight in his voice.

Not wanting to fully dampen his withering spirits to much but still wanting to tease him a little. You carelessly caress his skin, trailing up to push on his cut ever so lightly. Pulling forth a pained gasp from Diego, giving him a silent reminder that’s he’s in no shape to fight.

“Why didn’t you stick to the plan?” He asks finally turning to face you. Taking his statement into consideration, you lay down next to him on your back. Staring up at the ceiling, you can feel his eyes on you. “I trust you Diego, just not what’s always going on up in there.” Pointing to your head, referring to Diego’s own problem making skills. Breathing heavily you start, “I know what it’s like to die, it’s lonely and dark. You feel cold and weak, you can’t move, see, hear, or feel anything.”

Sighing you continue, “I remember the first time I died. Have I ever told you about it?”

Looking at you more intensely now he replies in a whisper, “Never.”

You glance at him for a moment before diving right back into your story, trying to make a point as to why he shouldn't be actively putting himself in danger. “I was 5 at the time, my heightened senses and all that other shit came to be before I figured out I was immortal. It was hard not understanding why I could hear so well. Or run in the dark through my house without tripping, unlike my parents, who couldn’t see shit without a flashlight.”

You kept your eyes fixed on the ceiling with a troubled expression crossing your face, letting the memories flood back into your mind. “A fire started late one night, mum had left one of her scented candles burning on a wooden table downstairs. She didn’t mean to leave it there, but the dogs were getting rowdy again, so she had to put them away in their cages. And dad was already in bed snoozing away. I could smell the smoke before I new something was wrong, then I heard my mother screaming and my dad yelling for her to calm down.”

“Shit” Diego whispered.

“The fire had burned so fast through our house, it had gone up the stairs and reached our hallway. Fortunately for my parents, their room was at the end of the hall, so their escape to freedom was easy. But unfortunately for myself, I was trapped, I couldn’t open my windows and the door handle burned to much to touch. I huddled in the corner of my room terrified, and then just like that, my door was gone and the flames shot in.” You tell him with a shaky breath as a lone tear runs down the side of your face and into your hairline.

“What did it feel like?” He asks softly, nervous as to what you’re about to say. Letting you take your time.

“It was excruciating. I’d never felt pain like it before. Sure I’d scraped my knee or walked into the wall a couple times when I was smaller, it happens. But this pain, this was like having boiling water poured over you all while standing on hot coals.”

“Jesus.”

“When the firemen found me, they thought I was a charred corpse. They picked me up and set me down in the grass, and that’s when I woke up. The guy fainted and my mother rushed over to me in hysterics.” You yawned, tired from the emotional roller-coaster you were currently putting yourself through. “After that they realized something was definitely up with me, and 7 years later they decided I was to much to handle and then ‘poof’ I was an unwilling member of the Umbrella Academy. The end.” You finish, turning your head to look directly at Diego, as he sits up on his right elbow turning to fully face you.

“I had no idea. Why haven’t you ever told me before?” He wonders.

Bringing your jaded gaze back to Diego, you go to explain. “It’s not like it’s that fun of a memory. And anyways you never asked.” You mutter, taking in a deep breath, and relaxing again.

“I guess we could stay longer...for a bit. I guess that’s okay.” He murmurs in that gravely voice of his that you’ve missed so much.

Sitting up on your left elbow to meet his dark eyes, faces inches apart, you start to contemplate where this close proximity may lead you. Smoothly hinting at your excitement you tell him while smirking, “I’ve spent one year and 7 months trying to find you, if you don’t kiss me in the next...” you don’t have time to finish before his lips come crashing onto yours for a sweet and hungry embrace.

Pulling away instantly you lightly slap him across the face, making him groan loudly and throw his hands up to his stinging skin. “What the hell, Y/N?! What is wrong with you woman?!” He exclaims muffled by his hands, until he pulls them away to reveal an incredibly confused expression littering his features.

Laughing for a moment, you smile while climbing on top of him, pinning him to the bed between your unmoving legs, “You didn’t let me finish.” You say lovingly, hovering over Diego’s shirtless body.

“Ow. Oh, oh, ow, ow, ow.” Diego suddenly says while flinching in pain at the sudden new pressure of your body weight on his torso.

“Oh, shit. Sorry love.” You tell him smiling as you lean your body onto your legs more, so you’re not completely crushing him.

Mock glaring up at you, Diego breaks out into a huge smile. “Just. Be gentle.” He says kissing you again. “God, you’re the most weirdest and fantastic person I’ve ever met.” He says breathlessly, staring deep into your beaming eyes. Not being able to hold yourself back anymore you lean down attacking his lips in a heated embrace. His hands instantly go to your hips on instinct, like he’s done it a million times before. You both begin exploring each other’s bodies like it was the first time all over again, wanting nothing more then to feel every muscle and curve both of you have to offer.

Breaking his lips away from yours, he quickly goes to tell you something important, as a fake pout falls to your face, “These have to go.” He says, as he reaches for the bottom of your white tank top and begins to pull it up, you helping him speed up the process. Taking your shirt in one hand he throws it, not giving two fucks as to where it could have landed. You also not caring in the slightest, just eager to get things rolling. Next you skillfully unclasp your bra, taking it off and flinging it off to the side. Diego stares at you with a giant grin spread across his face. Reaching out to gently caress the sides of your breasts, his hands slowly trailing up your body to bring you down to kiss him again.

“I guess I won’t be needing these.” You mumble in between kisses. Referring to your pants and underwear, annoyingly concealing the prize jewels. On both of you in fact. Awkwardly struggling to rip your pants off, you lay next to Diego for a brief moment finally getting your jeans and chucking them across the small room. Jumping back into action, you straddle him, hands roaming all over each other once again. As your lips make contact, savoring every second with him for as long as you can.

Moaning in deep satisfaction you take a breath to tell Diego, “As much as I’m digging you in white, these things gotta go.” You explain while kissing his cheek, sneakily reaching down to tug at his tight white underwear that now are concealing a noticeable bulge. “You first mi amor.” He purrs seductively in your ear, you just about die. As gracefully as you can muster, you tear your undergarments off accidentally kneeing Diego in the gut, thankfully not near his stab wound. “Oh shit.” You laugh breathlessly, as Diego grunts in pain but only for a moment, before flipping you over, pinning you to the bed. “I’ll let that slid.” He says smiling at you, kissing you again real quick before he takes off his own underwear. Revealing the true king jewels, you’ve been absolutely dying for, no pun intended.

Diego looks deeply into your eyes, opening up your legs and kissing your inner thigh. Sending shock-waves of pleasure and pure joy throughout your whole being. God it’s been a long fucking time, you thought. As agonizingly slow as ever, Diego gently kisses your stomach. Inching his way up to your mouth with light butterfly kisses that make their way up in between your breasts, then to your collarbone, neck, cheeks, and eventually arriving at your wanting lips. All the while he continues to feverishly feel you up, you not shying away as you do the exact same. In true Diego style, without warning he thrusts into you, making you moan loudly in pleasant surprise. His thrusts are slow and full of passion at first, both of you savoring the moment for as long as you can take. Until it’s not enough for you anymore, you begin bucking your hips into his, trying to get more friction. Diego takes your not-so-subtle hint and obliges by picking up the pace., pounding into you harder, perfectly hitting your sweet spot every time.

 “Ah, fuck.” 

He grunts while pushing you further into the mattress with that muscular heavenly body of his. He sloppily kisses the side of your opened mouth that’s quietly releasing satisfied moans with each new thrust of his cock into your soaking walls. To say that you are on cloud nine would be a severe understatement. It’s been way to damn long since you’ve had a good fuck, and there was no way anyone from the 60′s was getting anything from you while you patiently waited for Diego. The bed shakes as his sweaty body rocks you back and forth into the soft blankets, your hands hold onto his back for support while he continues to fill you up to the max as he pulls in and out of you like a madman. You suddenly let out a shaky gasp when his hard cock hits your sweet spot in the most perfect of ways. He leans his elbows onto the bed as he looks down at your pleased face with a smile, satisfied with his fruitful work at making you get this way, so completely undone, and all because of Diego. You bite your lip as a knot begins to form into your dripping core, you open your eyes to watch as Diego appears to mirror you, he begins to moan loader as he starts pumping even harder into you, teetering on the edge of oblivion, you about to do the same. A couple more deep thrusts from Diego’s angelic body sends you fully over the edge, screaming in ecstasy as your orgasm explodes throughout your entire being. Practically sending sparks of electricity racing through you, your walls tighter around Diego’s cock as you ride out your high. With one more ragged thrust, Diego moans as his own orgasm hits, loudly spilling into you with everything he’s got left to give.

Kissing your sweaty cheek, Diego pulls out of you, flopping on the bed to your right while making it shake for a second. “God I love you, Y/N.” He says tiredly, not sure if it’s from the blood loss or your goddess-like body. Turning to face Diego, you scoot in closer, cuddling him as you rest your head on his shoulder. “I love you too, my hairy wolfman.” You tease him with a laugh. Closing your eyes you start to feel the weight of the past 24 hours hit you like a sack of bricks. Smiling in content and comfort, you reach down to pull the covers over your naked bodies, then throwing your left arm around Diego’s chest, hugging him gently before immediately dozing off. Diego lightly kissing your forehead, falling asleep shortly after.

——

Meanwhile.

“Hey, while those two love birds are busy I’m gonna head out, be back soon. Aight.” Lila tells Elliot, waving at him as she hastily slips out the backdoor, like a thief in the night.

Waving awkwardly back he watches as she leaves, hearing the sound of a projectile hitting the bedroom window. Causing him to jump, and grumpily walk downstairs with his tuna mold in hand.

[zargsnake]

Knightkiller: Anakin and Obi-Wan’s First Adventure

Chapter 11: Revenge

Word Count: 1298 Links: Chapter 1, Table of Contents

*   *   *

His master does stumble. Anakin doesn’t imagine it.

Obi-Wan thinks, This is ludicrous! I killed a Sith Lord. I defeated the Yooro leader in hand-to-hand combat. Am I really so dependent on my lightsaber? Am I really less of a Jedi without it?

Tiango rushes at Obi-Wan with a fiery burst of speed, shoving him down onto the ground.

Yes. I am.

Tiango stabs at Obi-Wan's throat with his knife. Obi-Wan moves his head out of the way. The knife catches in the collar of the padded armor. Obi-Wan chops the knife-wielding arm, detaches the knife, and catches it himself. He turns it around with a flourish and stabs it at Tiango’s throat. Tiango moves away, but Obi-Wan anticipated his action -- the blade lands at a weak point in the shoulder armor, dislodging the joints that keep the plates together. Mandalorian armor is ancient. Their tricks do not change, and Obi-Wan knows them.

The Jedi reaches up and yanks the pauldron and upper-arm plate off the Mandalorian, revealing the area where Tiango’s arm was cut off to make room for the blaster attachment -- a weapon that has thoroughly damaged Obi-Wan's sword, armor, five or so ribs, and several points on his shins. If Obi-Wan had his lightsaber, he could slice the blaster-arm off right here, right now.

But he doesn't. And he can't very well rip Tiango’s blaster-arm off with his bare hands.

Obi-Wan attempts to reach around with the knife, but he has lost the moment of advantage. Tiango swings his arms around and clobbers Obi-Wan on the head, pins him down with his knees, and pulls the knife from his momentarily stunned fingers. The crowd boos and hisses to see their favored champion losing the fight. Tiango looks up and pumps his fist into the air in an attempt to garner support, but the people just boo louder.

“Killing me now would be quite unpopular.”

“I beat you fair and square.”

“Doesn't matter to them. They like me.”

Tiango scowls. “This is for Mandalore, you lying, milk-blooded, coward-loving, spoiled little Republic stooge.”

Tiango leans back and readies his exposed blaster-arm, aiming it directly at Obi-Wan's face. Obi-Wan looks sideways at Tila, but the white brightness of the charging blaster blurs his vision.

I can't die here. I have so much left to do...There is no death. I will be with Anakin in the life beyond this life, behind this life. I will be with him always in the Force. Anakin. My Padawan. Hear me, now, Anakin, listen to me, as it ends.

   *   *   *

Zlinky and Jane don’t know about the dome. They should have snuck in through the gladiator doors to bypass the dome’s field, but instead they take the quickest possible path to Tila: through the audience door. Zlinky and Jane elbow their way to the front, to the closest, most expensive seats in the very first tier, just slightly above the level of the arena.

Zlinky finally sees her master and the ten droids pointing blasters at her. They must be pushed away all at once. It would surely require at least two Jedi working in sync. Before she can come up with a plan, Zlinky is startled by the audience screaming and booing and stamping their feet. She watches the Mandalorian knock the knife and the sword from the human Jedi's hand, pin him down and prepare to shoot him right in the face.

Zlinky screams with all her might to be heard over the din: “MASTERS!!!”

Tila of course recognizes her voice at once, and turns her head to look at the guard standing in the front row, blocking all the richest patrons. Obi-Wan does not recognize the voice, but he recognizes the word. Spurred on by the childish desperation in her voice, he Force-pushes Tiango in a last attempt to survive -- not for his own sake, but for the little girl calling for him. The power is enough to knock Tiango back a foot, and to free Obi-Wan from under his knee, for a moment. Obi-Wan rolls away, but Tiango pounces back, and pins him down again, now with Obi-Wan's face to the floor. Obi-Wan feels the heat of the blaster on his back. The Mandalorian will shoot him in the back, just as Anakin said he would.

Zlinky reaches forward and feels the transparent dome in the way. She hadn't expected that, but there must be a way through. She's bypassed every other door so far. She ignites her master's lightsaber, and one of the blue ones, taking a 50-50 guess that it is the other Master’s. She guesses wrong, but Obi-Wan recognizes the sound of Anakin’s lightsaber just as well as his own. She strikes the dome with the lightsabers, but they bounce off with a clash of sparks.

“No!” she cries in frustration.

   *   *   *

More than a hundred feet above the three other Jedi, sitting in the front of the cheap seats on the upper balcony, Anakin sees his master losing. He has to restrain himself from leaping off the balcony to help him, or to at least be at his side. If not for the dome, he definitely would. Years of podracing have completely vanquished any natural fear of heights in the boy, and months of -- really, really quite fun -- falling-and-catching practice with his master at the Temple have trained Anakin to trust utterly in his Obi-Wan’s ability to catch him, and in the Force to keep him safe, and in his own powers to fall really well.

Anakin sees what looks like lightsaber sparks on one end of the dome. No, no, that's not where to hit the dome to tear it down!

By examining the waves on the dome's surface over several minutes, Anakin has narrowed down its sources of projection to a few weak spots protected by solid durasteel boxes. The key here, the things keeping all of them apart, are those boxes. His acid-blaster could melt the metal walls of his cell. Surely it could destroy a metal box.

He stands and withdraws the acid-blaster from the folds of his cloak.

Recharging: 100 percent.

He aims it at the closest projection-box and fires.

The silent, glowing goop rockets down the stadium, illuminating the crowd as it passes with its eerie, green light, which glows brighter and brighter as it gathers speed. It starts to whistle like a teapot just before it strikes the railing a couple yards from the box -- a near miss. Acid bursts from the striking point in a big, messy bubble. The nearest spectators run and avoid the worst of it, but a large splash ricochets onto Anakin's target, melts through the durasteel, damages the projector, and short-circuits the dome. The transparent bubble flickers white and unweaves into strings and waves and webby tentacles, flashing in the bright arena lights.

The spectacle distracts everyone, both fighters and audience. Tiango looks away from his opponent, up at the writhing remnants of the dome, for a moment. Obi-Wan rolls away again.

Anakin hadn't fully expected to hit his target. But he did. And now he's got a better idea of how to aim with this thing.

Recharging: 50%.

He aims directly at Tiango and fires. The hurtling acid is the first thing from the audience to pass through the destroyed dome. This time, he does not miss.

Tiango’s scream is short as the acid quickly fuses and corrodes his cyborg body. His Mando armor may as well be paper.

Anakin watches Tiango die. His first murder. Then he tosses the acid-blaster to the side, throws off his disguise, and jumps off the balcony.

Chapter 12: Reunion

[itwillbeall-dwight]

trials in error

danny "jed olsen" johnson | the ghost face/felix richter; fluff and angst; canon-typical violence; enemies to fwb to lovers to enemies lmao; 5677 words

a/n: did i finish two fics in the same day? yes i did. i’ve had this done since one in the morning but didn’t want to post it them bc no one would see it by the time it was flushed out of the tag bc tumblr hates fic writers for real actually.

my friend booker is to blame for this. they mentioned this pair to me offhandedly but then i turned around and made this, and basically learned 2 things. 1) writing danny is fun, and 2) i have. a lot of feelings. about them.

while i have a couple of long pieces to finish, requests are still open, so if you liked this and would like smthn written, feel free to shoot me an ask!

likes < reblogs, any comments in the tags are appreciated

ao3 mirror in the reblogs!

Preview: “Tell you what.” He folded his arms over the top of the generator, looking the man in the face as he rested the side of his head against his forearm. “You’re still a noob, and I can’t be having anything fun with that. I’ll give you, hm… 10 seconds to run and hide, phone a friend, you know… not die, but after that, you’re all mine. Sound good?” The blonde remained silent, blinking at him in bewilderment. That was as good of an answer as any. “Alright. 10-” “Ah, wait, but what about-” “-9-” He didn’t say anything after that, dropping the wires in his hands and taking off into a sprint, stumbling as he stood to his full height - and oh boy, was he a tall guy - and turned a corner of old cars. Danny chuckled, standing up to rest his ass against the side of the gen, flipping his knife in his hand as he kept counting down. “8… 7… 6-5-4-3-2-1- ok, here we go.”

Another day, another trial. As the fog cleared from his vision, the Ghostface flipped his small knife in his hand, feeling the silent breeze whistle through the tendrils on his uniform. The Autohaven Wreckers was as sorry of a sight as it always was, but one that he’d grown quite accustomed to use as his playground. From the sight of the old garage, he could almost pick out memories of all the times he’d scared the pants off of the poor survivors, which he took more than enough pleasure in doing. Danny looked around, still absently flipping his knife in his hand as he formulated a plan, taking a brief moment to watch the ever-present moonlight glint off of the freshly cleaned blade before he looked up once more, a slow grin forming behind the mask as the game began.

 Poor Meg thought he was stupid, thinking she’d lost him at a simple enough loop around a pile of tires, all up until he pulled her off of her generator with a cackle (“screw you, creep” she said as she slammed her fists into the back of his shoulder - changed her tune real quick after he slid a hook into hers). Nea didn’t hesitate in giving him the runaround, powering a generator in his face and slamming a locker door into him for good measure. Danny knew the girl would throw a palette at him if she had the chance - she was the most fun to play with. But he soon lost her, so soon after catching her, but it was that detective asshole that ruined their fun, as he’d shone a damn flashlight in his eyes while he had Nea on his shoulder, finally, enough for her to wiggle free and run off again. And by the time his vision had cleared, the both of them had gone. Danny growled - as much as he enjoyed fun, it was only when he was winning was it any good.

 It was while he was stalking around the battered old killer shack looking for the bastard that he saw him for the first time. Blonde hair, broad shoulders, and a fancy suit that just screamed rich, with a touch of “please tear me off or splatter me in blood, both sound great”. A man he didn’t recognize, sat on a generator, eyes darting around as he worked the best he could with shaking hands, clearly on edge about being left on his own to work. Whatever annoyance he had in him melted like hot wax, as he approached, slowly, knowing this guy would be a wonderful victim to mess with. The killer’s fingers curled around the edge of the wall as he watched the man, the way he swallowed and sighed, muttering to himself in reassurance in a tongue that sounded familiar to him, too quiet to tell. The generator got louder and louder, its mechanisms and inner parts in tune as the man worked his magic, almost letting himself smile in triumph as he grabbed another wire.

“Hey there, handsome.”

A voice from behind his neck, raspy and deep, caused him to jump, a spark sending the generator into smoke as he turned, face going white as he pushed his back against the wall.

Oh, he was right. He was going to be fun, all right. Danny chuckled. “Oh, sorry. Did I scare you? Tend to do that. It’s in my… nature.”

The man swallowed, glancing around for any kind of help, seeming to find none as his attention turned back to the killed, speaking in a low, rich voice, though it shook from fear. “Don’t you have… things, to be stabbing?”

“Why, is that an invitation?” He laughed again, leaning up against the generator and crossing one leg over the other. “Nah, I’m just kiddin’. Ain’t it enough to get to know the new neighbours? Haven’t seen you around before, pretty boy. They smuggled you in, huh?”

“I… suppose.”

He hummed, tapping the blade of his knife against the metal of his knife, the clanging making the survivor jump. Oh, bless him - well and truly, it was a mistake for him to get caught up here… but a happy mistake, to be sure. “Got a name?”

“Huh?”

“Like I said, I like to know the neighbours, ya know… real close and personal. A preference. Bit of normalcy. Soooo…”

He remained silent. So he was a little bit smarter than what he’d look like, from the way he was shaking in his rich white boots. Impressive.

“Tell you what.” He folded his arms over the top of the generator, looking the man in the face as he rested the side of his head against his forearm. “You’re still a noob, and I can’t be having anything fun with that. I’ll give you, hm… 10 seconds to run and hide, phone a friend, you know… not die, but after that, you’re all mine. Sound good?”

The blonde remained silent, blinking at him in bewilderment. That was as good of an answer as any. 

“Alright. 10-”

“Ah, wait, but what about-”

“-9-”

He didn’t say anything after that, dropping the wires in his hands and taking off into a sprint, stumbling as he stood to his full height - and oh boy, was he a tall guy - and turned a corner of old cars.

Danny chuckled, standing up to rest his ass against the side of the gen, flipping his knife in his hand as he kept counting down. “8… 7… 6-5-4-3-2-1- ok, here we go.”

 Curious as it was, he lost the blonde beauty soon after he let him go, instead finding Meg oddly open about where she was, spriting right into his vision. Not that he was complaining; a game was a game, and if the runner decided that she wanted to play tag, then who was he to turn her down? Especially when she was so easy to catch… though as soon as she was hooked, flashlight clicking and Swedish profanities in his ear was enough to make him chase after Nea rather than go after his original chase once again… they were painting a target on their back, and for what? To save the new guy’s skin? He wasn’t an idiot. Just surprised that some of them had the compassion.

 Well, they managed to get another generator done, but the two girls were dead, and a soon injured Tapp was surely soon to follow them. A means to an end, it seemed, as his knife plunged into the detective’s side and sent him crashing into the dirt with a grunt of pain, rolling over onto his back with one eye open, the other wincing in pain, the shadow of the killer cast over him in the moonlight as he wiped his blade.

“OK, Detective, we’ll make this real nice and simple.” He crouched down next to the survivor, taking note of how the blood pooled around him as he laid on his back, staring up at him. “Tell me where your new friend is hiding, and I’ll let you live.”

Silence.

“C’mon, it’s not that hard of a choice to make. I’ve heard getting sacrificed is long and painful, like your insides are getting ripped at over and over again until, poof, you’re back again, at that cozy little campfire, only a little bit more traumatised to show for it. Now, you want that to happen to only one of you, or both of you, hm?”

Tapp looked away, seeming to ponder the possibility.

“Self-preservation instincts, Detective. I know you have them.” He tapped his knife into the dirt. Humans were fickle beings, easily swayed when their life was on the line.

The detective sighed, chest shaking from the strain. “Fine. I know where he’s hiding. But I can’t… breathe right, with a knife in my chest, so come a little closer.”

Danny blinked, but surely he didn’t have any more tricks up his sleeve, so he did as he was told, for once in his life, letting his mask get inches away. “Yes?”

A moment of silence, before there was a whisper in reply, backed by the assurance of an idiot who knew he was going to die regardless, as he spat blood pooling in his mouth onto the mask of the ghost almost pressed against his own. “Go fuck yourself.”

He was almost stunned at the bravado, leaning away with a chuckle, though he gritted his teeth through it. “Oh, you’re a funny man. Absolutely hilarious, you know that?” But still, that was as good of an affirmation of choice as he was going to get from someone so stubborn, so Danny grabbed him by the front of his vest and hoisted him up onto his shoulder.

 The screaming echoed as the heavens opened up, the Entity surely pleased with her feast for the evening, but he still wasn’t done… oh no, far from it. There was still one more handsome devil to track down. Danny rolled his neck, grinning at the gentle cracks from the strain, strolling more than hunting, at this point, for the well-kept survivor he didn’t know the name of, but was practically dying to know. He almost skipped up the crane, looking out of the window as Rapunzel did out of her tower window, before chuckling to himself and hoisting himself out. Danny tapped his blade against his hand, almost going to begin whistling if not for the angelic cries coming from the hill just close by. A grin overtook him, as he chased the calls of cherubs from the ground below.

 He slammed that hatch shut with a satisfied sigh, throwing his knife between his hands as he looked around and arched his neck for the doors. Normally the whelps would just give up at this point, but the guy was new, and probably didn’t know what was best for him. Still, the doors were easily within view, so if he made it out of this alive… well, he wouldn’t, so no promise needed to be made. The killer chuckled to himself, finally settling on wrapping his fingers around the handle of his blade, curling one by one, slowly and deliberately for no one in particular, before setting off to take part in the real game that had begun.

 He had no idea how he did it. Perhaps Danny had become too complacent in his work. But that handsome devil slipped past him more than once, enough for him to open up a gate and tiptoe his nice ass into certain safety. The survivor stared at him from inside the gate as he walked past in bewilderment, shaking like a dog in the rain that was just waiting to be gutted, battered old medkit in hand. And while he was stunned, the man swallowed, nodded, and left the trial head high, descending back into the fog as it began to consume the old gas station, leaving Danny to stare into darkness, barely blinking.

 Well, that was interesting, wasn’t it?

—

His name was Felix, he’d learned from the pig in the meat plant, having overheard it while she watched him blow the generator out by accident and got cursed out by the familiar bane-of-their-existence Swede. German, from the way he’d spoken to Danny by the generator in their first encounter, high up on the social ladder from the way he dressed (unless he’d gotten all dressed up just to see him? Funny, that would be, but very unlikely), shaken by the fog and with a disposition not unlike a lost dog. 

 And yet, despite his nerves and cluelessness to the fog, he always seemed to escape him. He didn’t know how he did it, but from finding hatch to evading the hooks, Felix somehow managed to keep him on his toes. Trials were somehow more exciting, knowing there was a challenge, and a chance to catch he who refused to be caught. Danny knew he was going to revel in the moment, when it eventually came - there was no way someone could be better than him, when he was so in his element.

So, after not seeing the man for the entire trial while hunting through the streets of Badham, catching him at the gate seemed like a dream come true. And he was none the wiser, as Danny quickly slammed his hand against the wall next to the lever, making him jump and freeze, pulling his hand away, two bright lights reflecting onto his face. “And so we meet again.”

“S-so we do.” He ran a hand through his hair before it found a place at the back of his neck, quietly taking a few steps back.

“Aht, aht. I wouldn’t run. I’ll just find you again anyways.”

He stopped. 

“...You know, I don’t quite know how you do it. It’s like you’re avoiding me on purpose.”

“That is… the point, is it not?”

“Oh, how rude- people come here to see me, surely. I’m a spectacle; call me a master at my craft.”

Felix chuckled - god, he chuckled, though it was riddled with nerves, but it most certainly happened, and sounded great - fiddling with the cufflinks on the sleeves of his suit jacket as his back straightened a little, as if flicking a switch to go from sorry sight to professional businessman. “Well, I… don’t suppose you’d be willing to show me why?”

He blinked. “Are you… flirting with me?”

“Am I?”

Danny wasn’t sure if the question was rhetorical or not, from the way he stood beside the lever at the gate, leaning a shoulder against the brick and folding his arms across his strong, broad chest (the way his shirt was unbuttoned just so was something Danny now noticed, and couldn’t stop noticing, barely tearing his eyes away to meet his gaze again) with an almost expectant look. “You’re... a weird one.”

“I… suppose so. Anyone normal would have ignored you and already run for their lives.”

The killer chuckled. “You’re not… entirely wrong. But I gotta say, I do like that. Among… other things.”

Though his eyes weren’t visible, it was as if the survivor knew exactly where he was looking, coughing and covering his mouth with the side of his fist. How cute was that?

He almost couldn’t contain himself. But he managed, somehow, not sure where this whole thing was going, but more than ready to go along for the ride. “Say… how far are you willing to ask that question, anyway? You really wanna know that bad, huh?”

Felix swallowed, closing his eyes for a moment before looking up again, with his piercing blue gaze, lips parting just so into a coy little smile. “Let’s find out, shall we?”

Danny had never thought a man of such sophistication was willing to whore himself out for freedom, but sure enough, he himself opened the gate to let the German go, almost sad to see him leave (though it wouldn’t be for long), but very much enjoying the view.

 He paused. He was supposed to catch him and kill him, wasn’t he? Danny frowned, somewhat troubled, but tried to justify it as returning to old habits in Roseville, as he left the gate, and waited for the fog to consume him again, taking a seat just outside the battered old preschool.

—

It was like the attraction of magnets with twice the force as soon as they saw each other, wasting no time as suddenly Felix’s back was slammed into a tree, a loose and cold gloved hand finding its way up his shirt, sending a shiver up his spine for another reason as he felt lips hit his, with a hunger and desperation he was not expecting but certainly didn’t mind reciprocating, as Danny soon found out. And he wasn’t complaining; he was damn good, for a man with the disposition of a 40-year-old virgin, moving his hands to Danny’s wrist and placing his hand on his waist, which again, he did not mind at all, while the other was still halfway up his shirt. Let the man take the lead, at least for now, because it’s the only chance he’ll get to.

 Danny chuckled as a hand moved to grab his ass - quite the eager beaver, wasn’t he? He was practically purring as he pulled away, the survivor trying to follow him before reeling back as he moved to kissing up the side of his neck, listening close to the adorable little whimpers that came out of him as he squirmed in his grip. The killer then went to move his hand out from under Felix’s shirt, finally, casually undoing the buttons of his waistcoat and shirt one by one, taking the time to walk down his chest with his fingers and feel the shaking breaths of anticipation under his fingertips. Oh, the things he wanted to do-

 Distant voices were enough to make the survivor crack open an eye, pausing before he began to push the killer’s head off of his neck.

“Hey, hey,” Danny didn’t appreciate the interruption, moving to look up as Felix looked around, like a startled animal, though he still purred in the crudest fashion. “C’mon, buddy, I was just getting started.”

“Quiet.” His voice was low and commanding, still shaking from adrenaline.

And for whatever reason, Danny complied.

He swallowed, listening to the silence of the wind in the barrens of the fog-covered forest and there was another distant call, which upon hearing he began trying to wiggle out of the killer’s grip. “Off.”

“Why?”

“They’re looking for me-”

“And you don’t wanna be seen with me?” He gave a mock gasp of offence, though the grin that was slowly growing larger still remained on his face.“Oh, honey-”

“That’s exactly it. Move, please.”

That was enough to make Danny chuckle, squeezing his hips that he still held, enough to make him yelp a little. “Still so polite. If you want me to do somethin’, hon, you gotta be a little more, ah... demanding, yeah?”

Felix glared. “Alright. Get off. Now.” His voice had an annoyed growl to it, though his voice still cracked a little out of embarrassment, as he pushed down on Danny’s arms to let himself go.

“There it is.” And so he moved, standing back and sliding his hands into the pockets of his cloak. He watched the architect fiddle with the buttons on his shirt to redo them again, rushing to do so and messing it up a few times, mumbling to himself. “Need help?”

He glared again. 

Danny laughed, observing how he looked like a kicked puppy as he went back to fiddling with his shirt, pulling down his own mask again to hide what little of his face he had revealed. “You know, I think you’d look much better with it off.”

“Shut up.”

“Oh, that’s not what you were saying with your eyes earlier-”

“You were a lot more tolerable when you were quiet.”

“‘Cos I never had a chance to speak, what, with you all over my mouth.” He shrugged as he spoke, as if it was a nonchalant fact, only smiling wider when he heard Felix try to stammer out a flustered reply, to no avail, choosing instead to simply huff and finish off the buttons on his shirt.

“Regardless, this affair is over.”

“Wait, hold on.”

“What?”

The killer moved his hands up to Felix’s neck, watching the man flinch and hold a breath with a soft chuckle, gently undoing a few of the top buttons that he’d redone. “You normally wear it like this.”

He gently touched at his collar, looking down at his fingers and then to the mask starring back at him. “And you’ve noticed?”

“Hard not to.” He shrugged, tugging at the shirt collar and going to fix up the waistcoat too before his hands were slapped away, which he held up in defence with a grin behind his mask. “So when are we doing this again, sunshine?”

The survivor moved away before he could’ve boxed in against the tree again, taking a few steps towards the direction of the campfire and the voices, though not too far as to disengage from the conversation, perhaps a little unsure how to. “You speak like this will be a regular affair.”

“Well, we had fun, ja?” 

“...Are you mocking me?”

“Not mocking, just… appreciating the culture.”

Felix started, smoothing down the arms of his suit jacket with a light scoff of disbelief. “Truly, you’re insufferable.”

“Can't say you didn’t enjoy yourself though, huh, mein Schatz?” He leaned his shoulder against the tree now, folding his arms across his chest, earning him a weak-hearted glare.

“Werde gefickt.”

“Gerne.”

Being outplayed in his own game of native tongues, somehow, Felix conceded, looking down at his cufflinks again. “You’re… not entirely wrong, so ...perhaps a name, so I can find you.”

“Oh, so now you want to know me? What happened to a one-time affair, sugar?” 

“When you’re so easy to please, I would be an idiot not to take advantage.”

Danny laughed, shrugging with no retort (though he was uncertain if hitting this pretty boy like a fish was just as good as getting in his pants… that much was yet to be determined). He soon trailed off, swallowing to himself, a lie escaping him as effortlessly as it had always done. “Jed Olsen.”

“Mr. Olsen…” Felix pondered for a moment. “...Ja, OK.”

—

So they’d been fooling around, yeah. Danny had always said he was willing to try it, should an idiot be brave enough, and if it was someone that wasn’t either Ace or David - he was a man with some standards, even with the blood on his hands - but never had he thought about it getting this far.

 The sun never rose or set, but people slept and woke as time passed, regardless of the light outside, and that was no exception here. If anything, it was the cold chill of Ormond that awoke him from sleep, though he’d grown complacent in it, realising the teens that called this shithole a home would probably evict him if he so much as dared to complain. Danny still grumbled, attempting to pull the scraps of the blanket over himself, but finding it unable to move. Turning over, he now heard the sound of gentle snoring, the body, next to him sometimes shuffling, but remained mostly motionless, aside from the movements of breathing from his chest. His latest fling, almost his newest obsession… god, he still looked perfect, even now, golden locks of hair falling out of form, the lighting of the shitty little cabin not enough to hide that perfect jawline tickled with stubble in all the right places, red marks down his neck and back from an encounter that had lead them right here, in the bed he was practically renting in the corner of the resort.

 They’d gotten a little adventurous, hadn't they? Banter in the trials was one thing, borderline voyeurism in the entity’s forest was another, but here? Letting himself be taken back to the realms to stay, where killers were not technically bound by rules of obedience, with Danny of all killers, a man who loved to bend the rules? Felix Richter was a smart man, that much he knew, but by god was he stupid. Maybe he thought there was a good man still in there, in the Ghostface. Well, that was his mistake; it was almost cute for him to still hold out hope though, regardless of how much disappointment was awaiting him down the road. Danny gently ran fingertips along the sleeping man’s arm, feeling the soft skin underneath his touch, smiling despite himself, only pausing at the gentle stirring he caused, practically freezing with his hand in the air as the architect moved, and slowly opened his eyes, sleepily smiling.

“Good morning.”

“...Hi,” he released a breath he didn’t know he was holding, letting his hand fall into the space between them. “Hardly mornin’, but sure.”

“Close enough.”

“Sure.”

There was a soft, amused hum from the other man, adjusting his position a little to better face him, hair falling out of place just so, like some disheveled Ken doll. “I would ask if you slept well, but-”

“Oh, very well, thanks to you. Really outdid yourself this time; I gotta say, that was almost the most fun I’ve had since I got here… or maybe even before-”

A light shove to his chest made him stop and laugh a little, feeling the slight coldness of metal from a family ring against one pec, and almost wanting the light touch of his hand to remain there, before it hit the mattress with a thump, dangerously close to Danny’s. “You’re a funny one, Mr. Olsen.”

He sat up, resting an elbow on the stained old pillow and holding his cheek with the corresponding hand, raising an eyebrow. “Thought you liked me better when I was quieter?”

Felix stared at him with those perfect eyes of his, and he laughed - like audible silk it was, smooth and defined, with a sleepy smile and everything - adjusting himself with a hand under his pillow. “Sometimes. Sometimes I like to hear you.”

“Glad to hear it. I’ve been told it’s my best quality.”

“Hmm. Is it how you make jokes to deflect, or how you talk out of your ass?”

“...Well, hey now, Princess, ouch-”

As he tried to defend himself, the survivor smirked, somehow braver here than anywhere else (and it wasn’t his persona), quipping back to match him, and as he was talking, Danny paused, watching the way his eyes diverted and how his mouth moved, how he talked with his body and the way he smiled and waiting for a small hum in response, and how Danny liked the way his name sounded coming from his mouth, even if it wasn’t entirely the true one. Almost made him wonder what the real thing would sound like… no, that was too much, right? Couldn’t get attached. He wasn’t attached, was he?

 Couldn’t hurt to wait a little more to think on that, before escorting this pretty little thing back to the campfire.

—

So he was thinking about Felix a lot more than was normal for an obsession of his. What started off as a vengeful curiosity had morphed into something else, something so ugly yet so beautiful, foreign to Danny in recent years, or perhaps his entire life. Was this how high school girls felt, chasing after the jocks for a chance to get them off, and maybe start a high school whirlwind romance? Well, he certainly wasn’t a prepubescent cheerleader, but the survivor that had caught his attention seemed just like the squeaky clean Prince Charming that girls drooled over.

 And he couldn’t have that. Not at all.

 The fog cleared out of his vision slowly, and he opened his eyes, almost rolling them as the field of corn came into view. Coldwind - the rotten fields, it looked like, from the wide expanse of produce hiding his vision. Despite the cards not being in his favour, a game could still be played here, if he played his hand, carefully. And he was planning to. He’d let himself get distracted. But not again.

 Getting back into the routine of the hunt was like sliding into a comfortable sweater, blood shedding with no tear from him. Laurie was always a thrilling chase, her determination being almost cute. Quentin was similar, though the boy with insomnia had a lot less appeal than the virgin final girl, to be sure. David, of course, was David - loud, frustrating to deal with, and incredibly annoying. And… Felix. He knew how he felt about Felix already.

 As well as he tried to play it, this time, the game was not in his favour, and quite quickly generators across the field were powered, with only a few hooks under his belt. Getting to a gate, it was already beginning to open, three of them already filing into the funnel of the exit. But Felix, he was lagging behind, and without thinking, Danny took a swipe...

 ...No one escaped death. Not even the man he may have fallen for.

 As he wiped the blood from his blade with a gloved hand closed around it, he watched the architect grasp at his side and stumble, leaning a shoulder up against a wooden wall for support.

“Go.” He called to the woman in the blue shirt, standing at the gate.

“Felix, we can’t-”

“I said go, Laurie!”

She gritted her teeth and went to ignore him, running back into the cornfield, but a grip and pull on her arm from David stopped her, as much as she tried to fight against it. Quentin was the last to leave, watching the two of them for a moment before he swallowed, and chased after them, a medkit in hand.

 “Alone time, eh? Hon, we’re on a time limit here-”

“Just get it done.”

Danny tried to laugh. But it didn’t… feel right, somehow, even if it was the same as it always had been. As Felix leaned against a wall to support himself and slid down, knees buckling underneath him, he crouched down to meet him. “I dunno… no fun when they don’t squirm, you know?”

“...Jed-”

“Danny.”

He paused. “What?”

“It’s Danny Johnson. My name, I mean. I lied, when we first met. ...Surprise!” Knife still gripped, he tried to do a small jazz hands movement, though it seemed a fall flat. Only hurt more with what came next.

“...I figured as much.”

“Oh yeah? And why’d you set yourself up for failure like that, sunshine?”

“Because… I don’t know. I thought you were like me.”

The killer deflated a little, tilting his head to one side.

“I… maybe, I thought you were playing something up. I always felt… something else, there. Maybe something even you didn’t know about. Under all that ego, Mr Ol- ...Mr. Johnson, there was a man who cared, once.”

He tapped the blade of his knife against the floor. “...Maybe. I dunno.”

“Do you think he’s still in there?”

Danny didn’t reply right away, dragging his blade through the dirt by his feet absentmindedly. He didn’t entirely know, at this point. Normally this would have been the end of their little game - it was over, he had caught him and won - but something was stopping him. The ground shook, reminding him of that first moment where this fascination had started to plague him. “...You’ve done something to me, Felix.”

He hummed, trying to shift where he sat, holding his side where the blood had stained his very nice suit. “Have I?”

“Must have done. Because this isn’t as fun as I thought it would be.”

“That’s the reality of most things, I’m afraid.”

“I hate it.”

The survivor almost laughed, though it was pained and strained, clearly struggling… but was the sliver of it that made it, that small smile on his stupid, perfect face - that was enough, it seemed, to make Danny smile too.

He pulled up his mask entirely, tugging down his hood and fixing his hair with a quick ruffle, feeling the cloth tendrils on his sleeves whip behind him from the movement. The killer took a second to stare at Felix in front of him, before he moved his hand up to his face, watching him flinch. “Hey- relax, baby, I’m not gonna hurt you yet.”

“Yet.”

Danny hummed, cupping his face and wiping away the blood starting to dribble out of his mouth with a finger. “There. You’re a messy little boy, aint’cha?”

A cough, more blood involuntarily spilling out from his mouth now, this time splashing onto his shirt and the front of Danny’s suit. “My apologies. I’ll make sure to bleed less next time you stab me.”

“‘Ppreciate it, babes.”

Though he thought the man would shove him away, he instead seemed to lean into the touch, moving a hand to hold onto Danny’s wrist. “You still smell like cheap cologne.”

“It’s the only thing they sent me here with. ‘Sides, your scent goes away after a while.”

“Gross.”

“The one and only.”

And despite his small smile, of both annoyance and amusement, the third overwhelming emotion behind his eyes was that of sadness. The ground shook around them, but they didn’t seem to care, not until Danny moved his hand away and stood to his feet again, grabbing his knife from the floor and wiping the dirt off of the blade on his thigh.

 “Is this it, then?”

“‘Fraid so.”

“...It was fun.”

“Oh yes, it was.” He looked down at his knife, pressing the tip of the blade against his finger and twisting it, the moonlight and bleeding of the ground catching the light of the metal. “...For what it’s worth? You were close.”

“Close to what?”

“Makin’ me a person. Ya know, not a prick, like… an actual loser, with empathy. Almost had me for a sec, hot stuff.”

“Is that why you’re stopping this? Are you scared?”

Danny swallowed down a reply. He took a moment to look down at Felix, who’s eyes had followed him the entire time, making a small ‘call me’ sign with his free hand and forcing a smirk. “If you ever decide you wanna make a mistake again, you’ll know where to find me.”

“...Goodbye, Danny.”

He walked off into the corn, not wanting to see the way those blue eyes stared at him anymore, only stopping at the pained screaming that followed. The shaking of the ground had stopped now. She had come to feast.

 As he stood in the middle of cornfield, he looked up at the sky of the farm, overcast and grey, tendrils of the Entity reaching down to claim her prize, and fog swirling around him to take him back, to lay in wait, until the next time.

 He was right. His name did sound nice coming out of Felix’s mouth. 

[slashingdisneypasta]

Horror Villains / Misc x Reader || Drabbles

Plot: You accidentally summon Beetlejuice because he convinced you that he could help you with your Slasher problem, but he becomes an even worse problem. So, you need your Slasher to help you exterminate him, instead.

Includes: Chucky / Charles Lee Ray and Freddy Krueger

Warnings: It’s got nasty gremlin man in it (Meaning, gross language, dirty jokes and such), and also Slashers (Meaning, gore, swearing, course and suggestive language). Groping (Himself) 

Notes:

Okay, those of you who were with me at MainstreamBaddies; You remember that post I wrote about some rando killer trying to get the reader, so reader goes to the Slasher that’s also trying to kill them for help?

Well this is basically that but with (Movie) Beetlejuice as the rando.

THERE WAS MEANT TO BE MORE CHARACTERS!! But its late and I wanna slep ^^ Hopefully I’ll do Ghostface and Jason tomorrow! 

~~~

THE START / ‘Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice’

“So… “Worrying my bottom lip, I look from the wall where I can think properly to the small, ‘fun size’ version of ‘Beetlejuice’ who’s looking expectantly at me. Excited even. 

Although I guess that’s a given. If I was that small and had the possibility sitting right in front of me, of growing back to full size, and full power again, I’d be jazzed too. But, still, there’s something very off about this guy, and it isn’t just the fact that he’s the size of maybe 2 thumbs snapped off at the knuckle and taped one on top of the other. He’s very enthusiastic.

In a Gollum-Swamp Monster-Chick Hicks kind of way.

“’So’, what? I don’t have all day baaaaaay – well, I do have all day. I got nowhere to be – not many fun joints for a guy to go to at this size, amiright? Yeah, but, that’s not the point! Do you wanna get rida’ your lil’ problem or not? Eh?” Beetlejuice is practically vibrating, like an alarm clock and I have the most impulsive urge to call his name three times just to stop it.

Luckily, I have impulse control.

“Of course, I do. I… “Eyeing him pointedly, I start wringing my hands. “I just don’t want to create a new problem, in its place.”

He rolls his dark, feral racoon-panda eyes, muttering something lightning quick to himself before throwing out his arms and yelling. “BABE! I promise ya, really, sweetheart. Baby-lemon pie-dumpling-doll-dollar-sugar-tea, I’m just gonna fix your problem! All I want in the world right now is t’ cum-plete our deal! Get rida’ your Slasher, and be on my way! Unless theirs somethin’ else you ask of me, eh? When I’m back to my normal size? You know, I’m big in all the right places sugar tit- “

I took a deep, necessary breath in when he started on the ‘something else’ and now have the required breath to drown out the last words. “Oooookay!! I wont need that.” I say quickly, as a statement. He licks his lips. “But, um… Are you sure you can get rid of them?” ‘Them’. The bane of my existence right now. The co-star in the horror movie of my life. That them.

“Trust me, babe-sickle. It’ll be sinch.” For a moment, he looks absolutely calm. No vibrating, no yelling, no talking really fast. And it hits its intended mark – my assurances. Okay.

“Alright.” I wring my hands one last time, then clap them and step back from the town diorama that Beetlejuice is roaming in. I cross my arms, then drop them to my sides and look around, then finally back at the impatient ghost… who’s doing squats. Good grief, how much energy is in this guy? “Beetlejuice.”

He gasps, jumps up to his feet, nearly falling over because his weight landed wrong and then rubs his hands together. “Here we go!”

“Beetlejuice.”

“Oh. You do it right, babe.”

Oh my god, here we go. Hopefully this can’t make my situation any worse- I mean, I am being targeted by a killer. What are the odds that this goofball of a ghost could ruin my life anymore? “Beetlejuice.”

“PRESTO!”

Human! Chucky / Charles Lee Ray – Chucky’s POV:

I figure this is going to be a pain, when a screech tears from the ugly old house before I even get in. Confused, and more then frustrated because this spells out nothing but problems for me for when I get in, instead of the nice peaceful kill I was intending to enjoy, I open the screen door -bitch didn’t even lock the front door, it’s like she wants me to kill her,- and rush up the stairs to where the sound came from. “Hold on, I’m not there yet!!”

What the hell is going on?!

“Look, in my professional experience, the screamin’ doesn’t start til the killer takes out a knife, sometimes even before but not before I even get into the house, lady. The audacity of you, here- “

What am I looking at here?

In front of my eyes, my fucking eyes, stands of course Y/N, my victim. And some kind of zebra - one that’s been dead and left out in the swamp for a fuck-long time. He’s got crazy eyes if I’ve ever seen them, and have you seen mine? That’s saying something. Who is this joker? In my coat, I grip the gun I keep just in case strangulation goes awry, but don’t bring it out just yet. Not until this guy reveals his cards, first.

The guy’s eyes flicker in smug amusement from my face, to my gun pocket -evidently, he realises something’s up. Can’t blame the guy, damnit, -, then whips right around, leaving his back wide open for me and my weapon, to my facepalming victim. I smirk at her. “I take it that’s the guy you want rid of, toots?”

“Uh… yeah… “She looks adorable and awkward. The guy lets go of her waist, which he was holding close to his body as she leaned away before, when I walked in and he literally, and I’ve never seen any person do this before, halted in his tracks. Stopped breathing, stopped shifting, it even seemed like the history around him stopped for that ‘caught’ moment. And I swear I heard the sound of record music abruptly being turned off come from his mouth.

And for some odd reason, I get the feeling he’s not human. Can’t conjure a reason why, though.

I should be saying this shit out loud, I’m wasted on myself.

Figuring this guy’s been hired to get rid of me, I take out my gun. “Okay, you’re gonna have to catch me up on what’s happening... Oh, no? Well, okay.”

BAM!

A bullet flies across the room and sticks into the freak’s chest, and that is the end of things going my way.

Because the force of the bullet somehow sends him slamming across the room and through a wall in the back. His body goes ‘poot’ down two stories outside and theirs a silence that doesn’t last long enough for either Y/N or I to digest what just fucking happened before the bastard’s grotty fucking hand spiders up my spine from behind. I wriggle out of his reach immediately on impact, because it’s like a real fucking spider, and whip around, waiving my gun- which is useless now, of course.

Games are over.

The guy looks over at Y/N and grins, throwing his arms out in a ‘ta da!’ way. She winces and just narrows her eyes in a glare. “What’d you think of that, sweet cheeks? I got a flare for the dramatic, you know? Ssssexy! Eh?” When she sticks her tongue out at him, for lack of any words to respond to that with I guess -I mean, I, can think of some choice words for the guy, but she’s clearly not as creatively gifted in the art of insult as I have been told I am. But, a tongue out works, - he grins the most fucking horny grin I’ve ever seen and clutches his sack. Her jaw drops.

“Where the ever-loving fuck did you pick crazy pants up from??” I ask, looking accusingly at Y/N. She chews on the inside of her cheeks and looks even more awkward then before.

“Truce?” She asks, instead of answering my question. I’m genuinely curious.

I roll my eyes. “Ughh, fine.”

“Oh well that won’t do,” The guy speaks up again, looking between us and letting his Johnson go, thank god. The boys have to breath! “Baby girl, blossom, light of my FUCKING DEATH! You wound me. riGHT IN THE HEART! Let me show you, sweetgums, why that was a bad idea.”

Her eyes widen, and I suddenly feel real unsafe. “How about you don’t- “

“Watch this!”

He turns to me, makes some overdramatic hand gestures, throwing his back out in the process and momentarily acting like he’s out of order.

Then he whips back into action and shoots me with finger guns,

And then suddenly everything around me looks 4 times bigger then before. Oh, well, its that or… I’m closer to the ground.

Because I’m a fucking doll again.

I slowly look up from the little black baby shoes and the edges of the godamn jean jumpsuit, to the infected condom in black and white grease paint. “… You son-of-a-bitch.”

He chuckles and turns to Y/N, and gives her finger guns too, but the only other thing that happens this time is he winks at her. “Now, baby! Time to get hitched!”

“What?!” She shrieks.

Freddy Krueger – Freddy’s POV:

“I’m going to die of boredom before this bitch catches winks. I’m gonna pummel her with the counting sheep she clearly needs when she gets here.” The corners of my mouth lift up from the deep scowl I was wearing before, at the idea. It has merit.  

Behind me the fine folks of Pompeii run for their lives and a red and green striped Vesuvius explodes molten lava over their little town when I remember it’s been 2 days since she’s fallen asleep. Or found some fucking Hypnocil. Or killed herself. Who knows, really. I have a… deadly effect on women.

But damn, it would be a bummer if she killed herself. I was having fun with her. I had plans.

Have, have. I have plans. I won’t give up hope yet.

An hour, or who knows how long later -time is a human construct and doesn’t exist in the dream plain, - , I’m lying on the ground watching Psycho play in the sky when that familiar tingle rushes through me, telling me someone’s entered my world.

I’m just getting up and brushing myself off, taking my damn time like she left me to wait -besides, I can turn back time and make it seem like I appeared instantaneously if I want to. Time’s a construct, remember? And this is my world. I’m just doing this for me, to make me feel better, - when she comes out of fucking nowhere and nearly knocks me over. Im-ee-diate-ly I open my mouth to ask her why she’s so eager, but she beats me to the punch, causing me sadness.

“Wake up, wake up, wake up!”

Hold on, I definitely think there’s something off here. Don’t I make the fucking demands?! “Bitch- ”

“Wake!”

“-I haven’t done anything to you yet.” 

“Up!”

“Goddamn!”

What is going on here!?

“I’ll do anything you want, just please. Wake me up!” Her eyes are deadly serious, and I can’t help the greedy smile I get at her submissive idea. What could have made her this way? I laugh.

“Ohhh, I’ll think it over. Tempting offer, though~” She lets out a growl and let’s go of me in pure frustration, looks around quickly for something and then lays eyes on my glove. She picks it up, and my eyes widen in surprise at what she does next.

The blade slices through the skin in her upper arm before I can take any control of the situation, and a nauseous feeling suddenly rolls me and she whimpers from the pain of slicing herself open, as the world goes blurry around us and she wakes up- of course, still holding my glove, which is attached to me, so I go with her.

“Fucking he- “

Much quicker than you think it will be, we both turn up back in the fucking reality. She hops up immediately and flies across the room to a first aid box.

I’m just assuming, I mean. Because I don’t make any move to leave the bed at all and just close my eyes and groan, and resist the urge to cry.

I hate this placceeeeeeeeee.

“BABES, YOU’RE BACK!”

Now I resist the urge to scream and phase out of existence, because a man just appeared on the bed with me and called me his babes. Instead, I slowly turn my head to him and sinisterly narrow my eyes- and hope he doesn’t notice my distress from a second ago.

I’m starting to understand why Y/N was so intent on getting back here. If this guy, a dung beetle with… oh, god. Clearly, some kind of terrible illness if that smell indicates anything, was hanging around me while I slept, I’d be… slightly bothered too. If only for the stink!

He squints, and while he does, his hair flickers through the various colours in the rainbow, confused. “Sweetbottom, theirs something different about you. Did you get contacts?”

As a knee jerk reaction, I stab him in the gut with my blades. “Stranger danger, bitch!”

My panic dissolves into glee as I jerk the knives upwards… just to turn back into panic when he starts tearing all the way in half from my stab wound up to the top of his head with minimal effort from me. I gulp, and retreat from him to where Y/N is, taping her bandages securely around her arm. I gesture to the freak who’s padded onto the floor and is zipping himself back together in front of my eyeballs. “… the fuck is that?”

“That’s Beetlejuice, he’s a ghost=

“With the most, baby.” ‘Beetlejuice’ stands up straight and rests his hands on his hips, chest puffed out and winks at Y/N. 

“-What do we do?”  She asks, looking with wide eyes at me. 

What does she think I am? The Fairy Godmother of the dead?? I’m no godmoth-

… I could use this. A slow grin spreads across my mouth. “First, you go over there and distract him.” 

For a split second she looks like she’s actually going to go with it, then looks with furrowed, unimpressed eyebrows at me. ‘Beetlejuice’ makes grabby hands at us, and she starts to look more panicked by the second. “And what will you do??”

I yank the bedroom door open. “Run!!”

[helbramstrauma]

Unkillable Chapter 3

Hello welcome to the Third part of Unkillable, as always you can find it on AO3 if you prefer to read that way. In case you missed: Part 1,2

Now for a quick synopsis: You are a former knife thrower that now lives undercover with other escapee’s trying to make ends meet. This leads to some morally questioning jobs, you aren’t assassins but everything has a price. Just like any other job you were prepared, although your intel failed to mention something incredibly important. There seem to be other people trying to steal from the infamous underground auction as well

Tw: Blood and Gore

“You are not going to guess who is in town!” Lue exclaims when you drop into the small room, covered with loose wires, connecting to Adam’s corner. Next to that is a small couch and a mini-fridge, above that, is a small loft area where the two makeshift bunk beds are. That is all we can fit in this place, but what else would you expect from squatting in a roof access area from a basically abandoned building. The only thing below us is a bakery on the first floor, but they are some of our clients so they don’t mind.

“Where is Aim?” you ask, noticing their absence.

An audible sign leaves Luebella’s lips, “did you even listen to be, they left on a mission, something about getting information from a boat for some CEO” Lue’s lips curl into a smile, “But more importantly the Sadler’s Circus is in town, why don’t we give ‘em a truly deadly finale”

The name Sadler’s sends a shiver down your spine, it's been about a year since everyone escaped from that hell. However, it is ironic how the circus gave us the tools we needed to escape and make a living. Aim was able to transfer their trapeze and tightrope skills to parkour, not to mention their natural talent with a sniper. Adam worked in tech instead of putting on an act, but without those skills, we would have all been dead on our feet. Lue lives off the thrill and can practically do anything if it’s dangerous- it's the lion tamer in her- she is also the best at close combat between all of us. Then of course you are practically nothing without your knives, even though you are more comfortable with throwing them and running away. Aim was my tutor in a lot of things, when we were first abducted by the circus, Aim helped you with precision, and you helped them with their agility.

“Where’s the bone staff? Indigo isn’t going to go away empty-handed” Lue points out

“Haven’t you looked out the window, the auction is up in flames,” you say.

A look of worry comes over her face as she rushes towards the window, “Is Adam okay?”

You explain to her how he had her turn off the radio, she walks over to his corner and to see if she can access his view. His lenses are cracked but you can see the surrounding pretty well. He is in some sort of vehicle, but all you can see is the city zooming by, and he is in the back of this vehicle. “Where is Aim, when you need ‘em,” Lue says, “Looks like we have to swoop in and rescue him”. She quickly transfers the feed to a phone and she is already out of the small hideout.

You quickly follow Luebella out of the hatch, “Where is it heading”.

“Looks like he's heading toward the Eastend, probably by the river that is where the police station is. But he is definitely on 3rd Avenue”

We make our way towards the intersection two streets away from the station, which should give us enough time to get Adam and get out. The sound of sirens is getting closer, and you cut your palm and materialize a throwing knife. A police wagon is flashing and coming towards the station, you quickly take aim and throw the knife at a front tire, the vehicle almost immediately serves and falls on its side, Lue is running towards the accident in a hope of receiving Adam. However, you don’t stay on the ground long, taking the fire escape and going to your safe haven, the roof. On the river you see, a boat making its way off the deck, that must be where Aim is at. That doesn’t hold your attention for long as you look down and you see Lue grab Adam. A police officer is coming around to shoot at them, but before they can fire one of your blood made knives are already in their neck. Soon enough Adam has his cuffs off and he begins making his way to the loft on the ground, while Lue stays back to hold back the oncoming police officers, once you see the whip leave her side you know she has it handled.

Call it stupid you decide to depart off of that roof, in the opposite direction of the loft, instead of heading towards the location of the auction. Someone catching up to you does not settle well and you just have to see the man in black again, you need to fight him again and win. The only person who is able to keep up with you is Aim, and you need to keep it that way. By the time you get to the location you see a car take off recklessly, and decide to follow it, however, you are not the only one who had that idea. You see a helicopter start to chase the car as well, and you decide to hitch a ride on it. That is short-lived, as the car you are following shoots the engine causing a small fire as the helicopter begins to spiral out of control. You have to get off of it and quickly, in the haste you are unable to keep you cool, and you jump onto some scaffolding, but you hurt your ankle, as it catches on part of the handrails, causing your body to plummet to the ground. By the time you would be able to heal yourself and get yourself together the car would be out of sight.

Whoever that man was you certainly know they don’t work alone, and that certainly complicates things. All you can

Word Count 1660

Chapter 3

As all days start, the soreness of your back is the first thing that hits you, you should really get better mattresses. Adam is still asleep, but you can hear the chatter between Luebella and Aim. However more importantly you can smell fresh baked goods from the bakery downstairs. You jump off the banner onto the lower level to see what Aim or Luebella picked out, you swiftly grab the everything bagel and a croissant. “Not even a good morning or how was your mission” Aim quips, “is anything ever on your mind other than food”.

Before you can answer, Lue, chirps up, “Actually y/n plans on taking out some man from her previous job”.

“Like murder or on a date” Aim laughs.

Lue gives a little chuckle, “The jury is still out on that”.

After the cheerfulness of the conversation dissipates, Aim looks right at me “What happened to not wanting to kill anyone but our targets or people who get in the way?”

You do have a rule that you won’t kill anyone who isn’t attempting to harm you or someone you have been hired to erase, “He is in my way. If you saw how fast he was, and the lack of hesitation in his actions, you’d see him as a threat too”.

After some breakfast and doing some sort of a morning routine, you are ready to do a quick run. If you want any chance of offing the man in black you have to improve, and that starts with practice. Besides, the rooftops are your home, there is nothing like jumping from building to building knowing full well that missing that jump would end in severe injury at best. Before you can get into the swing of things you can hear loose gunshots. A daytime robbery is basically unheard of, and the shots seem to be getting closer. You don’t even need to look back, you know a helicopter is following you, but why? This is a normal routine and you have never been tailed doing it, maybe it was the auction last night that the police are being extra cautious. Then again you haven’t been out long enough to attract the attention of them, and even if you did it would be impossible for them to already have a chopper on you. This was premeditated, whoever is in that helicopter knows who I am.

Swiftly turning on your feet you are able to run towards the helicopter and are able to cut your thumb with your teeth drawing blood, your weapon. Although your emmetion technique could use some work, all you need is a blade to hit the engine causing a malfunction. You swing your hand causing blood to leave your body, quickly turning into small blades cutting into the nose of the aircraft. However that seems to do nothing, but you are able to see a face in the helicopter before your body starts into a sprint. A clown is sitting in the vehicle, although he is not participating in the metal rain that is showering over me. Even though he is a clown, he isn’t one that I recognize from the circus. You run into an ally, dropping down onto somebody’s balcony, you are out of range of the helicopter. Think! Would it be better to run away, or should you engage? Since it isn’t the circus or the police that leaves only one option, it has to be some link to the man in black. However you are clearly outnumbered, even though you were able to only see the clown, there has to be a pilot and there were two different people shooting at me from opposite sides of the helicopter. So that means that is 4-5 people, you couldn’t handle one of them, let alone 5. However, this might be the only time you would be able to get information.

Before you could make a decision the apartment you are borrowing appears to be being broken into. When you look through the glass doors you are greeted with a face you haven’t seen in a while. It’s another clown, this one you recognize as your former boss. Now the option is clear, I have to fight the new guys, simply because I cannot be tracked back to the hideout. Before the clown of the past can catch up to you, you are already on the roof to be greeted with the clown from the helicopter, which has since been parked on top of the building to its left. You can sense the energy from your boss leaving the area, but it feels like an army of new energy is coming towards me from behind. However, you know full well, that your boss won’t give up this easily. The only way off that roof is with that helicopter, and that is dawning on you about now. You should not have left without Adam’s earpiece, this is bad. This could of all been avoided too.

But you know this isn’t the end of the line, you can still fight.

When you get into the position you see the clown man laugh, “You think you can fight us? That wouldn’t be fun at all” whoever the clown man is, he sure sounds like Lue. “Let’s make this quick, do you know the chain user”

No, you think subconsciously, but you can feel familiar energy approaching, more members of the circus are coming. If I tell him that directly he’ll just leave me here, and I need off of this.

“I’ll tell you everything I know if you give me a ride off of this roof” I attempt to bargai

[chasseurdeloup-retired]

Same Time, Same Place || Mina and Kaden

TIMING: Current LOCATION: The woods PARTIES: @drowningisinevitable​ and @chasseurdeloup​ SUMMARY: You can’t hunt here, I hunt here.

The one constant in Kaden’s life was hunting. It was his childhood, it was what he had when he lost his family, and it was what had carried him through life. It was the one thing he could always come back to when nothing made sense. That seemed to be less and less his current truth. Hunting had gotten confusing. His black and white rules no longer felt so clear. It was like someone had spilled something on his hunter’s code, his father’s journals and texts, and the writing was bleeding into one another, making it illegible and fuzzy, crisp black text turning to grey. Maybe if he returned to the familiar, he could find his balance again. He had to go back to training, make sure he knew what his reflexes were meant to do, keep them in check while everything else about his legacy fell apart around him.

Kaden picked through the woods to the clearing he’d taken Blanche to a few times now. It was the best for firearm and ranged weapons practice, no doubt. He heard something before he saw it. Kaden pulled out his pistol from his holster as he carefully stepped through the trees to the more open space in the middle of the woods. He kept the gun ready as he peaked through, trying to see what was causing the sound. No mistaking, there was another human there, smaller, female if he had to guess. Was it… “Pipsqueak?” he called out. Maybe Blanche had come here without him. But as soon as he had her attention and got a better look at her, it was clear he was wrong. “Sorry, not who I-- Didn’t expect to see anyone out here.” He kept the gun lowered, but he didn’t put it away just yet. “What are you doing out here?”

Growing up, Mina had always fought so desperately to be human, to be a hunter. All she ever wanted was to shed her scales forever, to never go in the water again, if it meant that she wouldn’t be a monster. Because her father’s teachings were clear: humans mattered, and monsters did not, and anyone that wasn’t human was a monster. He taught her about hunting for people and for prize (prize, in his eyes, always meaning a little more than the people), and she always believed that she’d grow into the desire to hunt. Her father’s genes, his human genes, would win out in that aspect, and she’d be useful, not a monster. Well, after being in White Crest for almost a year, she was beginning to see that she was a pitiful excuse for a hunter, and she’d never be human. There was a small but steadily growing part of her that wondered if that was such a bad thing. That part of her made Mina a terrible hunter’s daughter.

It wasn’t like it mattered much, anyway, Mina thought bitterly, if the promise killed her. She had no intention of fulfilling it. At this point, days were about going through motions, waiting with baited breath to see what would happen. She was consumed with nervous energy, but, instead of going to the lake, she’d decided to go to a small clearing where she’d taken to throwing knives. The steady thunk thunk thunk of blades hitting tree trunks was soothing. She hadn’t even been paying attention to any incoming sounds until the man was right upon her. Mina’s heart stuttered a bit in her chest, and she clenched one of the knives she was holding. “Not, ah, a pipsqueak, I don’t think. I’m averagely tall. At least I assume.” She tucked a bit of hair behind her ear and rocked on her heels. “I’m, well, throwing knives?” She looked at the knife in her hand; yes, that’s exactly what she’d been doing. “I was, I mean, I can... what are you doing out here?”

“Yeah, I know. I thought you were someone else.” Kaden wasn’t sure if he’d almost hoped that it was Blanche out there, doing target practice. Maybe he wanted a moment to redeem himself. Or maybe he wanted to continue to pretend to be normal, wasn’t sure. Didn’t matter, wasn’t her either way. He decided to just sheath his gun at this point, the girl there looked like she wasn’t a monster waiting to attack him. Plus, he was pretty sure he could take her if she tried. “I can see that. Why are you throwing knives?” He tried to take a peek around her to see how many were poking out of the tree. It was a decent amount, most stuck. And they seemed to be embedded in the trunk pretty deep, too. If he had to guess… “I came out here for target practice. Looks like you beat me to it.” He sighed. Of course. He couldn’t even get training right. “You plan on being here much longer?” He considered asking if the was a hunter but maybe he’d wait and see. For once, he’d like to be the one not showing his entire hand. Granted, the arsenal strapped to his back might have done that for him already.

As the man holstered his gun, Mina let her knife hang loosely in her hand. “Sorry,” she said, softly. “That I’m not who you were expecting.” She hadn’t realized this clearing was so popular. It was almost always empty when she came around, though that had become a bit sporadic over the last few months. Perhaps, if she came more often, she’d encounter more people, since this guy apparently had a friend that came sometimes, too. Perhaps… it was better that she didn’t come so often. “Funny, that. Target practice. I thought it’d be relaxing for a bit.” Which it had been, for a bit. Though, eventually, going through the motions of throwing a pointy object at a tree left a lot of time for thinking, and thinking, and thinking far too much. Mina cocked her head to the side for a bit, taking in the man, his equipment. “I could let you have a go, if you’d like. Ah, leave, even.” She was focused on his gun. The words fell out of her mouth before she could really stop them. “Use that often? The gun?”

“Don’t be,” Kaden told her. “It’s probably for the best that she wasn’t out here trying to be a badass in a sling.” If he was going to teach Blanche anything, he was pretty sure he should start with cooking and save the one handed shooting for later. If ever. Still, strange how she’d found the same spot he had. It was a big forest after all. Maybe he’d been away trying to be normal for too long, he’d lost the claim to his training spot. Served him right. “Relaxing, huh? So you just throw those for fun? That it?” It was a bit of a challenge, though not meant to be too harsh. He wanted to nudge her in the right direction, if she was a hunter, that was. Guess he’d wait and see. “You were here first. I can wait. Or something,” he said with a shrug. It was possible there was somewhere nicer, even. Better. But wandering around looking for it seemed fucking annoying. His brow raised at her question and he leaned against one of the trees nearby in the meantime. “Sure do,” he said with a wry smile. He looked down to pull it out, show her if she was curious. Is it too late to fake my death and skip town? His brow furrowed as his hand hovered over his weapon. “Fake your death and skip town? Over what? This? Sounds a little dramatic.”

“A badass in a sling?” Mina asked, just a bit confused. “Does your friend often do target practice injured?” That sounded a bit familiar, training even when you probably shouldn’t because of an injury. Long nights soaking in whatever lake or stream or river she called home to take out some of the aches of overused muscles, to mend broken bones. She wondered about this man, his friend. Perhaps they were among the many hunters around here. Perhaps they were people like Morgan who just wanted to protect themselves. “It’s very fun,” Mina said lightly, expertly throwing the knife up and catching it. She felt comfortable calling herself that, an expert. She had a good aim, and her dad made sure she could fight with a blade, even if she didn’t want to. She looked closely at the man, making a note of his confidence. He definitely seemed like a hunter. “My dad likes handguns. He has a Glock.” At his question, she furrowed her own brow, expression mirroring his a bit. “What? I didn’t, ah, I have no intentions to skip town? Or fake my death, for the matter. That seems a bit silly.”

“She does a lot of stupid shit while injured. So yeah, target practice was on the list.” Kaden shook his head. It was probably for the best that Blanche wasn’t a hunter, she’d run into even more danger faster. And the enhanced healing would just mean she’d do it all over again sooner. Sure, that’s what he did, but he was trained for this shit. Theoretically. As much as he loathed his mother’s ghost, she had a point back then, his training was slipping, falling by the wayside. This wasn’t helping much. Kaden left his gun where it was and crossed his arms in front of his chest instead. “You definitely look like you know what you're doing. You learn that from your dad? Or is he a guns only kind of guy?” He was so close to asking outright, perhaps she was, too. The song and dance was necessary, though, kept him safe. Just in case the answer wasn’t what he expected. “Okay, guess that’s good. But why did you say it, then?” Was he going crazy? She had said that, right? He definitely heard it and it didn't sound like his thoughts. It had to be her speaking. Maybe she had said it softly, didn’t think he could hear her. If that was the case, maybe she wasn't a hunter. At least not a beast hunter.

This man’s friend definitely sounded like a hunter. Doing stupid things while injured was a staple for every single one Mina had ever met, especially younger ones. Though, hunters didn’t live to be that old. “I’m glad she’s not doing this stupid thing, then,” she said. She messed with the knife, no longer as a way to show off but just because it was something in her hands, something to do. “He likes knives, too. Anything, really. He’s big into all kinds of weaponry. What about you? That’s quite an arsenal you have.” They’re beating around the bush in a way that seemed a bit silly, but it was best to be cautious in these things. At least this was close to getting an outright answer. There were quite a few people in town that Mina simply had assumptions about, not actual answers. “I… didn’t say anything. Not about faking deaths and running away, at least. You brought that up first.” Then, she started to second guess herself. Did she? Did he? “Right? I don’t think I did?”

“Does he?” Kaden said. He had come out there with a few guns, the crossbow, and he always had a good number of knives on him. “He sounds like someone who enjoys a good hunt.” Alright, it wasn’t subtle. But they were reaching a point where someone had to toe the line a little more, see how it landed. “Oh, these?” he said, looking back at the weapons he’d carried with him out to the woods. “Small portion of the collection. Couldn’t decide what I wanted to work on, so I brought a variety.” He reached back and pulled the crossbow of his back and stared fiddling with it. It really had been too long since he held a weapon, since he’d trained and perfected his craft. If only he could get to doing just that. “You have any experience with one of these?” he asked, holding out the weapon. “Or are you one to stick with knives?” He wasn’t sure what he could suss out from comparing weapon choices, but it was a place to start, see how trained she was perhaps. “Are you sure?” His brow furrowed at her response. “I could have sworn…” Could not hunting make him crazy? Maybe it was the nightmares he was having recently messing with his mind. Fucking teenagers. “Okay, this time I definitely heard you say something about teeangers.” Only this time he had been looking right at her and her lips never moved. Was he reading her thoughts or something? What the fuck was this?

“He’s an avid hunter,” Mina said, relaxing a bit more. There. It was good to get that out in the open, or as open as they were allowing it without actually saying I hunt supernatural creatures for a living. Not that Mina did. She had no idea about this man, his lifestyle, especially when he carried a small armory on his back. “It’s a nice collection. Plenty of options to choose from.” For all she knew, he might turn on her as quickly as Montgomery had when they first met. “I can shoot it,” she said easily, looking the crossbow over. “I do better with close combat. Ah, defensive styles, though I do pretty well with blades.” Luring Fae in required her to get close to them. The idea had always been for her to provide them a false sense of security and a knife in the back. However, she’d never-- would never-- quite gotten around to the killing part. “I promise I didn’t say anything to you about faking my death just now,” Mina said, dropping the word and waiting for it to sink in her stomach if she was lying. Nothing. She definitely didn’t say anything about it. “Or anything about teenagers? I… am afraid I don’t know where teenagers would come up in the conversation?” This man was perplexing. Was this some new hunting tactic? Was he actually a hunter? But he seemed to think she was a hunter. She tapped her finger on her knife blade, feeling a bit anxious. Something was off about this.

“Nice. I am, too.” Was he? Avid, that was? Putain, he was. Kaden still was an avid hunter. Most of the time. He missed two fucking full moons, was that fucking avid? He didn’t know anymore. “Thanks,” he said as he let the crossbow rest at his side. “I tend to go for silver weapons. You know, they have a nice advantage. Either you or your dad have any preference?” Too on the nose? Possibly. But it seemed like an easy way to sort out what kind of hunting she did, learn where the cards fell. “I’m alright with close combat if I’ve got a good knife but ranged is easier when hunting we--” Kaden caught himself. “Things. You know. Anyway, your dad live in town, too?” For all he knew, they were already well acquainted, maybe went on a few hunts together. Though it depended on what kind of hunter he was. And he had a guess as to what kind after what she said next. He froze, eyes going wide at her use of the word “promise.” He nearly dropped the damn crossbow. “You…” he started, tentatively. It felt like a dangerous word to say after everything. And he felt safer knowing that he couldn’t say it to Regan but that didn’t keep him from using it now. “You should probably be careful with words, you know. But uh, good to know you didn’t, uh…” He wasn’t sure what was happening anymore. So much for coming out here to try and relieve some of his confusion. “Sorry, think I must be hearing things. You haven’t, right? Heard anything? Weird?”

Taking in this man, his stance, his equipment, yes, Mina could believe that he, too, was an avid hunter. She nodded. “My dad likes silver weapons. They’re his favorite. That’s what I use, mostly. Kind of flashy, but they do their job.” Easier to practice with, too, without risk of iron burns. She hadn’t used a knife in an actual hunt in… a very, very long time. “I work a bit with iron, too, though,” she added, as much as it pained her. Better to be truthful with this man, this hunter. If he was an actual beast hunter, he’d pick up pretty quick that she wasn’t one. “Ranged is certainly better when hunting… animals,” Mina said. “My dad’s working, travelling, actually. I’m here for college.” And to hunt, which she was doing a piss poor job of. “He’ll, ah, be in town soon, though.” The man’s reaction to the word “promise” was interesting. Usually, it was wardens that were mostly concerned about promises. Unless, perhaps, this werewolf hunter had some negative experiences with Fae. In which case… it would most likely be best if Mina didn’t let him know what she was. Most hunters had prejudices against all supernaturals, anyway. It wouldn’t be surprising to add one more to the list. “Don’t worry, I’m quite careful with my words. I wouldn’t have said it if I wasn’t sure.” That lie brought a wave of nausea to her stomach, but she did her best not to let it show. It was a good day, at least, for all that her night had been filled with thoughts of blood and death and horrible, undead beasts. No nose bleeds, no outbreaks of scales or claws when she didn’t want them. His question was strange, though. “Heard… what kinds of weird things?”

Kaden’s shoulders dropped and he relaxed to hear that both her and her father were just beast hunters. Good. There was no danger of her going after anyone he car-- The tension in his muscles instantly returned and he stood up straight, no longer leaning on the tree. “Iron?” He asked, trying to wipe any look of pure panic off his face. “I mean, iron. Yeah. Not really my thing. Uh, good for you, though.” That was normal, right? Shit, he was pretty sure this kid couldn’t take down Regan. Right? His eyes drifted back to the knives stuck out of the tree across the way. Putain. He snapped back to look at her when she mentioned her dad would be in town soon. “Is that so?” Shit. He could just as easily be a warden as a beast hunter given that specialties were usually genetic. Maybe they were like Walker and unspecialized. Meaning they were an equal threat to people he cared about. Shit. “You’re pretty confident that I wouldn’t bind you with words, then. Seems a little brazen. But hey, that’s your issue not mine.” Maybe he was overreacting. No way a warden would throw around the word “promise,” right? And she really hadn’t heard anything weird, had she? Fuck, maybe he was just going crazy after all. “Uh, it’s hard to explain. I think it might be in my head. But I was sort of thinking it might just be a whisper. A shocking amount of thoughts about dead bodies.” It was entirely possible he just spent too much time around Regan. But sharing thoughts was a little fucking much.

Mina watched the other hunter, perplexed at his reaction. He seemed to revolve between being relaxed and tense without warning. “Iron, yes. Though, I’m not, I mean, I’m not good. With iron. Or being, you know, in general.” He could probably see right through her. She felt a bit less confident than she had before, looking at the knives sticking out of the tree. Mina always felt less confident around real hunters, seasoned hunters, ones like this one that looked and walked and breathed like hunters. Somehow, she just knew that they could tell she was a fraud. “Yes, though I don’t know when he’s coming in. I’d like to see him,” she said, though it would kill her. Every passing day without him here increased her anxiety. He’d told Q that he’d be in White Crest soon, but “soon” was such an arbitrary word. Soon could be months from now. Soon could be tomorrow. She had no way to tell. “A human cannot promise bind another,” she said carefully, scrutinizing him. What did this man know of promise binds? “And I was careful with my words. I did not, in that moment, tell you that I intended to fake my death. Making such a promise wouldn’t hurt because it was true, and it was only for the moment. Promises are only as dangerous as their wording makes them.” This man was baffling. “You’re hearing things in your head? About dead bodies? Do… do the voices… want you to create more dead bodies, or do they just talk about dead bodies?” Perhaps not, since the voices had told him they were considering faking their own death, but, still. A homicidal hunter was not someone Mina wanted to be around if he snapped.

Was she saying she was a bad warden? Is that why she was bad with iron? Kaden was certainly more confused than he had been a moment ago but he definitely wasn’t more relaxed. A bad warden was still a warden all the same. “Well if he comes into town, make sure you tell him about the Silver Bullet. I’ll buy him a drink if I see him. What’s his name, if you don’t mind me asking?” Oh, right. Guess they didn’t know each other’s names either. Huh. Either way, getting a drink with a warden while dating a fae sounded like the worst fucking idea he’d had in a long damn time. Then again, friends close, enemies closer, all that. “Guess you must be really positive I’m human, then.” Which meant either she was a warden who could sense fae. Or… No. There was no way she could be fae. That woudln’t make any fucking sense, not after the whole conversation they’d had. She had to be a warden. “I mean, I am. Still, have to be careful with it. It’s pretty easy to twist words, even if the words hold true in your mind.” Though surely that wasn’t something he needed to explain to any warden. “Uh, yeah I am-- I mean no! No they’re not telling me anything just, uh…” Kaden reached up to rub the back of his neck as he trailed off. Fuck, he didn’t know how to explain this. And then, with no fucking warning, his hand moved in a punching motion. A weird one he’d never done before. He was decent at a bar brawl but this was martial arts shit that he definitely did not know. “What the fuck?” Kaden shook it out and tried to make it look natural or intended. Something other than what it was which was a punch he hadn’t controlled. “Uh, there was, ah, uh bee. Hate them. Sorry. I, uh, yeah. You want to stay? I can come back later. Unless you want to spot each other or something. I’m good either way.” Putain, he should probably leave while he was being this fucking weird. But it felt wrong not to offer help to another hunter. Even if she was potentially a warden.

“I’ll be sure to tell him should it come up,” Mina said, though she left out that the likelihood of her and her dad having that conversation was pretty slim. “Ah, his name is Eric. Eric Fitzroy. My name is Mina.” She felt a bit awkward, realizing how long they’d been talking without even getting to some sort of introduction. However, this whole encounter had been a bit awkward and strange, even by White Crest standards. Though, at least there were no monsters lurking about, waiting to attack. Perhaps that would make things less awkward. “If you’re not human, then you do a very good job at playing hunter. Crossbow? Gun? The Silver Bullet?” She wasn’t allowed there, though she knew about it, too scared for someone to get the wrong impression of her and too unnerved by the way some hunters bragged about their trophies to even want to know. “It’s very important to be careful, yes. But I grew up learning to be very careful with my words. I can safely say that I try not to make promises without meaning them.” Of course, it was for the benefit of those around her, not herself. She nodded her head as he talked about the voices, though she had absolutely no idea what he meant. When he began punching at the air despite the fact that he claimed his voices were nonviolent, Mina began to nod a bit more emphatically. “RIght! Of course! A bee!” She looked down at her bag and gave a small sigh. “Truthfully? I wasn’t getting much accomplished. I haven’t been training much, these days, and this was hardly anything strenuous. I might just pack up for the night and head home.”

“Good. Nice to meet you. Kaden, by the way.” He made a serious mental note to ask around the Bullet about Fitzroys, see what kind of hunters they were. As much as she had indicated warden, he couldn’t be completely sure. And if there was a threat to Regan, well, he hated that he’d have to try and shepherd them away from her but apparently that was the case. She’d never know what to look for and even if she did, he doubt she’d be prepared to deal with things in the way they had to be. “Yeah, yeah, I gave it away. Figured it was safe enough to. You know, unless you’re just as good at playing hunter.” He nodded at her response, continuing to try and act like the whole weird shit with his hand was completely intentional. Clearly it wasn’t working too well. “Alright, that works for me. Whatever you want. But if ever want some tips or something, let me know. Backup too, if you need it. I’m always up for helping another hunter.” Not that he’d given her a whole lot of reason to trust him just now, but the offer stood all the same.

[sherrybaby14]

The Option XII

Summary:  Your plans go into motion

Warnings:  Death/murder, smut

A/N:  This is the end!  Thank you all for going on this ride with me.  I hope it leaves you satisfied.  

                  Bucky lunged.  You tried to get out of the way, but his hand was on your throat in a second. You brought your arm up like he taught you to chop it down.  Then you moved your foot behind his knee to try and knock him to the ground.  

               To your surprise it worked and you followed him down, ready to strike.

                 “You’re moving slow.”  He looked annoyed.  “There were five times you could have killed me in this instance and you didn’t take any of them.”  

                 “Throat exposed, ignored the groin, didn’t pull out a weapon.”  You noticed three. The other two were lost on you.  

                 “This isn’t the movies.”  Bucky rolled over on the ground, so now you were pinned to the grass. “If you want to kill someone, you do it quickly.  No long speech, no hesitation.”

                 You stifled the eye-roll, sick of the same speech.   Bucky pushed off of you and grabbed your hand, pulling you up from the ground.  

                 “Is that still what you want?”  His eyes narrowed on you.

                 “Yes.”  There was no pause in your response.  

                 “Odds are you will never be in hand-to-hand combat. You point and shoot.”  He started walking toward the house. “That’s enough for today.”  

                 There was no doubt he was unhappy with your progress. It felt like something wasn’t clicking and you didn’t know how to make it work.  But you were trying, and your body was aching as a result.

~~

               You plopped down on the mattress. Sore, and knowing it would be worse when you woke up.  Bucky’s hands went to your shoulders.  He dug his fingertips into your muscles and started to rub.  

                 A moan left your mouth at his expertise.  He could rub the pain away.   His hands worked their way down your back and you melted underneath him.  

                 “What’s your mantra?”  Bucky never stopped.

                 “Point and shoot.  No talking. No thinking.”  You could say those words in your sleep.  

                 “Good.”  He leaned down over you and placed a kiss on the back of your head.  “Never forget.”  

                 He settled on the bed next to you and started kissing your neck.  You knew what that meant.  Even with your training, Bucky was as insatiable as ever.  You knew the pleasure he was about to bring you would send you needed to sleep, so you shifted on the bed, turning to meet his kiss and eager for his touch.  

                 Tomorrow would be a new day.  You wouldn’t hesitate.  You would find the fourth and fifth way to take out your opponent, but right now you would bask in the glory your lover was about to bring.

~~

               The bruises stopped forming.  You were getting quicker to block and recognizing the next move.  The little sparring sessions were lasting longer.  Bucky went to kick you and you saw it coming, maneuvering your body out of the way.  

                 You countered with a strike against his chest. A grunt left his lips and a smile came to yours.  Then his arms were on you in a second, turning and pining you against his chest. You tried to break out, but he gripped down harder.  

                 “Don’t get cocky.” His mouth was next to your ear.

                 He noticed the smile.  Your resistance faded, declaring this one won by him yet again. He dropped his arms and swatted you on the ass.  

                 “But you did good.”  The heat of the summer bore down on him and you saw some sweat. “You will never beat me, not at fighting like this.”  

                 “That’s motivating.”  You walked over to your water.  

                 “Peach there is no such thing as a quirky assassin.” Bucky raised an eyebrow at you. “If you still want this, remember.”

                 “Point and shoot.  No talking. No thinking.”  You’d practiced with the guns enough; you were as good a shot as Bucky. “I still want this.  Very much.”  

                 In the evenings, sometimes Bucky would do a little research and let you help.  The more you learned about the organization the longer your list of targets grew.

                 “Once you kill a person…you can’t go back.” Bucky picked up a black roll off the ground and set it on the little table. “Are you sure you want that on your conscious?”

                 “Those people have done worse.  They will continue to do worse if we don’t do anything.” You were getting tired of this conversation.  Your mind was made up.  

                 “More will pop up.”  Bucky unrolled the fabric.  “In their place.”

                 “We can’t control the evil in the world.” Your eyes went wide at the shiny silver. “But I want some revenge.”  

                 “Alright.”  Bucky picked up a mid-sized blade with a black handle.  “It’s a lot harder to stab a person than people realize. You have to use a lot of force.”

~~

               The air was thick and the temperature high. There were no more beads of sweat, now the second you were outside you were covered in it.  

               You did your little dance with Bucky, lasting even longer this time.  Now it was a regular occurrence you battled until you were out of breath and he was slightly winded.  Given his strength, you would take that as a win, even though it ended with you getting pined.

                 “You’re quiet today.”  Bucky was at the table loading the guns, for whatever obstacle he was going to put you through this afternoon.

                 “It’s hot.”  Of course, the little house didn’t have any AC either so hiding inside wouldn’t be any better.  

                 “It’s been hot.”  Bucky set the gun down and put out a knife. “Speak your mind Peach.”

                 “I’m getting a little antsy.”  You knew this conversation wouldn’t go over well. “It’s August.  We’ve been at this for what? Five months?  How much longer?”  

                 “You’re not ready.”  Bucky set the knife down and looked at you with narrow eyes.  “Five months is not a long time for this sort of training.”

                 “We know the target’s schedule.  We have a plan formed. Why can’t we execute it now?” You knew how bratty you sounded, but you needed an answer.  

                 “Drop it.” He shook his head.  “You’re not ready.”

                 “When will I be ready then?”  Your frustration was pouring out.

                 You picked up the gun and shot at the tree, then set it down and picked up the knife, flinging it just the way he taught you. It stuck in the tree centimeters from where the bullet was.  

                 Instead of looking impressed with your accuracy Bucky looked annoyed.  

                 “You will be ready when I don’t have to worry about you dying.”  He folded his arms. “That’s the only way we will kick this off.”  

                  “You will always worry about me dying.”  You squeezed your fists and bit back a groan.

                 “That’s true.”  Bucky walked around the table until he was in front of you, hands on your shoulders.  “How about until you show me I should be scared of you, instead of for you?”  

                 “Did you see me shoot?  The knife?”  You held your hand out to the tree. “Shoot. Stab. No talking. No thinking.”

                 “And what are you doing right now?” Bucky had a little smirk on his face.  “Talking? Thinking? You’re not ready.”

                 You didn’t like how he was looking at you like you were a child having a tantrum, but the wind was out of your sails and he pulled you closer for a hug.  Both of your bodies were sweaty and the heat made your skin stick together.  

                 “We’re taking the afternoon off.”  Bucky’s arm hooked under your legs as he hoisted you in the air.  

                 “What?” You were deep in thought, trying to figure out how to how him you were ready.  “Why?”  

                 “Because watching you throw that knife got me hard.” Bucky’s blue eyes got that glimmer of lust you knew only meant one thing.  

                 The rest of the day and night would be spent in the bed.  Your core tingled in response, conditioned to grow needy at his gaze.  

                 As eager as you were to get your plan in motion, maybe an afternoon with Bucky fucking you senseless would give you an edge as to how to clear your head.  

~~

                 The evenings started to cool.  That didn’t make the day any less hot, but you could tell fall was on its way.  Now was the time to act.  If you didn’t prove yourself to Bucky, he would push back any plans until the spring.  

                 The night was going to end with you getting your way or him being very angry at you, but it was worth the shot.  

                 “It smells good in here.”  He came out of the bedroom, his hair still wet from the shower. “Is that why you didn’t join me?”  

                 “I wanted to make you something nice.”  He wrapped his arms around you when you set the plates down.  “Sit. Eat.”  

                 “Tonight I thought we could relax a little.” Bucky picked up his fork. “Play cards or something.”  

                 “Sure.”  You tried to act nonchalant as you sat down.  

                 “Peach I can tell you’re getting agitated, but there’s still a lot to learn.”  He grabbed his glass of water and took a giant sip. “You will get there.”  

                 When he set the cup down a smile crept up on your face. Bucky raised an eyebrow, clearly expecting a different reaction from you.

                 “I’ve killed you twice.”  You put your elbows on the table and set a piece of chalk down.

                 Bucky looked down and saw the white line across his pants.  

                 “That would be me slitting your femoral artery.” You picked up your water and took a sip.

                 “Wha…”  Bucky started to trail off.  

                 His head fell forward and smacked into the plate of food.  You stifled a laugh, shocked it worked that quick.  

                 “And I also poisoned your drink.”  You spoke to nobody as you stood up and went to the unconscious Bucky.  “No big speech.”  

                 You put your arms under his and tugged him from the chair, dragging him over to the couch.   Then you went and got a napkin and wiped him off.  He’d wake up in a few hours.  You imagined he would be angry, but once he calmed down you hoped he would accept the fact that you were ready.

~~

               “Urg.” Bucky brought his hand to his forehead when his eyes opened.  

                 He didn’t remember falling asleep or being on the couch.  When he sat up Peach was in front of him holding out a glass of water.  

                 “Nothing in this one.” She looked pleased with herself. “I promise.”  

                 The last memory of Peach killing him twice came back when he took the water from her.  As annoyed as he was over being drugged, he was impressed with her little show.

                 “Are you mad at me?”  Her nerves were showing.  

                 She was the only person on the entire planet who could make murder look cute.  Bucky had known for a few weeks they could start, but part of him was wishing she would change her mind, unsure that she fully grasped the concept of taking someone’s life.

                 “Are you sure you want to do this?”  He knew the answer but had to ask one last time. “There’s no going back.”  

                 “They took something from me.”  Peach turned on the couch. “Something, I don’t even know what it was.  There’s a black spot inside me that will never go away.  I know killing them won’t fix it, but if I can get a taste of relief. I want it.”  

                 Bucky wanted to say no.  To kidnap her and run off to Central America, but he knew exactly what she was talking about and he wasn’t hypocritical enough to deny her that taste.  Besides, he had a hard enough time saying no to her as it was.

                 “Alright.”  He took a deep breath. “Here is what I have in mind for target one.”  

~~

               The train station was crowded.  It was mainly tourists, some lugging multiple suitcases, ready to scatter across Europe.  

                 “Are you nervous?” Bucky whispered in your ear.

                 “No.” You lied.  “We’ve practiced twice now.”  

                 Of course it was on different routes.  When you watched your train pull in it was like your heart stopped beating.

                 “Don’t forget to breathe Peach.”  Bucky squeezed your hand.  

                 You were both in jeans and plain t-shirts with light jackets.  Nothing noticeable.  Nothing that would draw attention to you.  

                 “Come on.”  He took a step forward and you followed, the metal beast looming.  

                 The conductor took a look at your tickets and gave you some directions in French.  Your eyes continued to span the crowd, looking for any single lost looking girl.  There was a target on the train.  Would she be boarding now?

                 Bucky figured out their process.  An unsuspecting woman would board the train, make a friend, usually in the dining car, who would drug her drink.  Then the train would have a “break down” and the friend would drag the unconscious victim to the tiny tony about three hundred yards away from the tracks.  

               Board the train, go until the end of the line and walk off with all the victim’s belongings as if they were her own. Nobody suspecting anything.  

                 The information made you add the contact at the train company who organized the break down to your hit list.  But they would get their own special visit.  

                 Bucky didn’t drop your hand as you walked into the car.  Much like the first time you were on this train, there were small sleeping rooms. It was like déjà vu when he opened the door to the private space.  

                 “Are you okay?”  Bucky walked into the room.  

                 “Memories.”  You looked at the twin bed. “What would have happened if I’d stayed in here that night? Decided to sleep hungry?”  

                 “It wouldn’t have mattered.” Bucky sighed. “She would have found some way to meet you, get you to trust her.  Probably walked into your room like it was an accident.”

                 “I didn’t mean that.  I meant I wouldn’t have met you.”  You gave him a small smile.  “Which in some way makes me grateful for her.”

                 “Does that mean you're changing your mind?” Bucky’s features went soft.

                 “No.”  You leaned closer to him and put your arms around his neck.  

                 “Then it’s time to go.”  He gave you a quick kiss.  

                 You went back out in the hall.  Bucky walked to the end of the train car and opened the door.  There was a small platform connecting the different parts.  He pulled open the next.  It was lined with seats.  For the people not wanting to spend the money on a private compartment, or those feeling suffocated in their rooms.  

                 Bucky led the way as you opened twelve doors, walking through six different sitting cars until you came to the one right before the dining car.  He picked a seat at random and you sat next to him.  

                 It wasn’t crowded, but soon a few more people chose seats.  You reached behind your back and felt the gun tucked into your pants.  It was hard to believe you were wearing a weapon and nobody seemed to notice.  

                 Bucky pulled out a magazine from his jacket and handed it to you.  He gave you a knowing look about touching the gun.  Don’t draw attention.  

                 “Sorry.”  You took the rag from him and flipped open to a random page.  “What if she doesn’t show up?”  

                 “She will.”  Bucky pointed to the page.  “Stick to the plan.”  

                 He was so calm.  You didn’t understand how.  You could barely sit still and were certain you were about to start sweating.  

                 Then in an instant it felt like the world stopped spinning.  There she was: Alice.  She was as beautiful as you remembered, but with the toned down look.  Approachable, friendly.  Her hands were busy with the phone she was immersed in.  

                 “You’re starring,” Bucky whispered.  

                 You dropped your eyes to the magazine, wondering if she would even recognize you.  When she passed your seat she didn’t even look up from her screen. Instead, she opened the door to move into the dining cart.  When it shut your stomach felt rotten.  Like you might throw up everywhere.  

                 “Deep breath.”  Bucky put his arm around your shoulder and tilted your chin toward his face. “You can do this Peach.  I know you can.”  

                 You nodded your head and he placed a kiss on your lips.  It was soft, warm, longer than a peck. It heated the ice that was in your veins.  

                 The train started to roll out of the station. Bucky broke the kiss.  

                 “Stick to the plan.”  He placed another on your forehead before sliding out of his seat. “You’ll do great.”  

                 You smiled and laughed a little.  Your assassin man praising and encouraging you over murder was not where you saw your life going.  

                 “Thank you.”  You didn’t think you had ever spoken the words with more conviction.  

                 Bucky offered you a hand and you rose from the seat. He ran his palm over your cheek and gave you one more kiss.  When he walked away you continued to hold on to him, not dropping his fingers until the final second.  

                 He disappeared into the dining car and you turned and went the other way.  The train wasted no time picking up speed and when you opened the door and crossed the small platform to the other car your confidence picked up.  You could do this.  You would do this.  You needed this.

~~

               Bucky swirled the drink in his hands while he watched her. She sat at the bar section, waiting for her mark to show up.   Based on Peach’s recollection of the evening it would be in about an hour.  Bucky guessed if the victim didn’t show in two Alice would go looking for her.  

                 They had to set this in motion before that happened. It would be hard to get her alone if she already had her companion.  

                 The train wouldn’t break down until two a.m., but it seemed like Alice roofied them much earlier than that.  It probably made them more compliant and everyone on the train would just see an obnoxious drunk girl.  

                 He hoped Peach found a nice empty car. Given it was an overnight train ride there had to be a few.  

                 The dining car got more crowded as people settled in for their trips.  Bucky checked his watch.  It was time.  

                 “Excuse me.” Bucky tapped Alice on the shoulder. “I’m not normally this forward, but you are gorgeous.”  

                 “Thanks.” She rolled her eyes and went back to her phone.

                 Bucky grabbed the seat next to her and plopped down, leaning closer.  

                 “I mean it.”  He could play obnoxious too.  “What a beautiful creature you are.  Let me guess model?”

                 “Nope.”  She didn’t look up.

                 “Actress?”

                 “Not interested pal.”  

                 “Trophy wife then?”  Bucky gave a fake smile.

                 “Fuck off.”  She looked up for that one.  

                 “Wait.”  He tapped the bar. “I’ve got it.”  

                 “I said fuck off.”  She was certainly sure of herself.  

                 “You’re a siren.”  Bucky leaned closer. “You trick people, drug them, and send them to their demise.”  

                 The phone dropped from her hands.  She was quick to pick it back up again.  Rattling her had been easier than he thought.

                 “Do you even care what happens to them?”  Bucky went back to his normal voice. “The girls?”

                 “I have no clue what you’re talking about.”  She stood up from her chair.

                 Bucky only got one look at her face, but it wore an expression of terror.  Clearly, she wasn’t prepared for this.  He imagined the game she was playing on her phone would turn into texting her boss and alerting them of Bucky’s comment.

                 They would tell her she was being paranoid, but then when she never arrived they would know.  Someone was coming for them.  

                 Bucky watched her get almost to the door before he stood up from the bar.  She was about fifteen feet in front of him as he moved to follow.  

                 This part was all Peach, but Bucky worried she wouldn’t be able to pull the trigger and the wheels were in motion.  There was no slowing down this train.  

                 When he was on the open platform he reached into his jacket and drew his gun, hiding it up his sleeve.  

                 Alice checked over her shoulder, Bucky was too far behind to grab her, but he was certain she was aware of his presence. Especially when she moved faster.  

                 She traveled through to the next car.  Bucky was hoping that was the last one, but Alice kept moving.  Where the hell was Peach?  How far did she go up?  

                 There were too many loose ends.  Bucky didn’t like it.  He moved faster, deciding the second he caught up to her she was going to get a quick bullet in the back of her head.  Peach would understand.  The next one could be hers.  

                 Bucky walked faster and faster.  She was only about five feet in front of him now. Then she glanced over her shoulder and opened the platform door.  

                 He was about to shoot when she cried out.

                 “Oh thank God! There is a crazy man following me.”

                 Fuck.  Now Bucky was going to have to kill two people.  

~~

               Stick to the plan. Wait between the vestibules. Bucky was going to drive her out of the dining car.  You just had to find one that was a car or two away without a crowd and wait.  A single shot and her body would drop below the train.  

                 It would be better this way because you wouldn’t have to worry about what to do with the body and there would be no crime scene.  

               Two cars away were perfect. You knew it would likely be an hour, but you didn’t mind the breeze as you stood and watched the trees fly by and the sky darken.  

                 A few people walked by, most of them assuming you were a smoker and going fast.  You pulled the gun out and slid it up your sleeve like Bucky showed you.  It would be quick and easy.  

                 A small part of you worried you would not be able to pull it off, so you let your mind wander.  This wasn’t the movies. Quick. No big speech.  That didn’t mean you couldn’t play it over in your head though. What would you say to her?  

                 You’re a bad person.  Rot in hell. Remember me?  

                 They all sounded so cheesy right now.  Maybe it was best not saying anything, just getting it over with.  

                 The train hit a bump and you reached out to grab onto the flimsy rail.  With a clink, your hand grabbed on, but the gun slipped.  

                 “Fuck.”  It was long gone.  Pulverized by the train.  “Fuck fuck fuck.”  

                 You had to think of something.  Should you go get Bucky?  Call it off?  You checked your watch.  She could be due any second now.  

                 “Fuck!” You screamed out as the wind took your voice.

                 You were not losing this moment.  You’d waited too long, practiced too hard.  You pushed off the vestibule and went back into the train car, heading toward your room.  

                 You couldn’t run, that would draw attention, but you moved as fast as possible.   When you arrived your hands were shaking, but you got inside.  

                 The only piece of luggage you had was a small duffle bag.  It was designed to make it appear you were a couple heading away for a long weekend.  

                 You ripped the thing open and felt around for a gun.  There wasn’t one.   But you did have a weapon.  

                 You pulled out the dagger.  Sharp, dangerous, and much more personal than a bullet. Could you do it?  Stab someone? Bucky made it out like it was much harder than shooting.  

                 What choice did you have? Give up?  You hid the knife up your sleeve and left the room, strutting back to your vestibule, hoping you didn’t miss your opportunity.

                 All of a sudden a pit in your stomach started to from. What were you doing? Being disappointed about not killing someone?  Had the world gone that crazy?  

                 You weren’t an assassin.  Hell, you couldn’t even hold on to the gun.  

                 But the people deserved to suffer for what they’d done to you and what they tried to do to you.  And countless others.  Didn’t those girls deserve some vengeance too?  How many of them were out there wishing Alice dead?

                 That cruel heartless bitch.   You remembered how safe she made you feel, comfortable when in reality she was as big of a snake as they got.  

                 Your unease turned to rage as you walked through the cars.  Focusing on nothing but the need to stop her.  You pulled open the door to exit the car when a voice was right in front of you.  

                 “Oh thank God! There is a crazy man following me.”

                 You didn’t hesitate.  Hell you didn’t even think.  You just raised your hand and jammed hard,  Grabbing her shoulder to leverage the blade deeper.   It went straight under her rib cage, no doubt piercing her heart.  

                 She looked at you with confusion, but then you saw it.  Even in the darkness.  It clicked in her eyes.  She knew exactly who you were.  

                 It sent an adrenaline rush down your body. One unlike any other.   You spun and pushed.  She did not put up any fight as she fell under the train.   It was done.  She was gone from the world.  If it made you a horrible person that that fact made you feel better, you were OK with it.

                 “Peach?”  Bucky’s voice made you turn.  

                 He had his gun out and you were still carrying the knife, dripping with blood.   Bucky put his weapon away and grabbed your wrist.  He took the dagger and used the cuff of his jacket to wipe the prints off, then he threw it off the train.  

                 “Are you alright?”  He had to yell over the wind.  

                 You nodded. Bucky pulled you close and then took your hand.  His eyes combed your face, looking for signs you were telling the truth.  

                 A loud whistle sounded and a second train zoomed by yours, close on the tracks.  It made the wind pick up, but you did not look away from Bucky.  You wanted him to see what you felt: relief and a little bit of pride.  

                 The concern seemed to melt off of Bucky’s face and soon the hunger of lust appeared.  It sent a jolt down your body and you parted your lips before his mouth was on yours.

                 Your tongue almost battled his for dominance as you held each other on the platform.  Growing deeper and deeper with need for the man.  Everything you were feeling, capable of doing, was possible because of him.  You felt nothing but gratefulness for him.  

                 The other train disappeared with a whistle and the breeze died down.  Your kiss relaxed as Bucky pressed his forehead to yours.

                 “Come on.”  He took your hand and pulled you inside the train car.  

                 There were a few people in the seats, none of them paid you any attention or had any knowledge of the devious act you had committed or were about to commit.  

                 Bucky kept the lead, pulling you across the car and over another vestibule, not saying anything until you were inside your small sleeping compartment.  

                 “You did so good.”  He spun you into another embrace, his hands running down your back while his mouth found yours.  “So good.”

                 You started tugging at his shirt.  He took off his jacket and set his gun on the small table.   This hard needy kisses broke while both of you started to peel off your clothing.  

                 “I’m so proud of you Peach.”  Bucky kicked off his shoes.  

                 The space was small and it was hard not to bump into each other as you stripped, but hearing Bucky’s praise made you grow all the more desperate for him.   The train took a slight turn as you stepped out of your pants and panties, falling against Bucky who used the momentum to toss you on the small bed and fall on top of you.  

                 His mouth was on yours again, the kiss deep and controlling.  You didn’t feel the urge to battle this time, greedy to take whatever he would give you.   His hands ran up your arms and lifted them above your head where he gathered your wrists in one palm.  

                 Bucky’s mouth disappeared from yours as he kissed down your cheek to your neck, which you turned to the side to give him better access.  

                 His other hand ran down your side.  You shivered under his touch and parted your legs, bending your knees so he had access to all of you.  

                 You felt the tip of his cock at your entrance and lifted your hips, wanting him to sink inside of you.  Bucky pushed in as his tongue lapped at your neck and mouth sucked down.   Your eyes shut as he filled you, unable to keep them open as your need was answered.

                 The need to touch him came and you started tugging your hands, but he gripped down harder, keeping them where they were.  

                 “Please? I want to touch you!”  You tried to move your head so that he was forced to look up from your neck, but he moved with you.  

                 “Why should I let you touch me?”  His teeth scrapped down as his fingers ran back up your hip.  

                 Your brain struggled to come up with an answer. His palm came to your breast and he squeezed down, his knuckles rubbing against your nipples, drawing a gasp from your body and making you shrink back into the mattress.  

                 “Because I love you.”  It was the first rationale that you thought of.  

                 Bucky let out a small grunt, but relaxed the grip on your wrists.  You wiggled one hand free, but his fingers enclosed on the other.  

                 Your fingernails found his back and you scratched down as he started picking up the pace.  His shaft was pistoning in and out of you with ease, bouncing you into the mattress.  

                 You tried to rock your hips with his speed, brushing your clit against his pelvis in the process, drawing you closer to your impending orgasm.  

                 Bucky lifted his head, his lips on yours again. Your kiss was sloppy, both of you wanting as much contact with each other as possible, but too focused on other parts of your anatomy to pay attention.  

                 In a flash Bucky’s hand left your body.  

                 “Huh?”  You let out a whine as his cock left your pussy.  

                 He was back on your in a second,  grabbing your hips and twisting you like you were weightless on to your hands and knees.  

               He put his hand on your shoulder and slid into you from behind with ease, making your toes curl. He didn’t take time working you up as he started nailing you into the mattress. His metal arm slid between your legs and a cool fingertip began massaging your clit making you moan.  

                 “As much as I love those noises, you have to stay quiet.”  Bucky’s arm left your shoulder as his chest came down on your back.  

                 He brought it forward, pressing it against your mouth, muffling all the sounds your body was demanding you make.  

                 There was no keeping up with him.  He was like a machine, pumping faster and faster, rubbing your nub in a way that made your thighs shake.  Slowly your body began to give out, your arms no longer capable of supporting you as Bucky fucked you with such vigor you thought your entire being was going to explode into nothingness.

                 The pleasure came on suddenly.  You contracted around his cock and found yourself trying to bite his hand when the orgasm ripped through you.   You panted and tingled all over, but he kept up his speed, hammering more and more pleasure out of you.  

                 It was an out of body experience, one that was making your vision blacken and mind forget how to breathe.  His hands went to your hips and he pulled you back hard as he thrust, his cock igniting inside of you, the aftershocks of the orgasm welcoming his cum.  

                 Bucky collapsed on top of you, breathing heavily as he grew soft inside of you.  You would never grow tired of this, him fucking you senseless and into clarity at the same time.  

                 Neither of you spoke for a few minutes,  but unlike other times you were not going to pass out, your adrenaline was much too high for that.   He slipped out of you and turned on to his side.  You did the same, so you were facing each other on the small bed.

                 Bucky touched your shoulder and placed a small kiss on your forehead.

                 “How are you feeling?”  His blue eyes went back to studying your face.  “Regret?”  

                 “No.”  You moved closer and put your hand on his chest. “Powerful, like we could conquer the world together.”  

                 Bucky gave a half smile, but let it drop.  

                 “You want to keep going?” There was a tint of nerves to his voice.  

                 You wondered if he thought after taking care of Alice you weren’t going to be able to hang with this type of lifestyle. But that was far from the truth.  

                 “I think we should pay my Uncle a visit next.” You let a wicked grin cross your face.

                 Bucky’s blue eyes flashed as he looked at you.  The desire blooming all over again.  His mouth found yours and you ran your hand through his hair, holding him close as his cock grew hard again against your thigh.

                 You didn’t know where your future was headed. Option A was finishing your list and going to Central America. Option B was keep adding names to your list, making sure everyone paid.  When it boiled down to it, you didn’t think it mattered.  Both Options involved being with Bucky.

  THE OPTION

  A/N:  Thank you so much for reading this!  So there you have it…..Steve and his lady are living domestic bliss and Bucky and Peach are murdering their way across Europe.   I appreciate every single like/comment/reblog more that you realize and I am so grateful for the readers who take the time to check my stuff out! Thank you again. XOXO Sherry.        

[fan-wicktion]

Sparrow (2)

MASTER LIST

warnings: bad language (potty mouth here, sorry), fight scene/violence, super super minimal reference to a daddy kink, weapons

a/n: I literally just posted P1, but look. I am excited. More to come soon! 

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John hadn’t bothered to chase you. He knew he had all the time in the world. He would find you.

But goddamn. He was pissed. He did all the work, mowed through all those guards, only to have his prize taken by some little girl? Absolutely not. There will be consequences. He clenched his fists, imagining the cheeky grin on your face taking pictures with his man. HIS target. She will pay for that.

——————————————————————————

Perfect.

You survey your apartment with a keen eye, taking note of every detail. Pistol on the underside of the coffee table. Knives under the couch. Another gun tucked into the lampshade. Ropes hanging innocently on the wall, looking like rock climbing gear. Backpack with the necessities positioned by the window. You patted yourself down quickly, ensuring you had everything. Gun in back of waistband, knives strapped to your thighs. Lingerie just in case. All this hidden under baggy sweats and an oversized tshirt. You muss up you hair a bit and apply lipgloss. Oh yeah. Let’s piss the big boy off.

You weren’t exactly sure why, but you needed to break that cool exterior. You had been hearing so much about the mysterious John Wick; how he never cracks under pressure, how he stalks his prey and never misses. The thought of him in your apartment trying to kill you sends a cold chill down your spine, but you know how to play the game. He’d be here soon, you could feel it. And he hesitated when he saw me, you remember. I can’t count on that again, but maybe…

——————————————————————————

John stalks up to the door, coiled like a spring. It had only taken a couple calls to get the information he needed. He noticed the lack of light coming from under the door and the quiet behind it. Maybe she’s asleep. He chuckles to himself, imagining her surprise when she wakes up and sees him looming over her like Death itself. That’ll teach her.

Quietly, he picks the lock and creeps through the door. He stands for a second, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness when— POP! The lights flick on. Lightning fast, he draws his gun.

“Yo, waddup.” The girl stands in the kitchen with her fingers on the light switch, lazily looking at him. She stares blankly, ignoring the gun pointed at her face. “You need something?”

——————————————————————————

Inside, you’re shaking. You learned a long time ago not to show fear, but damn was this terrifying. You mentally size up the man in your doorway, taking in his impressive height and build, noting how absolutely furious he looks. He wore an all-black suit and had his longish hair slicked back behind his ears. Very intimidating. He made your apartment look tiny.

You maintain the lazy mask, but as your last comment leaves your lips he’s on you. You know you can’t overpower him, so you let it happen. You have a plan.

He tackles you, taking you to floor with ease. He straddles you, pinning your wrists above you roughly with his left hand, and with his right he presses the barrel of his gun to your head. It takes all your strength to keep a straight face. You’re counting on him wanting information, and not just revenge.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” he growls, staring at you with eyes that pierce you to the core.

“Who, me?” you drawl, intentionally slowing your speech to keep your voice from wavering. You see his eyes flash with rage.

“You insolent little-” and he smacks you across the face with his gun.

It’s a warning. You know he could kill you in an instant, but he held back on that swing a little. Realizing his restraint, you decide to fuck with him some more.

“Harder daddy…” you whimper, making doe eyes at him. You see a strange look pass over his bearded face and you leer at him, grinning, but his expression is gone in an instant. What WAS that?

He leans in close, about to give you a piece of his mind. You can hear a low growl beginning in his chest, and you catch a whiff of his smokey cologne as he leans down, pushing most of his weight into his hands. You see your chance and take it. You buck your hips up as hard as you can, throwing him forward over your head. In a flash, you’re up, drawing your gun from your waistband and pointing it at him. You might have caught him off guard, but that wouldn’t last.

Slowly, he rises to his feet, seemingly unfazed.

“Interesting,” he says in a low voice, his tone dripping with sugary poison. “I suppose you think you can hurt me with that thing?” He takes a couple cocky steps towards you, staring straight into your eyes. His gun hangs loosely in his hand. You click off the safety of yours, returning his gaze. Jesus Christ. You fight the urge to break eye contact, insides shivering with nerves.

“What do you want?” you spit at him through gritted teeth, knowing you’re walking thin ice. You had no right to steal his target, and you knew it. But if you could get out of this alive, you would try your damndest to do it.

John had been slowly approaching, the beginnings of a devilish grin playing at the edge of his mouth. “There she is… I knew you couldn’t keep up your little charade.”

You growl under your breath. Try me. Your finger twitches against the trigger, itching to pull.

In one swift, unexpected movement, John lunges at you, disarming you with lightning speed and tossing your gun aside. You react quickly, pouncing backwards over the back of your couch, ducking in case he fires his own weapon. As you roll off it, you arm yourself with the throwing knives tucked below. You pop up from the floor, hurdling a knife in his direction, mostly to distract him. He blinks as it wizzes by his ear, but advances towards you calmly. Why isn’t he firing? You fling another knife, this time with a purpose. It lodges in his shoulder with a thunk, but he doesn’t even flinch. WHAT?! He eyes you darkly.

“The little girl has knives I see,” he practically purrs, and you feel goosebumps shoot up your spine. Enough! You want to scream. Stop looking at me like you want to devour me! The thought makes your heart skip a beat. John Wick, taking me right here on the floor…NO. Absolutely not. You had to get out of there.

Against your better judgement, you drop your last knife on the ground and approach him. Take back control. Take back control. You eye him up and down through your lashes, pretending to size him up. You force your body into a languid stroll and look him in the eyes.

“…And the big boy has a gun.” You bare your teeth and snarl at him, daring him to do something, anything. Come on…

He ignores you. Fuck. “You stole my target,” he states, all business. “I don’t like that. I came here to rough you up a bit, maybe scare you away. But what I didn’t realize—” he drops, kicking your feet out from under you, “—is that you’d be such a little pain in the ass.” As you fall, he grabs you by armpits and slams you against the wall, feet dangling. “Maybe I’ll just have to kill you instead…”

You feel a flush of pink rise to your cheeks. He lifted my like I was nothing, you observe, body quivering. You were scared of him, no doubt. But he had this confident aura about him that drove you insane. You know you let too much emotion onto your face when you see his pupils dilate.

“Ohoho…very interesting.” You want to die. This was not the plan. You remember your backpack at the window and quickly make a decision. John leans in close, lips practically brushing your skin, but before he can taunt you any more, you kick him in the crotch with all you have. He drops you with a yelp, taken by surprise.

“Not today, motherfucker!” you yell as you scramble past him, grabbing your bag.

“What the—” but you’re gone, swan diving out the window.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I appreciate the comment on P1, @pkg4mumtown ❤️