#so i didn't know at what angle i was supposed to shoot them at

[crest-of-gautier]

triple / wipeout i got today! i'm so happy to have gotten e-liter to 4 stars, it's probably been the most fun i've had playing the game recently :3 (tfw you only started playing it regularly like.. last month.. idk what this says about me)

[dollfacefantasy]

kinktober day 7 - mutual masturbation logan howlett x fem!reader cw: nsfw (18+), smut, mutual masturbation, fingering, handjobs

You're not sure how what was supposed to be an innocent movie night led to this. All you wanted to do was curl up after a long week and watch some scary movies with your boyfriend. Instead, you've ended up with his fingers resting knuckle-deep in your cunt, and your hand stroking his leaking cock.

"Fuck..." you whimper, looking up into Logan's eyes as your lip puffs out into a pout. His fingertips graze just where you like to be touched with every movement. The heel of his palm grinds on your clit from the motions.

He leans down and steals the sound from your mouth with a kiss, melting that huffy look into something much more compliant.

"Gotta be quiet, baby. Don't want anyone knocking on your door to investigate strange noises," he teases and pulls at your bottom lip with his teeth.

Your instinct is to whine again, but it is the middle of the night. Even in the privacy of your own room, you really don't want anyone else in the nearby rooms of the mansion hearing the effect Logan has on you in moments like these.

In an attempt to fight back, you give his cock a tight squeeze before pumping up and down faster. He hisses softly and shoots you a look.

"Funny," he says.

The movie you'd been watching continues to play in the background even though neither of you were paying attention to it at this point. Your fist keeps sliding back and forth. You angle your head above it to spit down onto his shaft, making your movements more fluid.

A groan rumbles in his chest. He pulls you closer with the arm around your body, nestling the two of you further into the collection of pillows at the top of your bed. His lips move in again, smashing on yours as a way to keep himself quiet this time. The entire time, his fingers continue to curl inside you and gently slide between your walls. It's unfair how easy this version of multitasking is for him.

Pulling away, breathless from the kiss, you look down and watch. The outline of his hand presses against your panties and then recedes rhythmically. Next to it, his cock stands angry red and dripping from your hand's treatment of it.

"Jesus, you're so wet," he grunts. His voice sounds as strained as it does when he's buried inside you for real. It's accompanied by the wet sloshing noises of your hole being filled.

Beneath his hand, the seat of your panties was soaked through with slick. You leak around his fingers like a broken faucet, getting his entire palm glistening with your need for him.

"You gonna cum on my fingers, babydoll?" he murmurs in your ear, "Gonna get all nice and tight and make me wish I had my cock inside you instead?"

You gasp out a 'yes' before throwing your head back and letting your body seize up. He smirks at you and keeps working his fingers within. You try to keep your hand going as best you can, but your movements become erratic under the waves of pleasure he's bringing you.

Luckily for you both, the sight of your body squirming for him and the sound of your voice cracking into whines is enough to spur his arousal into a release. His high doesn't crash into him as hard as yours does to you, but he lets out a quiet moan and lets his hips thrust up into your hand.

You watch his abs twitch as ropes of cum fly onto them. It pools on his stomach, dribbling down over his happy trail onto the skin of his pelvis. His eyes flutter and a deep sigh leaves him.

The both of you prolong the mutual ecstasy for as long as you can. You start to come down first. When he joins you in the plateau of the afterglow, you unfurl your fingers from around his length. He pulls his digits from your pussy and snakes his hand free of your panties.

You can see the evidence of your arousal glimmering with the reflection of the light from the television. It would be embarrassing if you didn't know how hot Logan found it. He does what he does every time this happens - brings his fingers to his lips and slots them inside, licks them clean of your nectar, and then brings them back out for you to suck on and get a taste.

After watching you suck on his digits a few times, he pulls them back out and goes in for one more kiss.

"Much more interesting than the movie, huh?" he mutters.

[thebisexualdogdad]

Smutober day 17: Lucy Chen x Male!reader - Undercover

You and Lucy had been sent on an undercover job where you were currently stuck in a private plane headed to Vegas surrounded by gang members you tricked into letting you aid in their casino heist.

Lucy needed a moment to breathe so she takes your hand and guides you towards the planes bathroom.

“Where are you two going?” One of the guys asks.

“We're gonna get lucky before we even hit the casino,” she smirks.

Inside the bathroom Lucy lets out a deep sigh and you can see the tension in her shoulders.

“You good?” You ask her, placing a hand on her cheek and rubbing your thumb across her skin to comfort her.

“Yeah, just nervous,” she confesses.

“Hey you got this,” you say, kissing her sweetly, “and if you need us to be pulled out Angela, Tim and Nyla can fake arrest us at the casino.”

“No, no I'm okay,” Lucy assures you.

“Alright then,” you smile at her but as you go to open the door she stops you.

“Wait,” she says, “we're supposed to be hooking up in here.”

You raise an eyebrow at her, unsure if she's suggesting what you think she's suggesting and she grabs your neck and brings you in for a far more intense kiss.

She slips her hand in your pants groping your cock through your underwear.

“I can't believe we are actually doing this,” you chuckle.

“I need something to calm my nerves,” she grins at you.

You lift Lucy onto the sink as you make out, both of you shimmying out of the lower half of your clothes just enough that you can slip your now hard cock inside her.

She pounds her fist into the door and moans loudly making a show to keep your cover up to the guys outside which makes you laugh.

“I didn't know you were such the exhibitionist,” you tease as you find a steady rhythm that she likes.

“I'd rather be in here with you than out there with them making small talk until we land,” she replies, throwing her head back against the mirror.

You kiss at her neck and palm her chest through her shirt, Lucy still moaning loudly.

She reaches down and rubs firm circles over her clit, her legs wrapping tightly around your waist as she comes closer to her release.

With her legs spread wider you you can now fuck her from a new angle which makes her eyes roll back.

“Right there, right there,” she moans and she cums hard.

You let her ride out her high before pulling out of her when you feel your own orgasm nearing.

As much as you wanted to cum in or on her now was not the time or place so you step to the side and shoot cum into the sink.

“Damn that was hot,” she says as you start to clean up and make yourselves decent again.

“You feeling better?” You ask, noticing how much more relaxed she seemed.

“Much better,” she smiles.

“Good cause I think I just heard the pilot announce we’re about to land over the speaker,” you say.

“Let's go arrest some bad guys,” she says confidently, kissing you one more time.

[lovelybarnes]

dog tags- b. barnes

pairings: bucky barnes x reader warnings: language? umm crimes about: rewrite!! wanted to get back into writing and i thought rewriting some of my favorite prompts would be fun, PF12 “committing crimes” + DH8 “how dumb can you be?” a/n: hello! i meant to post this like. five days ago LMAO but i started school and should be doing work right now and i came up with a false memory claiming i did, in fact post, when i, in fact, did not. anyway. here it is. i don't know how much better it is than the original but i had fun writing it, though, surprise! i still suck at endings. ummm i am thinking or rewriting more to get back into the groove and i am writing an actual new request. this got long okay thank you

"We're going to get caught."

You shoot Bucky a look, nose wrinkled. "You are so negative," you say, legs kicking as you climb over a fence. "We are not going to get caught." You watch as he leaps from the ground, metal hand grasping the top of the fence and launching his body over it cleanly. He lands crouched and stable, watching you slowly turn your body over the ledge and subsequently topple onto the ground.

"We're gonna go to jail," he sighs, bending over to hoist you onto your feet by your armpits. Your hair has leaves in it.

"Oh my god." You stumble, hands wrapping around his arms from the speed. "How the fuck do you—"

You shriek when Bucky spins you around to press your back against his chest and clamps a palm over your mouth, gentle even through the fingers keeping your lips shut. Your eyes widen cartoonishly, flailing as he manhandles you behind a shrub. You're still complaining to the best of your ability when he shushes you, directing your attention to the woman walking out of the house.

You quiet down and stare, brows furrowed. She's not supposed to be there.

It's like Bucky can read your mind, glancing at you with a sigh. You try your best to give him a look back before looking at the woman again. She has a phone pressed against her ear, lips moving angrily. Her voice upticks sharply with the end of each word she says.

You relax when you realize there isn't a chance of you getting caught, kind of wishing you had popcorn to watch her nearly trip over her heels and become even more furious, kicking at the grass. Bucky's silent enough for you to seriously doubt you'd know he was there had he not been tightly wrapped around you. You squeak at the fact, impressed. Bucky pinches your side unhelpfully.

She unlocks her car, keys tinkling harshly with her movements. Bucky finally abates when she throws her door open and sinks inside her white Jaguar, the slamming door narrowly missing her pin-straight blonde hair.

You gag, pushing his hand away. "When was the last time you washed your fucking hands? That's disgus-"

"I thought the house was empty," he interrupts, head cocked.

"I thought it was, too," you defend lamely. "She's off schedule. Maybe that's why she was so pissed. Late to her HOES meeting or whatever."

"What the hell is HOES?"

"I don't know!" you cry. "The one with the lawns."

"Are you trying to say the HOA?"

You quirk an eyebrow. "James Buchanan showing his face?"

"This is not-" He sighs your name, "I swear, if any more of your information isn't right, I'm leaving."

You make an incredulous look. "Is that supposed to be a threat? You were not invited."

"I wanted to make sure you didn't die or get sued or go to jail. Which, hey, really likely in a neighborhood that has 'HOES' meetings."

"I'm not gonna 'die' or go to 'jail,'" you insist, finger quotes up and perplexing Bucky. "I don't need your help, anyway, I'm a very capable person with a very capable plan. You just followed me. You're some guy's little brother."

"What?"

"You know. Annoying."

Bucky breathes in slow, watching you creep around the bush for a better angle of the house. He closes his eyes and counts to three, and when he opens them, you're at the porch, tiptoeing like a fuckin' cartoon character into the house and leaving the door open. Spectacular.

He sprints inside inconspicuously, head darting both ways just in case before he closes the door. When he turns, there's an alarm system set up that lazily blinks green. No disturbances. Huh. He glances at you, impressed for a very quick second when he sees you snooping in a cabinet, clueless to the huge dog growling behind you.

He stills immediately, breath slowing. He stares at you and tries his best to make you feel it, but it either goes wrong or he fails entirely when you drop a file, groaning loudly at the injustice of it. The dog twitches. Bucky's heart jumps into his throat.

You're halfway into an inelegant bend when you spot him, face breaking into a smile. Fuck, he thinks. You're pretty even when you're going insane. "Hey! You're finally here. Look at—"

He shoots you a warning look, moving his lips as little as he can. "There's a dog." He glances between it and you, thinking every move ahead to avoid a nasty bite and the failure of your stupid mission.

"Oh my god, Brutus?" You spin too fast, startling the dog both from with your movements and apparent knowledge of his name. 'Brutus' makes a noise between a growl and a whine. You gasp, a palm pressing against your lips. "Brutus, I thought they retired you!"

You drop down to your knees, opening your arms wide. Brutus stares at you for a second, inching closer to sniff you apprehensively. Then, his ears tuck and he whimpers, tail tucked and wagging gently as he walks closer to you.

"You... know the dog."

"Yes, I know the dog," you start, voice careening into a higher, softer pitch as you rub the pads of your fingers behind Brutus' ears. "Brutus has been the guard dog here for two years. I fostered her for a little while until she was adopted but I kept in touch." Brutus licks your cheek, making you squeal. "Her name was originally Poppy but they wanted a scary name." You roll your eyes.

Bucky shoots you a look.

"I sort of spied on them for a few months to make sure she was doing well," you rub her ear, "and she was, yes she was," you baby-talk. "Her owners have shit values but they really spoil their dogs."

"Wow. Okay. One question—the people we are stealing from know you?"

"Yeah, they have my number."

Bucky pinches the skin between his brows.

"Good girl, Poppy, protecting the house from evil intruders," you coo.

Bucky looks at the clock and then you, slowly lowering yourself further to pet Brutus-Poppy. He nudges you with his foot. Poppy growls at him. "Hey. Fellow evil intruder. She's gonna be back at some point."

"Not for another hour at least. Nat's in charge of the distraction." Still, you press a loud kiss to Poppy's head and stand.

"I'm an overachiever. Let's leave ample time."

"Fine," you say loudly, arms swinging petulantly at your side. "I'll make it quick. You're such a bore."

"Yeah, yeah. What are we looking for anyway?"

You use a pencil to look between books and couch cushions, humming distractedly. "Don't you worry your pretty little head about it, Buck." You wink.

Bucky's cheeks pink against his will, shaking it off as quickly as he can as he watches you look around. You pause in the middle of the room, do a full spin, and sigh. "Not here."

Bucky frowns but trails after you into another room, Poppy close behind. You open the door grandiosely to a giant room. "Wow."

"Okay, I know what you said, but you kind of need to tell me so I can help you find it," he says. You ignore him, striding toward a desk and pulling open a drawer. He says your name exasperatedly. You observe a notebook, shaking it vigorously before tossing it over your shoulder. Other items follow in quick succession, which he catches amidst his frustration. "What are you—you're going to break something—" He catches a crystal ball.

"I'm not, I know what I'm doing," you insist. "You are so pessimistic. Have faith." You dig in a little further before grumbling, rising to your feet and kicking a chair down. "I'm going to look in another room," you say and take off, leaving Bucky with an armful of miscellaneous objects to put back. He screws his eyes shut and counts to three.

You walk down the hallway quickly, peeking into the rooms until you find what you're looking for. Three doors in, you stop, scanning the walls until you find a hideous painting hung up next to a dusty bookshelf. You make a triumphant noise and stride toward it, running your fingers along the frame until you find the indentations of a security panel.

"Aha! And, if I remember correctly..." You enter 1234 and the painting swings open to reveal a safe. "Losers."

You count silently as you unlock the safe, laughing in triumph when you beat Natasha's record. Keeping the door open with an outstretched finger, you contort to find a pen, holding the cap between your teeth as you scrawl your time on the inside of your wrist, giggling in the anticipation of letting her know.

You turn your attention back to the safe after you've written a few wobbly exclamation points, rifling around until you find what you're looking for. Your fingers dig through a dark box filled with stolen valuables, a grin on your face when your fingers get tangled in the one you're looking for, eyebrows jumping in satisfaction as you tuck it safely into your pocket. You stick your head in the safe again, searching for something shiny to throw in Sam's face when Bucky bursts in.

"Oh, hey, do you think Sam would—"

"They're here."

Cursing, you shove everything into place, closing the safe and carefully moving the picture back. You step back and grimace. "God, that's ugly."

He says your name urgently, wrapping his hand around your wrist and dragging you away, throwing you over his shoulder when you keep lagging behind. You squeak, clamping your mouth shut when Bucky squeezes your thigh in warning.

He dumps you out of an open window and into a bush, rolling himself out onto cropped grass. "Okay, I think that was unnecessary," you mumble, crawling out next to him. There are lines of bubbling red all over your skin from what was apparently a rose bush.

"We have to hurry before the gate closes," he huffs, lifting the both of you up with ease and hurrying to the slimming entrance. You squeeze out unseen and stop at the beginning of the blind spot you came in through. Bucky's huffing when he puts you down.

"What's wrong? I thought you had super high stamina or something," you tease, poking at his shoulder. Bucky glares at you. You laugh and reach for his hand, beckoning him enticingly with your fingers. He appeases you suspiciously, capturing your hand in his. He squeezes and rubs a soft line up and down near your thumb.

"Let's go home," you say.

Bucky blinks. "What?"

"Let's go home. I'm hungry. And I kind of want to take a nap. Can we stop by and pick up some ramen?" You tug at his arm gently, beginning the trek to Bucky's bike down the path without surveillance. "Breaking and entering really wears me out," you say to his furrowed brows.

"Don't forget robbery," he muses.

"Right. Breaking, entering, and robbery really wears me out," you say with a laugh. You turn to him and grin, eyes sparkling.

Bucky stops, staying in place when you pull at him and whine. "What was it?"

You cock your head.

"What did you want to steal so badly?"

You chew on the inside of your cheek, looking at him thoughtfully. "I'll tell you if you give me a piggyback ride," you proffer, wagging your brows.

Bucky rolls his eyes but crouches down, holding onto your index finger as you climb onto his back.

He readjusts you as he stands to full height, wrists twisting under your knees and holding your calves tight but kindly. You hum, one arm falling over his chest and the other dipping into your pocket, unzipping it and taking out the chain. You wrap it around your fingers delicately and rest your chin on his head, looking at it dangling from your hands.

Bucky begins to walk. "So?"

Your thumb draws wonky hearts on Bucky's chest, tracing the letters on the tags with your other one. "Do you remember how disappointed you were when you came back and your dog tags had been auctioned off? It was the one thing you couldn't get back because it wasn't in that museum." You feel Bucky nod. "Well, I've been looking for them," you confess, pursing your lips. "I didn't want to tell you because you'd tell me to stop and that it didn't matter but I know it did—I know it does.

"A few months ago, I found out who bought them and I tried to buy them back, but these assholes wouldn't budge no matter how much I offered—or anyone, I impersonated a lot of people. I think they just wanted to keep them because other people wanted them. And the things they said about you..." You shake your head, feeling yourself going hot with anger.

Bucky squeezes your leg, muttering your name.

You stop yourself, letting your face slant so your cheek rests on his hair. He smells sweet like your shampoo. Fucker. "So, anyway, I did the obvious thing: I tracked them down and broke into their house to get it back. It's not like the tags are theirs, anyway."

Bucky stops abruptly, jolting you. You yelp, complaining as he puts you down and stares at you.

"You did—this was to get my dog tags?"

You look back at him. "Yes? I didn't��"

He cuts you off, pulling you into a hug so tight, you cough. Your arms hang limply in surprise for a second before they come up to reciprocate, a dazed but still eager arm rubbing the line of his shoulder blade. Bucky hugs you a little tighter. "Thank you," he murmurs. "I don't think anyone... I don't know many people that would do that for me."

"Oh," you say, blinking fast. "I—of course I would. I love you, Bucky, you... I would do anything for you."

"Fuck," he says wetly, pulling away to hold your face in both hands. He smiles at you. One of those real ones that crinkle his eyes. "You're—fuck—"

You laugh, his hands falling away to your shoulders.

"I'm sorry you didn't get them back after you went through all that trouble."

You tilt your head. "What do you mean? You think I didn't get them?" You raise your hand to his view, dog tags dangling. "Your faith in me is shocking."

Bucky grabs the tags and you let them go easily, watching his hands turning them around slowly, index running along his name. JAMES B. BARNES. Then, two lines down, R. BARNES. "I can't believe you did this for me," he says softly.

You smile. "Well, believe it, baby," you tell him, gently teasing. Your wring your hands together. "Of course I did," you say, quieter.

When he looks back up at you, his eyes are shiny. "Thank you." He glances down at them once more and splits the chain with a finger to pull it on your neck. "Hold on to them for me?"

You pause. "Bucky..."

"Just until we get to the compound. You'll keep it safe for me."

You keep it safe for much longer than that.

[kanmom51]

The story of a JK, a JM and some late night wrestling

Or not, but it definitely ended with a very sore nose for JM.

So this is what we were waiting for, right?

They just couldn't stop talking about it.

On Suchwita.

On their live with RM and Tae.

From all that talk about it I thought we'd be living on that footage for the next 10 months.

At least.

And then this is what we get:

But then again, I guess we got the Jikook treatment.

Them telling us about something and us never getting to actually see it.

The question I ask is: Why?

Why don't we get to see it?

We know there are cameras inside the hut.

We know they are angled at the bed as well.

We know that they were on at night, as we got footage of poor JM at the fridge.

We know the mics were on as well.

*Side note: my guess is there was no worry of anything inappropriate happening seeing that JM was literally out of commission.

So why?

Why did we not get the footage?

Not even of JM showing JK how he hit him!!!!!!

It would have been so much funnier than just hearing about it, right?

Could it be because the cameras were unable to catch them in the dark? Somehow I don't think that's it. Even if it was totally dark why show the hut from outside and not from inside, in the supposed dark?

And it's not because of it being two dudes in one bed. That's not a reason not to show it. We've seen BTS sleep in the one bed. Disney+ has shown the Woogas all in one bed.

It's not about the who (well, maybe it is a little), it's about the how. The who combined with the how makes for too much perhaps.

I think we all know nothing was "going on" there, seeing JM's 'condition'.

My assumption (based of course on my opinion) is that they just couldn't. That seeing them in that bed together was just too much. Too intimate.

Pretty much like here:

You hear how close JK is to JM, seeing that JM is so damn clearly heard on JK's mic. Too close for comfort I'd say. Just like in CT, too much!!

Stop and think for a second.

The only bed that we know the two slept in together we didn't get to see them in bed together in. Not falling asleep and not waking up. And most certainly not during the night when JM was elbowed in the nose.

I guess it was really just too much.

And that is really funny seeing that we got to see those two playing around creating content that could easily be used in a BL drama.

If I'm already at it, this is JM supposedly walking into the hut for the first time.

And why do I say supposedly?

Because that bed is not a "fresh" bed you get in a clean room you just checked into. This bed, my friends, has been laid in. This is not a bed a little creased because staff had to set up cameras. Someone must definitely made use of those pillows. My guess would be that at some point poor JM, who was clearly unwell, had to rest before continuing with the shooting, and this happened before they filmed this. He was probably feeling so bad he needed to lay down for a bit before continuing with the shoot. Understandable. Also understandable that they didn't want to spare us of them 'first' entering the hut and their impression of it.

This my friends is why I keep reminding you that this is edited content, not live running. We have just over 2 hours of Jikook in CT when those two basically spent there close to 3 full days. We get some of the picture, not all of it.

But one thing I do have to emphasize here - as much as content is edited, their interactions, what they have between them, it's genuine. Some we get to see, some we don't, for obvious reasons.

[vinestaffery]

Scythe X cop or detective reader where Scythe kidnaps reader to join her cult or somthing

of course!! im a bit tired atm and my schedule bursted up again, so the other people that have requested, i will be taking a bit of a while to post them fully, but i promise i am working on them!! sadly this is gonna have to be a drabble, im so sorry </3

Characters: Scythe, GN! Reader Prompt: One-sided Romance I think???, Small Drabble Warnings: Usage of (pet) names; Mentions of murder; Slightly descriptive but vague of how Scythe killed civilians; Religious themes; Kidnapping; Drugging; Scythe being a literal serial killer; Indoctrination(?)

Days were never suppose to be this harsh. You were always looking for new angles for the strange disappearances of many civilians in Lost Temple, yet it seemed like every new case was to mock your work.

Someone was watching you, for all you know.

Days were becoming longer, more dissociative then regular. Someone was watching you, you could feel it. It was like being played with like prey, if anything, a piece of meat in the claws of a carnivore.

But, it didn't let you shoot you down off your pedestals. You still, somehow, no matter what found a way to link to your suspects. White, gold and teal clothing, and the way the victims were left.

Cut, bloodied and garnished. Ripped apart in one slick-move, a slice. Head, shaven off of it's horns before being squashed like a tomato with a heel.

You were connecting up the dots to your very last suspect; Scythe.

You met her a few times, once at a bar, another when you had nearly gotten into some beef with some stragglers late at night. She was somewhat always there to support you, but would be never seen again. You took note of this.

When the investigation was left up to you, the police huddling outside for their break; the sun blared down below the alleyway. The shadows were your spectators, witnesses to a brutal massacre of several.

It was her. It was her, how she always disappeared, how everything seemed to become more of a blur. She was always there.

All she had to do, was find her, or catch her in the act.

"I'll get you, one way or another," you whispered to yourself.

"Well, you've bet to get on wit' it, don'tcha?"

A voice seemed to silence all thoughts. You didn't turn to face the new opponent.

You readied your hand-gun that was strapped to your left thigh, hand hovered cautiously over it.

"You and ya littl' ol' brain, finally come to make senses haven't cha? Fufufu..." Scythe laughed, a claw raised and a large weapon rested on her shoulder.

Your heart was thumping, you had no clue what had happened to the people that were here before; blood leaked across the floorboards.

"You must watch yourself, Snake, or else," you threatened, vile in your throat and hatred in your words.

"Or else what, my fine sheep, you goin' to do something?" Her name-calling was getting on your nerves. "The sheep, the one who follows, threatenin' big ol' me? Why, what a show."

"You best watch your tone, or else I'll get those men to take you away-" "And do what? Shoot me with this?" She plucked a gun from her pocket, you could hear it fall and chatter on the cold, hard ground. It rung in your ears.

"Say, maybe if you are ta hear me out, I'll leave ya' be!" Scythe snarled in a smirk, eyeing at you as you gave a small turn. Your hand still readied by your waist.

"And what must that be?" You questioned.

It took her seconds before she was up close, hand over your prepared one as she pulled you into a hold. Your hands, crunched in her soft leather glove while the other one, outstretched and squished by her metal.

"Scream, and everyone in this town's blood will be on your hands, rabbit," You were petrified but held in your sounds, clogged in your throat. You could just throw up.

She took notice, and started dragging you away. In a sorts of type of kidnapping, it was uncomfortable. She caressed your cheek, holding you close as she kept viable eye on you.

Everything started to become fuzzy, did she slip a drug into you by chance? No, she couldn't have. That's not her sense of style. But, everything and everywhere became unrecognizable.

"That's it, we're nearly there, my sweet," Scythe was astonished at how you were still able to walk, to even keep yourself up with her as you seemed to become tired and unable to respond.

Her scorpion tail came back close to her once more.

"Fucking- scorpion.." You pointed out, the tip of her stinger dripped a certain chemical before you fell into the warm-heated sand.

Light's blared into your face as you suddenly awoke. Your back was in pain, brain spinning and pleading to be free from it's coffin.

"Fuck-.. where?"

"Ah-ah ah! Don't want the doctors hard-work to be demolished shall we?" Scythe's voice rung through the room. It echoed in your ears.

"Where am I!" You screamed, but it seemed no use as she walked over. Her heels clicked to the solid, clear marble ground.

A hand reached over, two clawed fingers pinched at your chin and made her look up. God, she was tall, and quite beautiful, for a serial killer. "Wouldn't wanna wake up the others now, do we?" Her scorpion tail threatened as it reached in view.

Eyes widened, and a simple nod in command. She let go in a rough manner.

"Now, you best listen to me, or else you'll end up the same way those people ended up," Your ears wanted to close, but you made eye-contact with her.

She took it as an agreement.

"You've rose quite an interest in me, my sweet. I wouldn't think such people like ya' would be so heavily fascinated in my work of art," Work of art? What is she talking about? Those were never work of art. Those were polished crime-scenes of horror. Onslaughts.

"Now, I wouldn't want my favourite detective, my favourite sheep to be close to finding out about me now do I?" You shook your head.

"Good. Now, if you want to live and make it out of this room alive, you best follow my words," Alive?! "What do you mean 'make it out alive'? I have no deeds to share with you!" You spat.

"Oh, but you mustn't think of it that way. Think of it as a way of... saving you and mine's life. You see, I work for someone quite special deity," Special? Who could be anymore special then the SfOTH? The respected deities, gods if you will?

"There's no one as special as the SfOTH, those deities would crush someone as despicable as your boss."

That struck a nerve.

"You best keep that mouth shut, or else I will do more damage then what my boss would do to you and everyone in this god-for-saken town," Her weapon in hand, you squeaked. You stayed quiet once more.

"... Now, where was I? Ah, yes. I want you to join me, in order to protect you from the harms that might come your way for your... case," "Work with you?" "Yes."

You could nearly laugh! But you couldn't, you'd die.

"...Any benefits?"

"Oh, darling. Benefits were already arranged the first time we met," You snarled. Of course, she was planning this all along at the very start.

"Now, do we have a deal?"

Silence.

A long, period of silence.

"Well?"

You couldn't stop thinking about your family. Your friends, people you considered close.

"You best answer me, clock is ticking."

Your father, mother, what about your pets? What about, what about, what about?!

A slam of the chair, and a rising heat of pain strucking your face as you cried out.

"I've given you one chance at this, now you best answer me! Yes, or nay?" Scythe knelt down to face at you.

"One."

No Answer.

"Two."

No answer.

"THREE-"

"I ACCEPT! I will join your stupid- fucking team!"

...

"Good."

[obsessivestar]

'What If It's All A RomCom?' - a Ted Nivison x Reader.

!! This is Chapter 3! Chapter 1 and Chapter 2 can be found here! If you'd like to be here for the next part, ask to be added to my taglist! It'd be my pleasure ♡ !!

{{-Story Description: You're a youtuber with a fairly decent following deciding to help your good friend Tanner with a minor film project, with you set as the leading lady. When the actor for the male lead is a no show, Ted takes up the role himself. One problem: This short film's a Rom Com, and you just met the guy.-}}

//18+, Def gonna be some smut. Reader is implied to be afab, under 5'5 and has specifically named friends, all who have no real connection to Ted.

This story will be in multiple chapters. Also gonna post this on Wattpad and Ao3 (when I figure them out LMAO) under the same username: ObsessiveStarla. Hope you enjoy :^)\\

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@k-k0129

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Word count: 3.5k

Chapter 3: My Eyes Are Up Here

The first day of shooting the film finally came and went. We had spent most of that afternoon figuring out what every character's wardrobe would be like and making sure everything on set looked good on camera. If any furniture needed to be moved, we moved it. Paintings were taken down or added, blinds were closed or left open, overrall it felt like the first day was about preperation. While I had thought we'd get at least some filming done on the first day, it actually worked out well. It gave Ted an entire day to go over the script with Tanner, and Joe the entire day to play the role of my father, demanding I stay away from bad boy Ted. I mean that sarcastically. Mostly sarcastically.

The plot of the film is almost similar to our real lives: We're supposed to be a bunch of adults out of college trying to hold on to our youth while spending their last summer together at some...summer house. There's a few extras that are meant to be playing our friends, but the main focus is on the relationship of Ted and I; our characters, I mean. At the end of the first day, everyone part of the film crew leave to sleep at their own accommodations except 5 of us. Ted, Myself, Tanner, Joe and another member of the editing team, though I don't learn his name tonight as he spends the entirety of it in his assigned bedroom. Joe had offered to get me a separate Airbnb when he realized I was the only one staying here that didn't identify as a guy, but I'm not uncomfortable with these arrangements. I have a lock for my assigned bedroom if need be, but I have no reason to distrust anyone else that will be spending the next 3 weeks living here.

The first night passes with no problems from anybody, except from Ted. He started knocking on my wall around 12am. Took a good couple minutes and a quick Google search to realize the fuckass was knocking 'cunt' in Morse code. He stopped shortly after I messaged him a picture of my middle finger being held up at the same wall.

The next morning i'm involved in a few scenes with some of the extras first so I can get a real feel for being on camera in this light, which also gives Ted time to read over the script in another room. In the film, my name is supposed to be Kara, and he's Mason. Tanner picked simple names. Ted looks like he could be named 'Mason'. The scenes go by fairly quickly, doing the necessary repeats to get multiple takes and angles, standard procedure when filming. I find myself to be quite a natural at this sort of thing. Other than the occasional stammer, I'm able to speak my lines and act the part with little to no difficulty. No bloopers just yet.

Next thing I know, morning turns into noon and we're having to move outside to take advantage of the last bit of full sunshine we'll have for the day, including Ted, who will finally be joining me in front of the camera. Like Ted had explained yesterday, we'd been filming a lot of the scenes out of order, this one included. At this point in the story, several days have passed, and our characters have already shared their first kiss, so our chemistry needs to be on point to make it believable. We need to act like there are some real, lingering feelings for one another while keeping it subtle. It was actually challenges like this that made me agree to take the leading lady role. I could've easily been one of the extras and only have a page or two to read off of, but I wanted to explore true acting, not just pretending.

I can't say I'm inherently a romantic. I'm certainly intrigued by how romance in film was handled decade's ago compared to now and I'd absolutely invest myself into a romantic comedy of the 90's or 2000's if one was turned on in front of me, but I didn't sign up for this to play pretend with a handsome guy. I want to explore the trials and tribulations of this cheesy kind of storytelling I'm a sucker for. I want to see if I'm capable of bringing chemistry into one scene, then slipping it into my pocket for the next as if it were never out there.

My thoughts are cut by Tanner and Ted meeting me and the rest of the crew outside, with the script still in Ted's hand. He's still in the white t-shirt they fitted him with yesterday, changing his slacks into some dark blue jeans. He looked pretty good in jeans.

"Okay, so we wanna get some establishing shots.." Tanner explained to us, Ted moving to come stand beside me. "We're gonna get some of the extras to toss around a football and sort of...run around, get some shots of them playing. You two are gonna go stand over by that post and just...talk..." He pauses on that last word, as if to really emphasize it. "Just talk?" Ted repeats, raising both of his brows with a smile. "I don't like the way you hesitated there, my good man."

"No, I mean--"

"I feel like you're trying to imply something, good sir."

"Yeah, Tanner. He can talk to the 'pretty lady'." I pitch in with a knowing smirk, getting a look from Ted. "We won't need an intimacy coach just yet."

"No, I get it.." Tanner chuckles slightly. "What I was trying to say is now might be a good time to talk about what your 'tell' is going to be, if you can't think of anything to talk about."

I furrow my brows in confusion, silently looking to Ted for an idea of what that is. He looks equally confused. "Our 'tell'?" I ask.

"Yeah, for when you have to kiss." Tanner replies, pointing at Ted and I. "We can't just count down from three and shout at you. It has to feel natural, so if you have a tell, a non-verbal way of signaling that one of you is going in for it, it makes it...realistic and saves up some time."

I suppose the way Tanner explained it make sense. It makes me think back on a moment in Stranger Things. There's a scene at the end of Season 2 where everyone's dancing, and you can just barely see Finn Wolfhard's mouth move before he goes in for a kiss. He had mouthed 'I'm coming in' or something like that to Millie and it's noticable in the final shot they went with. Tanner wanting to avoid that is completely valid.

"OK. No problem." Ted was the first to agree with a casual shrug, turning to look at me. I give a quiet little nod in return. "Where should we go stand?"

"Just over there would be perfect." Tanner pointed over by the large empty flagpole in the distance, a bit farther away from the rest of the extras. "I'll just be a little more to the left with the film crew, I'll give you a. O.K. signal just before we start filming so you know when to start and I'll shout 'cut' when we're done."

"Sounds good to me. Let's go." Ted beckoned me to follow, heading towards the flagpole.

I'm walking somewhat behind Ted, blushing a little to myself as I take in just how much taller he is than me. He's definitely at least a foot taller, maybe more. I'm only noticing it now. I wonder how tall he is?

"It's 6."

I stop walking for about a second, almost wondering if Ted had somehow read my mind. "What?"

"It's 6 kisses. I counted."

"O-Oh." I giggle a little to myself, crossing my arms over each other to rub them with my hands. "You counted them? Did you even read the script?"

"Better than you did! How do you over count kissing?"

"I counted 7!"

"You added one in, you fuckhead."

"Why the fuck would I add one in? What, you think I was enticing you with an extra kiss, asshole?!" I move up a bit to stand beside him as we walk, just so I can playfully nudge his arm. "I counted 7!"

"You fucking wish, princess."

"Ooghh, you fucking wiiiish!..." I start to mock Ted's strong voice again. "You're projecting. Maybe you under-counted."

"How about you under-count how cute you think you are, huh?" Ted snickered to himself, nudging me back a little harder. "We're supposed to want to smooch it up more once we get to this pole, I need to be able to stay in character."

"That sounds like a you problem. I can stay in character, even with your headass."

"I am going to stick you up on that fucking flagpole, princess. One more."

"Stick--" I pause and close my mouth, resisting the urge to burst out laughing. "Stick deez nuts down your throat."

Ted and I erupt into laughter, almost getting a little hysterical. I leaned forward and hugged my stomach while Ted flung his head back. I'm sure at least some of the others could hear us, our laughter was practically echoing out. We knew we had to come down from our laughing fit when we reached the flagpole, letting out a few more cackles and giggles. I lean back against the large flagpole, it's wide enough for me to push all my weight on it without shifting one way or another. From here, we can see that Tanner was still talking to the film crew as they mess with their large cameras. I'm having to squint and raise my hand up to cover them from the sun's bright, harsh rays, though I smile to myself. I'm glad I agreed to help with this.

"How much longer, do you think?" I ask Ted, watching as Tanner moved over to a different cameraman. Before Ted can answer me, I see Tanner turn to us and raise his arm up high. I can just barely make out the O.K. symbol he's doing with his hand. Next thing I know, the sun's rays are no longer over me. Did some clouds move over it, or...?

I turn my body, only to stiffen it up against the flagpole, almost like I'm trying to push my body into it. Ted is now completely towering over me, only being held up by his forearm resting above my head against the pole. He's crossed his legs somewhat, so if he were to remove his arm, all of his weight would come crashing down on me. "You feelin' alright there, (Y/N)?" Ted's grinning like an absolute winner, keeping his dark brown eyes on me as he removes his round glasses and rests them atop his head. I feel like his eyes could be replaced with the red laser of a sniper, and I'd be just as tense.

"Wh-Why are you--"

"Ohhh, nothing sassy to say now, eh? Where's more deez nuts jokes, hm? Where's being an annoying little cunt?"

Before I can create a coherent response, I feel another one of his hands move closer to me. Ted rests his hand right on my forehead. "You're burnin' up, princess. Did you pack some sunscreen? Gettin' real red over here.."

Something about the way he's bullying me is making my stomach twist. His tone, his words, his smile....

I try to turn my head away to get his hand off my forehead. It works, but his hand moved down to the side of my chin, gently pushing it to the side to make me face him once more.

"My eyes are up here, baby."

I glare daggers right back at him. I can't tell if he's actually flirting or if he's just fucking with me 'cause of yesterday. Both are plausible.

"Y'know this isn't helping your case." I collect my composure enough to speak plainly.

"What case?" He asks with a snicker.

"The case where you don't think I'm a pretty lady."

"I don't. Tanner said I need to act like I'm into you, so I'm acting like I'm into you."

"You're a terrible actor."

"I act for a living."

"You make YouTube videos for a living."

"Well, I'm good at pretending to like you, so.."

Ted's earthy orbs linger on me as he removes his hand from my chin. I'm not sure what I'm feeling at this moment. Is it embarrassment? Is it uncomfortable? Am I...intrigued? Interested, even? The way he speaks to me, it's just...

"Sh-Shouldn't we be discussing what our tell is going to be?"

"St-St-St-Stammerin' up a storm over here.." Ted mocks my stutter, his confident grin becoming even more annoying to me.

"You're not funny.." As the words leave me, I realize I've been smiling a little at him.

"What, and you are?"

"I mean it! I--"

"Woww, you wake up on the wrong side of the bed, princess? All that knockin' bothered you?"

"I'm gonna knock you into this fucking pole if you don't shush. I meant about the tell." A chuckle escapes me. "He's gonna want to know what we've come up with. Any ideas?"

Ted let's out a gentle sigh, finally pulling back to stand beside me against the pole instead. I feel like I can breathe properly again. "It's gotta be subtle, yeah?" Ted asks, crossing his arms. "I believe the term Tanner used was 'non-verbal', but yes." I cackle a little. Tanner has a certain way of speaking that's rather amusing. He's one of those friends that are naturally funny, whether he's intending to be or not. "Something that, if picked up on camera, would make sense in the moment.."

"Like a wink?" Ted asks. I turn my head to him, watching as he gives the most non-subtle wink I'd ever seen a man give me. A chuckle leaves me. "More subtle...like..." Thoughts about how the kissing scenes are shot wander through my mind, where the camera may be at any given moment, whether or not there will be a close up. It needs to be as non-verbal as possible; the most subtle way a person can signal to another that they want to kiss them.

"...Like...a quick look at the lips."

"Like a quick little one-two?" Ted asks, moving his eyes from my lips to my eyes to give me a physical demonstration.

"Yeah. I'm sure people do that when they're about to kiss someone."

"You're 'sure'?" Ted's smile drops, his change in expression suggesting he's nervous. "Oh man, don't tell me I'm about to be your first kiss.."

"Oh fuck you! I've had my first kiss! I'm in my 20's!" I laugh at him, watching as he let's out a sigh of relief. "I've had several kisses with several other boys, thanks!"

"Wowww, okay, first of all, kissin' the bro's is different." Ted points his finger at me, trying to appear serious with his lips tucked in a bit. "Second of all, boys? I'll have you know you'll be kissing a MAN, (Y/N). A fully grown 26 year old man!"

"What happened to the 'man' that was supposed to put me up on the flagpole, hm?"

"I basically already did, and you turned into a tomato."

"My feet didn't even leave the ground."

"Were you expecting me to pick you up? Cause I can do that!"

"Oh please, looks like the heaviest thing you ever carried was a Tuba."

"Okay, fuck you, I was in theater, but I can throw a mean ball and could absolutely carry you."

"You think so?"

"Absolutely."

"Try it."

Ted raises a curious brow at me and turns his body towards me once more. For a moment, I thought I saw his eyes wander downward, but our moment is interrupted by a shout, though it's not from Tanner. Right before my eyes, like time moved way faster than I was ready for, Ted had moved around me to stand in front of me to catch a fast-moving football. His back was close to me, in fact, this was the closest he's been to me so far. Though for only a brief moment, I could feel his white shirt slightly caress the tip of my nose as the wind blew. He smelled like...pine trees.

"Dude!" Ted shouted at the extras as he threw the football back. He may not have been a jock in high school, but his form was pretty good.

His. His football form. Y'know, like, not--not his--

I think that football would've hit me if Ted hadn't reacted as fast as he did.

"Jesus..." Ted huffed before turning to me again. He noticed how tense I had gotten, reaching to touch my arm. "I'm sorry, I didn't back up into you, did I? You alright?"

"I-I'm alright.." I managed to mutter back. It was odd hearing his voice sound so concerned for me. Up until now, most if not all of our interactions had been full of sarcastic, tyrannical but overall light-hearted jabs at each other, but in this very moment, I realized we may have unintentionally developed something here. I'm not saying it's necessarily romantic, but...there's a tension building up between us. It's not just in my head, is it? Does he feel it too? Is that why he's?...

"That...works too." Tanner catches up with us, alongside the man that had thrown the football. I didn't even realize they had been approaching us.

"What, did you plan that?" Ted turns to Tanner, sounding quite frustrated with him. "That could've hit her."

"Dude, I'm so sorry, I messed up my throw..." The man next to Tanner spoke with a genuine frown. "I-I meant to throw it higher up and hit the pole, the sun blocked my view. It's my fault."

"No, I told Dan to throw it, I'm sorry." Tanner speaks up as well, his hands resting on his hips nonchalantly. "I've been shouting at you two for, like, a good minute. I thought it would've been funny if Dan hit the pole.."

Ted and I are silent. Oh fuck. How long have they been trying to get our attention? How did we not hear them? I can tell Ted still isn't satisfied with the answer. Angry wasn't a good look for him, I don't think it's a good look for anyone.

"We need to buy you a whistle.." I manage to get out a joke, smiling to show everyone that I wasn't upset. I knew Tanner hadn't meant for anyone to get hurt. He probably trusted this 'Dan' to make the shot. Tanner wouldn't hurt a fly. He /would/ hurt a spider, though. He hates those things. "Yeah. Clearly." Tanner chuckles slightly, slipping his hands into his shorts pockets. "I'm really sorry."

"I'm okay, Tanner. Teddy's got me." I move away from the flagpole to place my arm on Ted's shoulder, leaning against it somewhat. I think my attempts at showing him I was OK finally worked, watching as he looks down at me with a friendly scoff. "I should've let it smack you in your stupid face." He remarks, finally bringing some of the tension from that altercation down. "Maybe, but at least I believe you now." I smile at Ted, moving my hand off his shoulder. Dan apologizes one last time before moving to rejoin the extras. Tanner let's us know that we'll be moving back inside to check on the shots before returning to the cameramen to help pack up. Ted and I start walking back to the house, though he pauses for a moment.

"What do you mean you 'believe me now'?" He asks, furrowing his brows while smiling. "Believe what?"

I give him a cutsey smile and reply simply.

"That you could carry me."

I walk a bit ahead of him, feeling the weight of my cheeks from how wide I'm smiling to myself. I hear a quiet scoff from Ted, though the rest of the walk is quiet.

After a few minutes of packing up and walking, we all return inside to look over the footage and set up for other scenes the extras will be filming. Now is the time we let Tanner know that we've figured out what our 'tell' is going to be. I look over at Joseph in the meantime, who's across the living room helping an extra with adjusting their outfit. As Ted explains the idea, Joe shoots me a look, furrowing his brows like I had just disobeyed a direct order. I return the look with a shrug. He's just going to have to deal with it. Tanner absolutely loved the idea, said it would add 'real intimacy' to a scene if he caught it on camera.

I suppose that's it, then. If I'm ever going in for a kiss, I'll look at Ted's lips to let him know.

__________________________________

|| Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || Chapter 4 || Chapter 5 || Chapter 6 (smut) || Chapter 7 || Chapter 8 || Chapter 9 || Chapter 10 (smut) || Chapter 11 || Chapter 12 || Chapter 13 || Chapter 14 (smut) || Chapter 15 ||

[violetswritingg]

Thunderstruck

Tyler Owens x OFC!

Description: When cowgirl meets cowboy after a year of no-contact and chaos ensues during storm season!

Rating: M (Mentions of blood and death in Tornadoes and storms alike, angst and loss of loved ones, car accidents, Tornado aftermath, and injury to characters, slight age gap (5 years))

Want to read the other chapters?

Click here

9

A few seconds later......

"I'm just fine, you're the one who almost had a house drop on them." His words bit at her exposed nerve endings. Filling Riley with regret for even stopping to check on him, her stomach twisting in knots.

"Right. Okay then." Riley was tired, she was hungry, but also still nauseous, her head hurt and now her chest felt tight hearing the sharp tone that had left Tyler's lips. Something so familiar but so distant in her memory. It was how he always sounded when he was upset with her for doing something dangerous.

Or, at least, stupidly dangerous.

Riley turned on her heel and made it a grand total of two steps before the sound of skin against skin and a quiet yelp made her turn back around. Witnessing Tyler, holding his shoulder, glare at the dark-haired man beside him, who had appeared out of nowhere. Having been around the back of the house-turned-debris they were poking around. The new face simply raised his brows and put his hands on his hips, coffee eyes drilling expectantly into Tyler. His ever-present smile never really leaving his face, even present now, a slight curl to them as he nodded his head in Riley's direction.

Tyler glanced her way looking like a kicked puppy, barely meeting her slightly amused-mostly shocked expression and round eyes.

"Sorry" Tyler sighed, "I didn't mean that."

"Kinda felt like you did." Riley swallowed hard, eyes squinting as the sun started to shift positions in the sky, having to raise a hand to block the rays from fully blinding her. "I'm uh- I'm gonna go." She started to walk, Tyler's voice calling after her. His boots crunching against the ground in quick strides.

"No, wait, really, I'm sorry. I'm just still pissed off about that shit with Kate-"

"It's fine Owens. You don't owe me any-" She had barely turned around, desperate for Tyler to not see the hurt she was feeling, because she had no right. But also wanted to just drop everything and apologize and fall into his arms. After her day she knew a single hug from him, if they were still in good standing with each other, would probably make her feel like it would all be okay. Truly. If even only for a couple minutes.

"Please don't call me that." Riley stopped, angled away from the blonde man, shoulders raised. Tyler's voice barely carrying, but it was enough. A lead weight dropping onto Riley's chest. "Just..." The man looked around for a second, "This isn't your fault ya know?" Tyler's abrupt change, turning it on her, shouldn't have thrown her. Not after her experience with it firsthand. But she is.

"Easy for you to say," She sputtered, "It's easy for you, all you do is run around and shoot fireworks up into tornados or god knows whatever else your followers ask you to do next. But for me?" She should stop, She knew that, but once she had started it was like a single crack had suddenly blown open and the dam was crumbling more and more with every word that left her mouth unfiltered, "Every time I fail, it's a town that's hit. Family homes ripped from the ground. Torn to shreds. Parents without kids and kids without parents. So, thank you for saying that, but it is. I could have prevented this Tyler. I could have." She didn't know who she was begging to believe her. Him or herself. "But I fucked up. As per usual."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Tyler scoffed, eye wide as he stared her down, hating how Riley's face dropped, her eyes losing any spark they had, but confused more than anything. She couldn't think-

"I'm not my dad. He was always so good at this, I'm sure he'd have it all figured out by now." Riley shrugged, small, pitiful little bubbles of semi-laughter popped up and out of her lips as she shook her head. Gaze eventually falling to her feet as her arms wrapped around her stomach.

She looked so small.

"Maybe..." Tyler started off gently, "but you can't know that. And I'm sorry, but have you met you? You are exactly like him, in a good way." Tyler points at her quickly as she went to open her mouth. "You are not a fuck up Riley. You're working harder than any other chaser I know to actually find answers, help people. But Jesus Christ Riley," He chuckled, beside himself, worry glazing over his eyes, "when is it going to be enough? You almost let yourself get crushed by a house! A couple hours ago! And then you just walked away like it was no big deal." Tyler couldn't stop more incredulous laughter from tumbling past his lips like missiles aiming right at her open wounds.

"So that a family could lay one of its members to rest intact!" Riley bit, chewing through every word. Nails digging into her palms.

The word hit him like a punch to the gut and flashes of that moment. Seeing Nathan's body, Riley sobbing under his weight and covered in her fathers blood. The woman, now grown, in front of him and lacking the rust-colored stains as the one in his memory.

"Ty, I'm sorry-" She wanted to kick herself. Screaming why?! Over and over and over. Tyler didn't let her finish though. Riley taking a step back at the shift in his posture, his shoulders slumping forward as his jaw dropped, quick breaths puffing in and out of his lungs.

"What about you? Is it me that's going to have to pull your body out of a house so I can bury you intact? Like I pulled you out of that truck?"

It felt like she had been dealt a physical blow, the way all the air left her body, as if punched in the stomach. That's what she would equate it to. That sounded right. Shit. Her eyes started to burn, still locked on Tyler's now wide-open orbs. His own shock painted so clearly in the blue-green waves, followed by guilt, and lastly, panic.

For the first time in a very long while, she was met with the familiar feeling of losing something she didn't think she ever would. But that was her fault, as per usual. It was all her fault.

"Riley-"

"Ri, there you are. I have been looking everywhere for you!" Riley was broken out of the fog she didn't even realize she had fallen into by the sudden jolt of a hand clapping her on the shoulder. Shaking her gently a bit before pulling her into his side.

"Daniel." She muttered, leaning more into his hold as exhaustion swept over her like a storm cloud on an April day in Oklahoma. Knees feeling like Jello all of a sudden.

"Hey there boss lady, we need your help with something." His arm over her shoulder anchored her, her hand coming up to grab his as he started to shift them away from the blonde man who looked like he was about to lose his mind.

"Wait- we were in the middle of something. Riley, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it- Not like that-"

Tyler stops in his tracks, having followed behind a couple step without hesitation, as Daniel whipped his head around with a far nastier glare than Tyler ever though such a baby face could make. His breaths felt heavy in his chest, Pulling away from Boone as he felt hands on his shoulder and back. Dragging a hand down his mouth and shaking his head as he could only watch Daniel take Riley away.

"We were worried you had found yourself buried under some other little old ladies house, Sarah, Jenny, and I at least." His voice was gentle, but still joking. Trying to bring the old Riley back, the one who would hang out the Warlock's window in the middle of a storm. Their Riley. Their fearless leader and most looked up to person. Their hero. "You're welcome for the assist, by the way. I take payment in affection and head pats." The 20-year-old grinned down at Riley and the slightly older young adult shook her head. Slowly coming back to herself. Her grin practiced, not meeting her eyes, having almost perfected it after pushing herself to meet their expectations – everyone's expectations – for years.

"Can it Casanova, save it for girls your own age." Riley could see the pure relief sink into Daniel's face and her head ached.

"What if I don't like girls my own age? What if I don't like girls?" He grinned brightly, still supporting her but bouncing up and down as best he could.

"Then why you looking at me like that, huh?" Riley elbowed his side a bit, wincing when her body ached, her side stinging at the movement.

"This is just how I look at people Riley. What are you talking about?"

"You are really pushing your luck kid."

"Ooh. It hurts, I may never recover!" He pretended to sputter and keel over, almost taking Riley with him. Daniel trying to keep his laughter at bay, conscious of their surroundings even when goofing off. While Riley forced hers to cover the shot of pain that went through her side at the sudden jolt.

"Good."

Daniel gasped and clapped a hand over his chest as he straightened up. Riley audibly groaning and gripping her side as he pulled her up with him.

"Sorry!"

~~*~~

“Thanks Sam.” Riley grunted as she tried not to flinch away from the feel of the needle going through skin. Fixing her ripped stitch. “You’re a lifesaver, knew it was a good decision to bring on a med student.”

“Ex-Pre-med student. You’re just lucky I watched way too much youtube way too early on in life with no parental controls in place.” Sam finished off the stitch and pressed a clean bandage over the area gently. Dead silence filling the room as three sets of eyes drilled into his head.

“I’m sorry what?” Riley breathed through clenched teeth.

“You said you knew how!” Sarah gasped, “You said-”

“I said I knew how, you never asked from where!” Sam defended himself, taking off his gloves and throwing his hands up.

“I thought it was obvious why I was asking you! The med student!”

“I was pre-med. For like six months!”

“Oh my god.” Riley muttered, falling back onto the motel mattress, her shirt falling back down as she threw her arm over her eyes.

“We trusted you!” Daniel chimed in, definitely not as angry as he was pretending to be. If anything, just based on his voice alone Riley could tell he was holding back laughter and she couldn’t help but think this was an incredibly stupid thing to be experiencing right now. And so she started laughing.

Then Daniel cracked, which triggered Sam, Sarah being the last to break. Actors.

~~*~~

It had been a couple hours since the whole youtube doctor incident, Daniel and Sam made pretty quick exits once it was confirmed she wasn’t going to die. Sarah stuck around a little longer, flouncing around the way she does when she’s worried and didn’t want to leave Riley alone.

The blonde managed to convince the brunette she was fine and was probably going to turn in early. No storms on radar, not ones that looked like they would produce anything till late tomorrow at the earliest. If not dissipate before anything could even really happen. Tomorrow would most likely be just a inventory and restock day. A day for data analysis and writing a couple more chapters of her thesis that needed to be turned in by the end of next week.

Riley’s mood had slightly increased but she still couldn’t seem to shake the lingering feeling of Tyler’s words. How they clung to her skin and ridges of her brain, the hurt. It brought up a lot of other unresolved feelings that then made her restless.

Trying to turn on the Tv for some white noise didn’t even help like it normally did, not when it was immediately on a local news channel. The broadcast showing footage from the wreckage at Crystal Lake. She knew it was torture to make herself watch it when she spent all day in it, having only washed it off her skin and hair before Sam fixed her stitches. But the feeling of debris dust and dirt and dried blood would always be a sensation that would never leave her mind or her skin. Lingering guilt hanging like a sword.

What is the saying? Heavy is the head that lies the crown.

All the damage played out in front of her as dollar signs flashed at the top, how much can an estimation of the face value even really touch the priceless thing those people had just lost? The feeling of home. Everything they once had, shattered. It can’t be tallied. It’s impossible.

But they still try. It’s absurd.

Quiet knocks at her door cut through the Tv. Riley rolling her eyes and huffing, pushing herself off the mattress slowly, “I’m fine Sarah! You don’t need to tuck me in,” Her hand gripped the door handle, pulling it open, “I’m a big girl I-”

“Hey.” Tyler really tried to tamper down his grin, but he knew he was caught. He never could hide from her.

His laughter wasn’t out loud, but she could see it, and it made her want to shrivel up and die on the spot. Honestly hoping for a hole to open in the ground and swallow her whole. They were in the wrong state for that unfortunately.

“I uh- I heard through the grape vine you and your child army had moved out by the rodeo, and I uh thought you might be hungry. You always forget to eat after a bad chase…” Tyler kept going until it was almost physically painful, until he simply, awkwardly, held up the pizza box in his grip. Like a kid giving his first ever date to the school dance her corsage. It was like a shock to her system, how disarmed she could be for him when he was like this. No bravado, no smirk or cowboy hat. Hair a little messy and not all put together. When he was Ty.

Time to go. Is what her brain was screaming at her.

So she took the pizza, gave him a flash of what she hope passed as a grin and shut the door. His face turning down at every corner as the door clicked in place. Riley, as if made of metal walked over to her bed, sat down, opened the pizza, and looked down.

Pepperoni, sausage, and olives. Her favorite.

Fuck.

Her hands were finding the door before she could really think about what she was doing. Her eyes meeting Tyler’s in an instant, the man’s shoulders rolling back as he stood taller. At attention, waiting for her next move.

Riley opened the door a bit more, leaning on it, hand gently placed over her right side, “Find the dog?” she asked softly, head leaning against the door now as well.

He just looked at her, eyebrows raising.

“Of course you did, what am I thinking?” She answers her own question with a pitiful chuckle. Head dipping down as her eyes went to her socked feet.

“I’m sorry Riley. I feel like I’m saying that a lot lately, I just- there isn’t really an excuse for it. I’ve been an ass, and I apologize.” Tyler burst out after taking a breath, dipping his head down to try and meet Riley’s eye. He hated when she was like this, especially when she was like this because in part of something he said.

“Thank you.”

“How are you doing after all that?” Tyler swallowed, tucking his chin a bit and stuffing his hands in his pockets. Leaning against the door frame, but giving Riley her space. Mentally telling himself to pull it together.

Riley just shrugged, “You know me, can handle the storm but never the aftermath.” Not after becoming the aftermath. It was never the same after that.

“I thought that you might want to see something good after all that today.” He held out his hand. “I wanna take you somewhere, might help take your mind off things for a bit.” His grin was hopeful, but cautious. His gaze soft.

Earlier had been bad, as bad as it gets with them, but this feeling. That look. It always left her stomach filled with proverbial butterflies, made her think that as long as Tyler Owens cared about her enough to look at her like that, that everything would be okay. And it would be, because he would make it okay, because he cared.

It was a look she didn’t think he would ever give her again after last chase seasons dramatic, heartbreaking close. So, she takes his hand, gives it a quick squeeze. He turned it over and sees the blistering and cuts that dotted her palms. Wounds she hadn’t even realized were there until they got to the new motel. Her breath got caught in her throat and she pulled away out of instinct. Tyler looked crushed and that was just too much for her conscience to bear. Her mouth moves before she knows it is. 

“Give me a minute? I need to get changed.”

“Yeah. Yeah. I’ll be out here.” Tyler grinned, a slight bounce in his step as he backed away from the doorway and moved back to the railing surrounding the walkway around the second floor looking into the parking lot and across the street. Riley waiting till the door was closed to let her smile slip, something feeling like it was sliding back into place and locking in. Like she had finally found the next correct piece of a jigsaw puzzle.

It was a nice feeling. Like something was going right for once.

~~*~~

[sashaisready]

Chapter Eight - She said stop

Bucky Barnes Mob AU x Femme Reader

You're hard at work in Pepper's Bakery when notorious mob boss James 'Bucky' Barnes darkens your doorway one typical afternoon, and life is never the same again.

Warnings: Drinking, some noncon kissing/groping with minor character

18+ - see Masterlist for full list of warnings

Chapter 9

Series Masterlist

It had been three weeks since the phone call and Bucky had not been back to the bakery since. Neither had any of his men.

You knew you should be relieved. You had been uncomfortable having such close association with a mob boss and being on the periphery of his world, you couldn't get used to being followed or having watchful eyes accompany you everywhere you went. You weren't confident schmoozing in high end restaurants or being someone's arm candy. This was a clean break, it was over.

But...you missed him. You didn't want to admit it to yourself, but you did. You missed looking up as he came in and finding his smile in the doorway. You missed the way he looked at you, gazing at you intently as you spoke to him. You missed the fluttering in your stomach when he joked with you, the jolt of electricity when you passed his card back and your hands grazed. You missed his shocking blue eyes, the way a single glance from them made you feel like a deer in headlights.

You had thought about texting him. But what would you say exactly?

Hey! I know I rejected you but can you come back to the bakery and flirt with me? 🙂

Hi! I'm sorry I said no to the date – I'm a big coward and I'm scared you'll think I'm unsophisticated and boring (and maybe slightly scared of your job? Idk) xx

I know you hate me and I get it but can you just come to my apartment for a few hours and lie on top of me?

You sighed as you adjusted the cake stands and began to wipe down the counter.

"That's it" Wanda snapped.

"What?" you asked.

"You. You haven't stopped moping and sighing since that call. And as you're not going to call him, we are going out tonight. No arguments" she said sternly.

You scoffed. "Out where? I'm not in the mood Wa-"

"I just said, no arguments" she interrupted, folding her arms. "You're going to put on a tiny dress and we're going to get drunk and dance and maybe hook you up with a hottie. This place is closed tomorrow for Pepper to do her audit so we don't need to get up for work - no excuses".

You roll your eyes, knowing full well she'll wear you down eventually so you might as well give in now and save yourself the bother.

"Fine..." you huff. "But you're buying the first round..."

"Good" she sang triumphantly. "Let's get you cheered up..."

*

Later that evening you strolled into a nightclub at Wanda's side. You liked dancing but clubbing wasn't really your scene, still - it felt good to be out and getting your mind off things. You were wearing a blue dress, one of your favourites. Not too revealing but it highlighted your best features and you felt good in it. You wore heels, they were a decent height – but still comfortable and not the ridiculous type you couldn't walk in. Wanda had styled your hair and you'd both gone to town on her impressive make-up collection, carefully accentuating your eyes and lips. You both drew a few admiring stares from men as you strolled in which caused Wanda to shoot you a wink.

You hadn't been here before, it was somewhere Wanda had heard about. It was busy – but not too packed. The atmosphere was lively and buzzing, a mixture of people dancing and splayed over the seating areas enjoying their drinks. There were a lot of handsome guys here, none quite as handsome as Bucky (you couldn't help but think), but still easy on the eye.

There was a VIP section in the far corner, roped off and protected by a couple of burly bouncers. You couldn't see much due to the angle of the seating (you supposed privacy was a VIP perk) but a throng of beautiful girls dressed up to the nines were being ushered inside.

"Drink?" Wanda shouted over the music as she gestured with her hand to her mouth.

You whipped back around to face her, nodding enthusiastically as she drags you over to the bar.

Wanda ordered two fruity cocktails, handing you one as she pulls out her purse to pay. You push her bag away from the bar.

"I'll get these" you said firmly, retrieving one of the hundreds from your own purse.

"I have built myself up something of a nest egg recently..." you wink.

Wanda laughs and takes her drink as you hand the money over to the bartender.

"Can you break this okay? Sorry..."

Working with cash yourself you know it can be a pain when someone gives you a large bill.

"No problem..." he laughs as he takes it from your hand.

You sip your drink eagerly as you lock eyes with him. You suddenly feel a flash of recognition, but can't place him. He had dark hair and glasses, and seemed to look back at you with the same hazy recollection as he handed over your change. Was he a customer? Maybe.

You were just about to ask if he ever went into the bakery when Wanda hurriedly pulled you to the dancefloor. The mystery man was suddenly forgotten as you followed her, stuffing the bills back into your purse.

Unnoticed by you, the barman watched as you disappeared into the crowd and hummed thoughtfully, then craned his neck to peer over at the VIP area.

Wanda was right, this was just what you needed. You were letting loose on the dancefloor, the alcohol sweeping away all of your inhibitions as you moved to the music with your best friend. Your mind began to clear and soon enough you weren't thinking of anything, no Bucky, no work, nothing. Only the song that was playing and the freedom that you felt in that moment.

You and Wanda took turns going to the bar over the next few hours, bringing back all manner of elaborate cocktails and shots as you slowly began to feel intoxicated. All on Bucky's dollar, of course. You weren't a lightweight by any means by hadn't drank like this in a long time. The bartender you recognised had been replaced with another, and you'd already forgotten his face as you enjoyed your night.

After some more dancing Wanda mouthed that she needed the bathroom and you nodded, asking if she wanted company. Just as you asked her - a cute blond guy appeared next to you, grinning and dancing close. He had a sweet smile, very all-American and clean cut. You smiled back at him.

Wanda's eyes flitted between you and the blond, then grinned and shook her head at you – implying she was fine to go by herself. She gave you a knowing look and shot off to the Ladies, leaving you alone with him.

The music was loud so he leaned over and spoke into your ear.

"You wanna dance?" he asked.

You turned to face him and nodded enthusiastically, he smiled and took your hand – and the two of you moved to the music for a few songs. Occasionally he gave you a little spin or dipped you, which made you giggle. His hand felt nice in yours and you allowed yourself to get swept up in the warmth of him, powered by the booze in your veins.

"I'm John, by the way. John Walker." he said into your ear.

You smiled, leaning to him and telling him your name.

"I think you're very pretty" he shouted over the music, just as the end of the song dropped out, meaning his voice carried loudly across the dancefloor. A few fellow clubbers turned to look at him, and you cackled as he hid his face in mock embarrassment.

"Thank-you" you replied bashfully.

"Can I get you a drink?" he asked.

You nodded – but then realised you hadn't seen Wanda in a while. You surveyed the room for her as John went ahead of you to the bar.

You soon saw her curled up on a sofa with Vis, who must've shown up at some point while you were dancing. They were making out heavily as usual and you rolled your eyes, smiling. Wanda caught your eye and grinned at you, pointing at John and giving you a thumbs up. You rolled your eyes again, miming 'get a room' as Vis saw you and gave you a wave.

You chuckled at your friends' antics as you got to the bar. John had ordered you a gin and tonic and moved it in front of you as he paid. You furrowed your brows slightly, he hadn't asked what you wanted and you didn't really like gin much. You weren't a big fan of people making decisions for you without checking. Still, you didn't want to be rude so accepted it – giving him the benefit of the doubt. Besides, you were a bit tipsy and wanted to go with the flow.

John smiled at you as you sipped the drink. You smiled back, feeling a bit shy and unsure of what to say. The evening's beverages had gone to your head a bit, making you feel a bit unsteady on your feet.

"I meant what I said" he shouted over the music, leaning into you. His breath was hot on your ear and you realised he was slurring slightly. "You're really pretty".

You blush, smiling up at him. "Thanks, that's sweet of you".

Without warning he pins you against the wall of the club, shoving his tongue into your mouth and harshly groping your breast with his hand. The kiss is rough and sloppy, he tastes like stale beer. He misses your mouth initially so you end up with his saliva spotted across your cheek.

You gasp and roughly push him off of you.

"Hey! Stop, John!" you shout angrily, wiping your mouth and adjusting your bra where he had felt you up.

He rolls his eyes and moves in again. You move your head to face him and glare daggers at him.

"I said stop". 

He scoffs. "C'mon don't play hard to get, honey. You've been rubbing up against me on the dancefloor and you let me buy you a drink. We both want this".

Your jaw clenches as you feel your rage simmering.

"We were just dancing, I didn't sign a contract to do anything else. And I don't even like gin" you scold.

He laughs mockingly at you. "All girls like gin..."

You raise your shoulders in disbelief. The worst part was you had thought he was cute and probably would've made out with him eventually. But not like this. And not now he's behaved this way.

You roll your eyes and go to move away from him but he pushes your shoulder hard against the wall and tries to continue the kiss. You hit him, hard. The back of your hand strikes his cheek with a loud 'thwack!'. The sound rings out even over the loud music and he cries out, staring at you in disbelief.

"I said stop..." you repeat defiantly.

His eyes harden, he glares at you with fury and his face contorts into an ugly grimace. You feel your breath hitch as he bares his teeth.

"You little..."

But he halts as a gloved hand comes down hard on his shoulder and yanks him away. John is suddenly jerked backwards.

"She said stop..." warns a low voice.

"Who the fuck asked you-" John yells as he turns to face whoever dared touch him.

Both yours and John's faces fall as you realise who it is, but for slightly different reasons.

Bucky. 

[cookiepie111]

A Cheap shot, a clean miss!

You get some help in the shooting range. König x black reader. Suggestive. Not proofread.

You're out at a shoot range,a friend told you it's a good way to build up your confidence and good stress relief. So here you are, 15 minutes in and nothing but missed targets and shaking nevers. Everything about this experience was wrong. Arms shaking stretched out in front of you.The gun felt off in your hands, too uncomfortable to hold for too long.

Okay, you needed some pointers, help. This was good, asking someone for help is a step in the right direction, a step to confidence! you reassure yourself, just find an instructor and talk to them! But your movements were small as you looked around.

5 bullets.

5 targets, marked with a bullseye. not a single shot wasted from the person next to you. That's who you needed to ask, if they could teach you to shoot like that, get at least one bullseye, today wouldn't be wasted!

You weren't feeling to confident when you got close to him. Tall, rugid face, eyes cold and empty still staring at the targets, face covered in Scars. Nope, no, this man would kill you if you bothered him.

"it's rude to stare" !? His comment took you by surprise. He's still staring at the bullseye while telling you off.

"I, could you please help me with the shots?" How embarrassing your voice came out weaker than you wanted. This day is going terrible. You came here afer all to build up your confidence, Yet it was slipping away from you.

He barely moved his head to look at you, merely taking you in from the corner of his eye. They wided for just a moment before turning towards you fully. To have this man's full attention was intimidating to say the least. You realise you can't see anything past him. It's not only his impressive form, It's the way he's looking at you like he's sizing you up, figuring out how to best to eat you.

You're wishing now he wouldn't look at you now. you didn't want this man's help anymore, probably kill you... you know what, it's fine he'll say no, and you can go ba-

"Sure"

fuck!?

Is this how it's supposed to be? Is this how you teach a person how to shoot a gun?locking you close to their body? arms over yours?

It's hard to listen to the advice he gives when he moves your legs apart with his knee brushing dangerous close to your heat. Feeling his thigh rest against yours.

He doesn't need to be this close does he? but he's warm and you miss that warmth when his hands move away from yours to turn your body by your hips, positioning you to where you need to be. He gives clear and sharp orders angling his head to look at you when talking. this can't be right he's just manhandled you however he wants and you would be angry with him if your mind wasn't drawing blanks at his touch, if you didn't feel the heat spreading throughout your stomach.

You make your first hit on the board not quite on the target but the best attempt you've made yet. You laugh turning to ask if he saw.

He smiles, giving you squeeze by the hip "Let's hit the target dead on next time."

Oh god, he was getting to you. Red. you're sure you'd be red if you could blush. red as a beet. you're so nervous, sweaty palms and light headed.

You're getting ahead of yourself, surely it wasn't you that caused the bulge in his pants it's just his gun in his pocket yes, a very thick .. gun.. you bit your lip you needed this man desperately.

"How about we get something to eat after-"

"My place-" he didn't even let you finish your sentence and you didn't even batt an eye jumping to say yes the next second.

[void-ink-studios]

Nightmare's Rampage

Inspired by a comment left by @scumbkat, behold, a very very bad night for Scarab.

Not much left to say other than that, so enjoy!

TW: Implied/Referenced torture, Scarab has a major nightmare/PTSD response.

Word Count: 2,100

"Scarab..."

Scarab groaned. He was on the ground, he could feel cold tiles against his bruised and cracked shell. His limbs twitches painfully. Like they were... bent? Bent at wrong angles, twisted in some way.

"Scarab."

He tried to push himself up, but his arms and legs protested, pain shooting up and down his spine. His head throbbed.

"SCARAB!"

The beetle jumped, an undignified chirp falling out of his mouth. His wings twitched as he blinked his eyes open, trying to make sense of where he was, what was happening.

"Oh, good, you're awake."

A large shadow loomed over Scarab. The beetle could see the glint of those ridiculous sunglasses staring down at him.

"So. Have you learned your lesson?"

Lesson? What lesson was he meant to learn? His head was filled with wool, his thoughts sluggish and blurred. He couldn't speak, like something was sitting in his mouth.

"What...?" His voice sounded slurred. What had happened?

"Oh, Scrabs, buddy. Still? You still need to be taught?"

Taught what? What did he do?

"Wait..."

"Scrabs, buddy, you know I'd hate to do this to you." His sickly sweet voice dripped like poison over Scarab's head. "But you need to learn your lesson."

What lesson? Please, what lesson was he supposed to learn? Why did everything hurt? What was going on?

"Tell ya what. If you can tell me what you did wrong, we can be done for today. You can rest up, and get back out there. Just tell me what you did to deserve this."

Scarab wracked his brain. He tried to cling to memories, what happened before this? What did he do to make Orbo mad? What happened this time? Every time he thought he had it, the memory slipped through his fingers like water. He uselessly tried to summon words to his throat, but it was drier than a sand dune. His mouth and throat filled with gritty mud, drowning in silence.

"Really mate? Nothing? It's almost like you think you didn't do anything wrong. Pity. You know I don't want to do this, but you've left me no choice. You know, order from the Higher Ups and all that junk."

Scarab saw the shadow roll to his other side. He tried to turn, tried to crawl, tried to do anything except lie there, but it was as if he had his strings cut. He couldn't move his limbs, could barely twitch his fingers.

"Please..."

"You're begging? Not very becoming of an Auditor, Scrabs. Just keep quiet and try not to make it worse on yourself."

The shadow let out a loud whistle.

Scarab heard footsteps, heavy ones. They surrounded him, boxed him in from all sides.

"Let's see... we took your antenna last time, already an improvement... what should we take this time? Something that'll make sure the message really sets in."

Scarab felt like a scientific specimen. His limbs were occasionally poked and prodded, lifted to be dropped, almost a little too much weight pressed into his hands and joints. He held his breath. He was waiting for it. What "it" was, he didn't know. He just knew it was coming, whatever it was.

"Hmm... No, you need your arms, you'd be useless otherwise... Legs are probably necessary too... What about your extra arms? You really need four arms, mate?"

Scarab made a light pleading noise, his wings unconsciously flaring out, trying to carry him away, away from here, away from the shadow.

"Ahh. Now there's an idea. Thanks for the suggestion, bud."

No. No no no no...

"Hold his back open. Ugh, it's gross that that's even something I can say. Let's just get this done quick so I don't have to look at it anymore."

Rough hands gripped the seams of his elytra, forcing them open as wide as possible, painfully pulling on the joints in his shoulders. His wings twitched, still trying to fight through this foggy paralysis.

"No... No please no..."

"Hmm? Fellas, you hear something? Me neither. Come on, get on with it."

He felt a hand grab at one wing, sending stinging shivered up and down his back.

This wasn't happening, this couldn't be happening, he couldn't be losing his wings of all things... He'd already lost his antenna; he could be losing his wings too... His beautiful wings, the ones he preened over, the ones others admired... they'd never been touched by anything but his own hands, until now. Until now, when they're being pulled by strangers he couldn't even see.

He wept. He pleaded in the murmurs that he could force through the muck in his throat and lungs, his wings thrashed as they were tugged.

He tried to pull his mind elsewhere. But all he could recall is the words of older members of the mounds, telling him to be careful with his wings. That they're meant only to be touched by someone special.

In this moment, even his own mind betrayed him.

"Do it."

And Scarab's back was set alight.

And all that could bubble up through the mud was a broken scream.

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

Prismo didn't think much when Scarab said he was tired. While he himself never felt sleepy, he could imagine it'd be different for someone who lived their entire life as a 3 dimensional living thing. Maybe it was just out of habit.

So, Prismo gave him a soft peck on the cheek, jokingly wishing him a good night, and watched Scarab slink into the basement, probably to one of his burrows.

The Wishmaster had assumed he'd see Scarab again in a few hours, they'd work on their story, and maybe browse the tv wall for something interesting.

What he was not expecting was a horrid scream, followed by a loud bang to echo up from the depths of the Time Room.

It startled the heck out of both him and the wish maker he was currently talking to.

"Uhhh... Wish granted" he panicked, not even thinking about how to monkey paw this wish, before sending the mortal on their way and diving into the basement.

And he was met with a wreck.

It looked like something had bulldozed its way through the walls, smashing everything it could find until the Time Room was some winding cave network.

Okay, this was bad.

"Scarab? Lovebug, are you okay?"

He followed the trail of destruction, a creeping feeling of dread bubbling into his chest. Claw marks scraped into the walls, along with dents that implied something smashing its body into the wall over and over.

"Scarab!" He yelled for his partner, growing a bit desperate.

"AWAY! STAY AWAY!"

Prismo froze.

That was not a voice he was used to hearing. He'd been told what Nightmo sounds like, a sandpaper like guttural hiss. Now he knew what they were talking about. It sent shivers down his nonexistent spine.

"...Scarab?"

He heard movement down a smashed open tunnel, a scratching, growling sound. He peered into the cave, drawing in a sharp breath.

Scarab was not here right now. His Nightmare was glad to meet him though.

His small, elegant Lovebug was not bound by his logical view of self anymore. This shadow stretched gigantic, almost the same size as Prismo himself.

It reminded him of a black centipede or spider almost. His limbs were long and jagged, fingers fused into sharp looking, stabbing hooks. His eyes were filled with a bright purple, mandibles much bigger and sharp looking, mouth filled with dagger like fangs of the same bright purple.

"Oh Glob..."

Prismo was at a loss for what to do. He knew what Nightmo was like in this state...

Whatever Scarab was afraid of was... intense.

"Hey... Lovebug? It's me."

He decided to try and do what he usually did when Scarab panicked. Offer a hand.

The Nightmare hissed violently, shoving itself into the corner farthest away from the Wishmaster.

"STAY AWAY! WON'T LET YOU! WON'T LET YOU!"

Prismo's hand stopped a few feet from the Nightmare's body, still clearly in its sight.

"I won't touch you, Lovebug. If you want it, you can come to me, just like always."

"WON'T HURT! WON'T HURT ANYMORE! WON'T LET YOU!"

Prismo gulped, feeling his heart break. Ah. So that's what happened. Scarab finally saw the Nightmare's extended wings, trying to look as big and threatening as possible. Its poor, torn wings.

"I won't hurt you. Scarab knows I wouldn't. It's nice to meet you. I'm Prismo. You know me, don't you?"

"YOUR FAULT, ALL YOUR FAULT! HURT WAS YOUR FAULT!"

The words stung, but he knew they weren't meant. Scarab had told him, he doesn't blame Prismo for what happened.

But it seems the Nightmare didn't get the memo.

"Hey now... The one who hurt you can't anymore. Orbo can't touch you anymore. I wouldn't allow it. The Organizer wouldn't allow it. You know her, don't you?"

"SHE LEFT US! LEFT US TO ROT! LEFT TO BE TORN APART!"

"She didn't leave you, Lovebug, you know that. You know how much she cares for you. Come on, come back to me, Scarab."

The Nightmare growled and hissed lowly, not convinced. It looked at Prismo's outstretched hand like it would bite.

"WON'T BE FOOLED! WON'T BE HURT!"

"You won't be, Lovebug. Come on. It's time to settle down."

Prismo conjured a small flashlight, at the ready in case this thing lashed out.

"Orbo's not here. It's just you and me. No one can hurt you here."

"LIAR! WON'T BE HURT!"

"You won't be. I promise you, you won't be. I know you're frightened. You're trying to protect Scarab. You're doing such a good job. But I can take it from here. You did so well, you deserve to rest."

The Nightmare warbled, a hesitant hiss echoing in the cave. It eyes Prismo's hand again. It stretched out, extending a claw, hovering a few inches away.

"WON'T BE... Hurt..."

"You don't be. You come to me when you're ready, Lovebug."

"Lovebug..." it whispered.

The Nightmare shrank, its rough edges slightly smoothing out. It hissed warily as it touched Prismo's hand.

"There we go... You did such a good job, protecting him... I'll take it from here, and finish what you started."

The purplish-black spider-like nightmare hesitated before folding itself into a protective curl, still touching Prismo's hand, as it faded into blue.

The blue shadow held still for one second, then two, then finally looked up at the Wishmaster with wide, uncertain eyes. He looked around at the cave he had built out of the shattered walls of the Time Room.

"There we are... Hey Lovebug..."

And Scarab wept.

Not like how he normally cries. This was a rough, breathless, heaving sob, one that made Prismo immediately curl around his poor beetle.

"I-I-I... I-I'm sorry..."

"Shh... It's okay, Scarab. It was your first time handling your Nightmare aspect... The Time Room can be repaired, don't worry."

Scarab shoved his face into Prismo's side, muttering apologies through his tears, his shell shaking, rattling even. He didn't seem to know what to do with himself, unsure if he should cling to the Wishmaster, push him away, open his wings or keep them as tightly shut as possible.

"It's okay, baby. I'm right here. Let it out..."

Scarab shuddered, seemingly declining speaking for the time being. That was okay. Words didn't need to be said.

"Must've been some dream to pull you into your Nightmare aspect..."

"...I-I... I..."

"You don't have to talk. Don't force yourself to."

Scarab closed his mouth, his mandibles clicking nervously against each other.

Prismo decided to lean down and nuzzle. He did it exactly like how Scarab often did, nuzzling with the forehead on the side of the cheek. He planted his own little peck at the end.

"...Do you want to come up? Or would you rather stay down here for a bit longer?"

Scarab curled up tighter, right where he was. Guess that answered that question...

"Okay, Lovebug. We can stay right here. Just breathe."

The two stayed that way for a long time. No one word was exchanged between them. No words needed to be said.

Prismo just kept himself curled around Scarab, feeling his every breath and shiver. He softly, gently, pet the space between Scarab's wings. The beetle shivered and wept a little harder at the touch, but whined pitifully if Prismo tried to pull his hand away.

This wasn't a good night, and the Wishmaster knew that. But, he could at least be here to ride it out with his Lovebug.

He was needed.

And he were right where he needed to be.

[dotster001]

Hey I decided to try your event request! For TWST, I was absolutely stuck between Vil and Malleus, but ended up choosing Vil. I’m a simp and both appealed a lot to me, what can I say? Right now, I still use him in battles and him occasionally on my home screen, but he shares the spot with Malleus. Although if I have to be honest, Diasomnia is my fave dorm and I consider Mal my husbando more, with Vil as secondary fave.

I like to think that Vil eventually got his revenge by playing hard to get, because his birthday and Halloween cards both forced me to hit pity before I pulled him. On the other hand, Malleus was more shy and took me forever before I got any of his SR cards.

I honestly truly love both and have difficulty deciding which one is my favorite. So overall, I’d like maybe a playing hard to get Vil, whose also trying to show off, while Malleus is secretly (obviously) pining from afar and trying to be aloof, but failing. I feel like the two may get competitively petty, so I’d like to see that! Overall, a cute but lovey dovey romantic battle! Make it so that they’re consistently trying to one up each other.

Other details about me: I’m kind of shy when it comes to romance. Not easily swayed by material goods OR words, but rather actions. I dont mind light yandereness.

( Hi boo! Thanks for participating! I hope you enjoy, your petty competitive men! Side note, I love how many of you have already built up stories based on your card draws. It's cracking me up 😂)

CW:soft Yan!content. Mostly just unhealthy possessiveness.

A Tale of Malleus and Vil Competing for their Lover

Vil’s morning routine had always been long. But these days it took at least two hours, with lots of new products added to his arsenal on top of his already extensive product list. New products included a hair spray that made his hair shimmer, nail polish that changed color to the viewer’s favorite color, perfume that was whatever scent your beloved found comfort in, and a lipstick that made it very hard to resist kissing him. And those were only a couple of his secret weapons. 

After preparing for the day, he left the dorm, making sure his form fitting shirt and pants had plenty of the perfume on them. It was the weekend, so he knew he could find his target hanging out in the courtyard. He may or may not have scheduled a photo shoot in said courtyard, but he was generous, and would let you remain in the area. 

He arrived just in time to see the photographer trying to shoo you away. Vil scowled. He knew the photographer was trying to help, but he was ruining his plan.

“Potato,” He said to the photographer, “What seems to be the problem?”

"This student is going to be in the shot."

"I can leave if you need me to. I didn't know you'd be here today, Vil," you said, your eyes trained on his lips subconsciously. At least his lipstick was going the way it was supposed to.

He gave a dramatic sigh. "As long as you stay out of the way, you can stay. I do better with an audience anyway."

You nodded and went back to where you liked to sit, your eyes following his every movement. 

                                ….

He really did do better with an audience. If the audience was you. He felt alluring, and sexy, and stunning with your eyes trained on him as he posed. 

A couple more shots. Then he'd take a water break. He knew the perfect angle to accentuate his profile in the sunlight and….what was he doing here?

"Take five," he snapped at the photographer as he made his way to Malleus, who was taking a  seat on the bench across from yours. He seemed to be reading a book, but Vil knew better.

"Draconia," he said, voice full of venom. "There's a shoot happening here. Please read elsewhere."

Malleus looked up at him, his eyes flashing with emerald electricity. 

"Schoenheit. I am not in your way. I am just reading."

Vil was about to snarl something nasty when you spoke up.

"I can help you find a better spot to read, if you want Tsunotarou," you spoke up.

Both men looked at you in shock.

Malleus recovered first, with a satisfied smirk.

"I'd rather not disrupt your activities, Child of man," he hummed.

"It's alright, I have some homework I'm supposed to be doing, but Vil's photoshoot is too distracting. It's hard to focus on anything but him," you said with a laugh.

Both men clenched their jaw, for different, but similar, reasons.

But Malleus knew that he had won this battle, so he closed his book, stood up, and held out his arm.

"Lead the way, Child of man. Show me a better private place."

Vil seethed as you both walked away, but said nothing. He'd lost this battle, but the war wasn't over. 

"I'll win the next one, Draconia," he hissed quietly.

He knew it wasn't possible that he could have heard him, but the booming laugh Malleus let out was quite the coincidence.

[wittyminds]

Show Me the Way Home

Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Anonymous:

Hey I’ve just seen you’re requests are open, could you write something angst and then fluff with Bradley, maybe they’ve both been snapping at each other and then they make up? Xx

CW: Angst, fluff, endangerment of life (idk)

A/N:

This is my first ever fic so please be nice :)

I've never written angst before so it was a gamble as to how this would go. So... enjoy?

*

It wasn't supposed to go like this.

Of course, everyone knew accidents could happen in the air but they're never expected. Especially this one.

But being surrounded by a dozen of very experienced pilots it was hard to remember about the dangers of flying and how one small mistake could take someone away from you.

Rooster had been watching your progress through the course with unwavering attention, staring in awe as you shot through the entire thing flawlessly. You were the best pilot here by far but even the strongest have to fall every now and then.

Literally.

He knew that placing Hangman with you had been a mistake as the two of you had been at each other's throats for years. A "friendly competition" back in their first ever course had led to a not so friendly rivalry that everyone knew about. Which made the situation even worse. When two competitive pilots are in the air it's all bound for disaster.

Maverick had set them all the task of shooting down two target planes, each earning them 'kill' points. Hangman had been determined to beat you but you were confident that both those points were yours. It was meant to be a team building task but the two of you were against even wishing the other good luck.

There had been one target left, leaving the two of you whizzing around, determined to leave the other in the dirt. You had taken the other one down moments before Hangman would have, resulting in a rather amusing string of expletives from him.

You had been chasing the final target, Hangman gaining speed on you when it happened.

*

"Hangman, Wraith, this is a team task! I don't want to remind you again!" Marverick's voice rang through the intercom but you didn't listen. You were so close, your target slowly circling the aircraft in front of you.

Rooster realised he had been holding his breath as you strained to close in on your target. The table groaned as he clenched his fist round the feeble wood, the surrounding pilots exchanging knowing glances.

"Just a little further." Your voice muttered through the intercom.

Hangman, who had been quiet for too long, suddenly sprung up in front of you, sending your concentration haywire. Was it too much to ask for a clean shot?

"What the hell, Hangman?" You gritted your teeth in frustration, slowing down so you didn't collide with his rear, "I nearly had him!"

Hangman only smirked, you could feel it through the intercom.

"And let you get all the kill points? I don't think so."

The target plane swerved to try take you off its tail but you both followed it, only slightly unnerved by the sudden change of direction. You could hear Hangman muttering as he tried to get a clean shot which seemed impossible at the new angle.

"This is bullshit." He muttered, suddenly pulling up to get a different angle.

His sudden manoeuvre had left you to fly straight through his jet wash with no warning.

Your plane broke into an uncontrollable spin, everything around you blurry and dizzying. A series of panicked yells escaped you as you spun and Rooster shot out of his seat, ice cold dread drenching his entire body. The room stilled to a deafening silence as you tried to eject from the aircraft.

"Wraith! Can you hear me? Wraith!" Maverick yelled but you were too panicked to answer, still trying to locate the ejection handle.

Rooster couldn't watch, your plane getting closer and closer to the ground with no sign of slowing. The thought of what would happen if it hit the rocks below with you inside-

His feet carried himself out before he could register it, the door swinging shut behind him as he marched out the building and to the safety of his truck.

There, everything would be fine.

*

You and Rooster had been catching feelings over the past months, each glance lasting longer, each graze of the hand full of electricity. There were moments when you would both lean in instinctively after quiet moments together only to realise how close you were before pulling away.

So, it stung when you stepped out of the emergency aircraft, dizzy and half conscious, to not find Rooster waiting. Your heart had dropped at the sight and you stumbled through the doors into the building with only the dream of his arms there to hold you.

After numerous questions and glasses of water, you were given a lift home from Phoenix. She had become the equivalent of your sister but even she didn't want to prod the wound of Rooster's disappearance with questions. You stepped out of her car with a tired farewell, to be greeted by the comforting sight of your home.

Inside there was ice cream, chocolate and far too many rom-coms to keep you distracted.

After a warm shower that would definitely raise her bill a ridiculous amount, you climbed down the stairs in your favourite sweater, a pair of slippers keeping your feet warm from the sudden change in temperature.

The weather had gone from clear to sour in a matter of hours, much like your mood.

How could he leave in a moment like that? When you weren't even sure if you would make it out?

Your thoughts were broken by a frantic knock at the door, the sound clashing with the thundering rain outside. You paused the film, halting Julia Roberts moments away from kissing Richard Gere.

You shrugged the blanket from your shoulders, shuffling the short distance to the door to notice a large shadow huddled under the small overhang above your door. You didn't need to guess who it was for a second as you swung it open to reveal a dripping wet Rooster, holding his jacket over his head.

A thousand thoughts erupted in your head and your nostrils flared.

"Oh, so you do remember me?"

An expression of pain flashed over his face but it was gone in a blurry second.

"Can I please come in?" His voice was pleading and you opened the door wider so he could shelter from the furious pelts of water.

As you shut the door again, he lowered his jacket from above his head to fold in his arms. He ran a hand through his soaking hair, the movement sending a slight jolt through you.

"I just want to say, I feel so shitty for leaving, Y/n. I really do." As he rambled on, you got a proper look at him, not listening as he continued to speak.

His eyes were wide, giving the impression of a puppy being told off for the first time and as you studied him, you noticed his knuckles were stained a slight red.

"What happened to your hand?" You interrupted him quietly and he froze.

You crossed your arms and frowned at him, waiting for a response.

His eyes fell from yours and he rocked back on his heels nervously.

"I punched...." His voice trailed off into a mumble and you strained to hear him.

"I swear to God, Rooster, tell me." Your voice rose and he sighed loudly through his nose.

"I punched Hangman!"

The words rang through the air and your arms fell from their knot. Anger flared in your chest and he rose his head to meet your eyes once more.

"You... what?" You spoke slowly and carefully, taking a step toward him.

"I punched him, alright? He was careless and could have killed you!" Rooster's voice rose and all signs of being nervous disappeared.

"No, not alright! It's not your duty to stand up for me! You clearly didn't feel the need to be there when I got back!" Tears stung your eyes at what he had done but you blinked them back.

"I had to leave! I couldn't stay in that room!"

Anger clouded all your judgement, all you wanted was for him to explain why not punch the guy who had accidentally sent your aircraft spinning. Why did everything have to be so difficult for the two of you? Why couldn't you just settle the stupid argument and get back to Julia Roberts?

You scoffed at him, "Right, because watching the plane go down was so much worse than being inside. What was so awful about the accident that you had to leave? Why cant you just let it go?"

"Because that's exactly how my dad died!"

Every retort building up in her faded with his words. He had never openly spoken about how his dad died except that he had been in a flying accident.

How could he not have told you this in your many deep conversations? Surely it should have come up at 3am with a bottle of vodka clouding your judgements. Maybe it was just one of those things that was meant to be forgotten in the soft, tender moments.

"How was I supposed to know that?" You finally uttered, too shocked to consider how he felt.

"You didn't, I know. But it scared me that you were up there in exactly the same position he was in before it happened." You could see his eyes swimming with tears, only he didn't blink them away.

"Then I don't understand how you're mad at me! It wasn't my fault!" Your voice suddenly went higher than normal and you fought to keep your emotions under control.

"I'm not mad at you!" His hands flew up to his hair and his jacket landed on the floor with a dull thud, "I was just terrified because the person I love most in this god damn world could have died and there was nothing I could do about it!"

You waited for his words to sink in and finally let tears roll down your cheeks.

"Y-you love me?" You whispered, all memories of anger flitting from your mind.

He closed his eyes for a moment, the heels of his palms digging into his eyes. You waited for a reply but he only muttered a series of incoherent words before picking up his jacket and shuffling past you to open the door.

Thunder rumbled angrily as he stepped back into the rain, drowning out any words said. You were too shocked to move or go after him. His words kept playing over and over in your hand, a broken record of what you had been hoping for for weeks. But all he said as he slammed the door behind him was a simple, "I'm sorry."

And then once again, he was gone.

As the door slammed, you flinched at the noise and watched his figure storm back to his truck. Rain battered her windows and you ran a hand through your hair in frustration.

You don't know what came over you, probably the countless romance films and books you had indulged in, but you found yourself wrenching the door open and running into the freezing cold rain. Your sweater was drenched in seconds and you squinted through blinding droplets as you sprinted towards Rooster.

He had just about made it to his car but you could catch him. Thunder drowned out your footsteps and when you tried to call his name, the wind howled over you.

Finally, you reached him and breathed out one last call of his name.

He turned round to see you, eyes sad and shoulders heavy.

"Y/n, I'm so sorr-"

But when you reached him you didn't even think before pulling the front of his shirt to lower his lips to yours. In one smooth movement you kissed him breathlessly, his hands flying to support your waist and hip. He didn't kiss back but just as you pulled away, his grip on you tightened, keeping you in place. Your heels lifted from the grass as he moved into him, bringing him closer.

This is what it should have always been. The two of you. Safe in each other's arms.

Just like the movies.

One of his hands moved up to your hair, cupping your head gently as his lips moved in an easy rhythm against yours. Rain ran down your faces, thunder sounding as you blocked out the rest of the world.

All that mattered was the two of you in this moment.

You both pulled back for air, resting your foreheads against the other's as you panted. A relieved laugh escaped you and you pressed another quick kiss against his lips. Your arms had snaked round his neck and you stood staring at the man before you, still processing what you had done.

"Rooster?"

You were too breathless to speak properly and he hummed quietly, nudging your nose with his.

"Take me to bed now, or lose me forever."

Your smiled as he kissed you deeply again, suddenly lifting you up to wrap your legs round his waist. Another laugh escaped you at his goofy grin but he cut you off with a kiss.

"Show me the way home, Y/n."

[privateanxieties]

forget my mercy, take my blame (chapter 2)

Summary: You thought the events of the day couldn't get worse than one robbery and a cryptic conversation with a mysterious stranger. You thought wrong. This, you realize, is how it all starts.

Words: 3.3K

Series Masterlist | NEXT CHAPTER

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Many hours later, guilt is eating its way through a considerable portion of your conscience, as it usually does following the clash of hot temper and arrogance— both of them yours. You're no longer insistent on pinning your shortcomings on the mysterious stranger with molten brown eyes, though you're still grumpy about his bold assumptions and oddly skewering way of getting a point across. 

Just let it go. Don't do what I know you want to do.  

You split the four hundred dollars he left between your two employees, but for some reason, the crumpled up singles still rest in your jacket pocket. The money takes up a lot more space inside your head as you drive home, radio turned up above its usual volume. It doesn't provide much of a distraction, because the faintly illuminated road ahead is the perfect canvas for a busy mind to fill. 

Traces of the past hide inside misshapen trees and uneven asphalt, and if your grip were a little tighter, it would leave the same dent in the steering wheel that it did the night you drove back from that slate quarry in your hometown. Nineteen years is a long time to still remember the smell of overheated excavation equipment. It's far away, yet surfaces so abruptly that your nose almost floods with it. Your lips press together in displeasure.

Well, at least you're breathing. You suppose Mark couldn't from beneath all that gravel you buried him under. Did he suffocate or was he crushed? Maybe a question you'll always have in the back of your mind. You know the answer wouldn't give you peace, were it to arrive from an omniscient being. What does it matter how he died? Yours is the will that killed him. Turning an event around and over and upside down two decades after it took place is just another way of engaging your guilt and letting it gnaw on more mental acuity. You need your wits about you, so you don't forget what all this is even for. You're alive. You have a life that needs living. Sometimes, there will be people who won't let you live it, and you can't just throw everything away to settle the score. 

Scoffing at the bullshit mantra you’ve tried feeding yourself all day, you take the last right turn before you're finally on the road that leads home, hand reaching out to lower the volume on the stereo. Whatever. You made it through today, and you'll try your hardest not to think about the little shit who stole from you and his neon green jacket. You’ll also do your best not to think about your encounter with the strange man and his gruff voice, lest he become the thing you lose sleep over tonight. 

It'll be hard to avoid it, because you kept his message. Maybe as a symbol, or maybe as an excuse. There is some part of you that wants to believe he was meant to be there today, if only so you didn't truly screw up this time and become a criminal. Shooting someone while they're robbing you and hunting them down to do it afterwards are actions that the law tends to distinguish between unfavorably. Just like it might distinguish between killing someone inside an old quarry and killing them after they'd already taken you there for murder.

The self-defense angle always felt shoddy in your mind. Maybe what you did to Mark would've looked like self-defense to a jury, but you sure know you didn't bury him under seven tons of jagged rock because you wanted to protect yourself. You didn't burn down his house because you were feeling reasonably threatened. You just wanted him to get what was coming his way. Karma, your hands. 

You might have a problem, but you're alive. You survived that and you're going to survive more, just as soon as you take a cold bath and chase away the heat settling in your bones. That's what mid-August spent in an ancient car with no working air conditioner will get you. Replacing the shitty truck will have to wait, because news of the robbery will spread and you don't want to be telegraphing the fact that the bakery isn't your main source of income. 

This may be a nice town, but today was a good example of a gap in people's decency— yours included, because you were so fucking rude to that mysterious stranger, and what did it accomplish? He replenished your losses and left without another word. The longer you look back, the more guilt advances on your psyche. It stills momentarily, however, when a suitable distraction finally appears as you find yourself a couple hundred feet down the road from your house. It’s true that you wanted something else to focus on, but this is so unwelcomed that it sends a wave of nausea through your body. 

The scene is flooded with the red and blue lights of two police cruisers and one ambulance, all parked along the narrow cul-de-sac housing only two buildings: yours and Hazel's. Your mind kicks into high gear before you even lay eyes upon the crowd that has gathered on your front lawn. The sky turned dark not long ago, the hands of the clock approaching a kind of twilight zone of your neighborhood: nobody is typically out at this time of night, and yet, at least twelve people found enough interest in the unfolding scene to leave the comfort of their homes. 

The commotion is centered around your property, but the ambulance suggests someone requiring medical attention. You live alone. Hazel is in her late 80s, and you've known her to need a doctor now and then. However, the police being here is the part of the equation that you really don't like. You try to slow down a mind that by nature has already zeroed in on potential scenarios, making a decision to pull over right outside the cul-de-sac instead of crowding it with another vehicle. In a neighborhood this small, your arrival is noticed. 

You don't linger, unsticking yourself from the clammy leather seats and stepping out of the truck. The air outside is marginally better than inside the car, though heat still scalds with the gentler hand of a dry climate. At least you're not pouring sweat and disheveled, because it appears that bath will have to wait. And, after only a few moments of approaching the scene, you realize just how long that wait is going to be. There is black tarp on your porch. 

The closer you get, the more your spine tingles. Pairs of wide eyes settle on you as you pass them, and it isn't long before Sheriff Randy O'Hare nails you with his own bulbous gaze. He looks like an idiot, and not even one that's in charge. You glance at the porch again. 

Tiny surface area. Not much room between the ground and the black material taking up space. Small, lithe. Your house. 

The sheriff is having some sort of internal conflict you wish you weren't here to witness. He shuffles from one foot to the other and clears his throat as you stop in front of him, several feet away from the stairs leading up to your front door. It's spattered with blood, visible even against the dark brown oak. Fresh. 

Randy says nothing for several more seconds. You have many things to say, none which are appropriate. You've never been good at playing the emotionally fragile. There's a body on your front porch and you need this fucking idiot to speak or— 

"I'm so sorry. We're… We're all still in shock. I've known her—" He stops, wiping his mouth and looking away as if something startled him. "—my whole life, I swear. She never did nothing to nobody. Jesus help me, if I get my hands on the one that did it—" 

"Who is that, Randy?" you interrupt. It's a question you've asked law enforcement before in your life. The air pressing down on your skin is even warmer now. 

"Look, I can't imagine how hard this is. She meant a great deal to everyone in this town, but you knew her best. Ain't nobody ever have a kinder word to say than her. I can't believe—" 

"Randy, who the fuck is that?" 

If you snap, it's not of your own volition. You're not here. Not really. You aren't with Randy O'Hare, Sheriff of Apolline County who apparently can't utter a simple name. Your mind has traveled backwards in time, and the house you're standing next to isn't your own, but it's painted just about the same. It’s easy to slip away into memory. The awning and the windows are fashioned into the same mold as your childhood home, because those were the things you’d loved most about that house— a mistake. You made a mistake. Your eyes are drawn to the ground, mind working in all directions.

"Hazel Bergman." 

You think you hear another name for a brief and cruel moment. The sight of polished black boots atop lush grass only works to further blur the line between past and present. 

"I'm so sorry, honey." 

"What happened?" 

You haven't been so aware of the nuance in your voice since it last betrayed you by shaking as it now is. It's so, so warm outside, but not humid. Not like Auckney. It's not as bad as it was when you were standing in front of a similar house, aged nineteen and wondering why the woman who raised you wouldn't get up from her rocking chair. 

You need to get a grip. Look O'Hare in the eyes. You need to know if he lies to you, like cops always do. His face is melting under the cowboy hat. Even his eyeballs are sweating. He's emotional. He should be truthful. 

"Daniel Roywood said he saw her arguing with somebody on your porch. He ain't hear what they were talkin' about, just that she looked upset. I've never seen that woman upset once in thirty years. She must've had a damn good reason," Randy explains, looking torn between grief and inoffensive anger. You're not torn between anything. 

"Who was she arguing with?" 

O'Hare sighs, a curt movement of his neck telling you he doesn't know shit. 

"Nobody Danny knew. He couldn't get a good look— the damn house is too far away. But he just said they were arguin', and that was it. He shot her. Just some punk in a green jacket." 

It's a miracle you don't react in any meaningful way. For that small interval between the words hitting you and your brain processing them, you're as impassive as before. That brief amount of time is all you get, however, because putting a face to that vague description happens in the blink of an eye. 

You look away, covering your face with both hands. You slow your breathing as much as you can, trying to not make any noise as blood rushes through veins that have no hope of containing the pressure. It pounds at your temples and raises your temperature, and suddenly the only lever that hasn’t been flipped on your temper is labeled self-preservation. You can’t do this with people watching, and you’re briskly reminded of that as an unexpected weight settles upon your shoulders. It makes you flinch and move away, and you hear O'Hare apologize before he clears his throat again. A silence follows that isn't long enough. 

"Look, I know this is hard. But you know I need to ask you some questions, right? We need to find the son of a bitch that did it and if you have any idea who—"

"I don't." 

You've clipped your tongue with how hard you were biting it, but at least you've got your breathing back under control. Facing Randy is easier with a constant trickle of pain and metal. He looks torn, apologetic. 

"Come on, honey. I know you don't want to think about anybody you know doin' something like this, but we need something to go on," he pleads. You don’t like the implication behind his words or the ring of truth around it. 

"Randy. Everybody knows everybody here. I promise you, if Roywood didn't know him, then I sure as hell don't. I don't have a boyfriend. I'm not divorced. I generally don't keep male company. There is no one! " you seethe, and you're certain that he mistakes your outburst for lingering shock and anger about what happened. It is, but not in the way he seems to think. 

The Sheriff frowns, so obviously pitying you and finally seeming more at ease now that you're the emotionally vulnerable one. It's fine. It works in your favor. Tonight will be long and you will benefit from not raising eyebrows or invoking anything other than sympathy from both police and neighbors. The Sheriff looks around for several moments, lips pressing together like he's chewing on the words he hasn't yet said. Soon enough, they part. 

"Listen, I hate to ask right now. But if we have any chance in hell of catching this bastard, we could really use the feed from your cameras," he says, gesturing left. Your gaze follows his to the perimeter of the house, covered at every angle by wireless surveillance systems. 

Just like that, a spark. A needle to thread. Another choice presented. 

Crumpled up bills in your front pocket. 

Warm steel at your back. 

A splattered front door. 

The maligned prescience of four words. 

Ain't worth dying for.

"Randy, I…” You enjoy the first real breath since you've arrived. It really doesn't take you long to make a decision. “I'm sorry. I left those up for show more than anything. Couldn't afford the bills after a while. They don't work." 

O’Hare deflates. There’s no suspicion you’ve told a lie. It's as if the grit he's supposed to have is flowing through you instead, lighting up your eyes and triggering the itch in your fingers. It's the challenge, the defiance, the guilt that sears through your veins now. The air is almost cool compared to the heat of your skin and the surge in your temper. 

The Sheriff imparts more condolences you don't care to hear before walking away, but he's soon replaced by Deputy Dipshit, who you hope is wise enough to only offer pertinent details for the unfolding scene. You aren't interested in what Brent Rivers has been up to, and he usually insists on making it everybody's business. All you want to know is how long before you can enter your house, but pretty soon you realize he won't provide any clarity. It has to be his first murder scene, because he stumbles around simple words after greeting you with a mumbled hi . 

He talks and talks, and nowhere does he utter that crucial piece of information you’re waiting to be told. Too long into his jumbled speech, you find the right place to interrupt. He had the nerve to comment on how you’re holding up. 

"I'm sorry. I just don't think I'm all ears right now. All I want to do is…" A shaky breath rattles your chest. "�� get away for a few days. I don't think I can sleep in my own house knowing this happened. Um, is there any way I could grab a few things and get out? I don't want to be alone once you leave." 

Along the way, your words are punctuated by little tells of vulnerability: eyes downcast, vocal chords trembling, excessive blinking. Your shoulders pull in. Brent nods up a storm, mood lightening up as his arm comes to rest around them uninvited. 

"Yeah, 'course. I can take you—" 

You break away from his grip with an apologetic smile, rubbing your neck to keep your hands busy. 

"Can you wait for me at the door? I'll feel better knowing someone's downstairs, and I already have a bag ready. You know, for uh, emergencies and stuff." 

The Deputy is less pleased than before, but he acquiesces to your request with a nod and a motion towards the house. You pretend to hesitate before taking the wooden stairs slowly, keeping your eyes averted as you plant your feet on the porch. The edge of the tarp is barely an arm's length away. From this spot, you can see both the pool of blood seeping out from under it and the drops spread across the brick wall. You retrieve the keys from your jacket as Brent stops behind you. 

"I'll be right here," he reassures in a too-gentle tone. 

You walk inside without a reply, and to Brent's briefly glimpsed surprise, shut the door after you. The security system needs a two-step deactivation that would raise eyebrows after you've told O'Hare you can't afford the bills for the cameras. You breathe deeply for another moment, finally alone. 

You only told a half-lie. There is a bag for emergencies, but not for the kind that people usually have. Downstairs as well as upstairs, you keep two duffels properly stocked and periodically checked. They're similar in contents, and yet your preference has always been clear. The bedroom closet. Upstairs. You move untethered towards your target.

Throwing two changes of clothes inside along with a plain pair of sneakers, you zip it back up and lift it over your shoulder. It feels familiar. This bag could be your life. Your life could be this bag. If things go wrong, you'll be good for a while. Back downstairs, where you arrive in the same haze, you make sure Piper and Mae will be good for a while too, replenishing the bird feeder and their respective water drippers, bidding them goodbye soon thereafter. You try not to linger in the house, but a glint draws your attention to the kitchen counter in your peripheral. 

The casserole you stuffed your face with this morning and forgot to put back inside the fridge is resting exactly where you left it, the blue sticky note still attached to its side. You remember the message word for word, as well as the curving of the letters you've always been impressed by, though never more so than by the kindness behind each gesture. Hazel couldn't grip the pen quite as well as she used to in her old age, but she liked to practice in the notes she left for you. 

She made you food. Cared for you. Made life feel less lonely. 

She's outside your door for the last time because you didn't do the right thing today. 

Ain't worth dying for.  

You don’t realize you’ve walked over until your outstretched hand hesitates before the small note. It's the final one you'll ever get. 

'Don't work so hard! It's Saturday, live a little!' 

More copper flows into your mouth, this time springing from the lip you tore into so a sob could be stifled. You fold the paper with care and it goes into the same pocket as the pair of singles, just as your mind goes to the same place it's always been more comfortable resting. Maybe, the only place it can have any peace. 

Keeping your head down as you exit the house, your eyes find her almost by accident. They're drawn to the tarp. You figure they have to be, since you put it there. You put her there, because you didn’t put a bullet in the right person. You didn't do what you knew you should've.

"Hey. Did you get what you need?" 

Ain't worth dying for.  

Your eyes don't stray, glued to a puddle of blood and the greedy floorboards swallowing it up. The eyes want to remember, just like the ears remember a thundering rock slide and the nose remembers diesel and construction equipment. 

You tell the truth, and it sets you free. 

"No."

.

.

-to be continued-

A/N: No Frank in this one unfortunately, but plenty of him in the next one and let me tell you, they are not the best of friends. Chapter 3 is scheduled for August 13th. If you'd like to be tagged for updates, you can reblog any of the previous chapters!

[invisibleraven]

"Can I use a picture of you as my background?" for Rulie please and thank you

Reggie picked up his first camera pretty young-an aging Polaroid belonging to Pops who taught him how to use it, then setting up a dark room in the downstairs powder room when he bought him a real film camera. A lot of those shots were fuzzy and off centre, but as he grew they got better, and it was actually a shot that Reggie took that they ended up using in Pops obituary.

Regie kept taking pictures after they moved to LA, filling albums to send back to MeeMaw, scrapbooks for the band, then eventually made it his career. Sure he'd rather be shooting landscapes than ads for perfume, but it paid the bills.

Then he started working with Ray Molina. He liked Ray, who took him under his wing, teaching him all the ropes. Let him do weddings and real estate, as well as headshots and sunsets-the full gamut. Reggie loved it.

But it wasn't only because Ray was a great boss, there were other perks too. Like Ray's gorgeous daughter who brought them lunch every Friday, catching up with her father, and then started chatting with Reggie too.

Julie was his dream girl-funny, beautiful, talented as heck from the little snippets of her singing he could hear-she had a tendency to sing under her breath while she was cleaning; something she did every week because neither he nor Ray were what you would call organized.

Reggie would never make a move though-not only was Julie his boss' daughter, he genuinely liked her, and he didn't want to ruin a friendship on a chance, especially when she had never expressed any interest in him.

That didn't stop him from playfully flirting though-he was a naturally flirty and Julie laughed every time he gave her an over the top line. Plus Ray smiled at it, confessing Julie hadn't had much reason to smile and laugh recently, so to see his little girl being happy was a joy for him.

Julie also stepped in to help with gigs when she could-nothing where you could see her face, but she would model for them when the person supposed to do the shoot backed out last minute and the brand wanted it done today.

Julie was a natural on camera-always glowing and radiant.

"You ever think about doing this professionally?" Reggie asked her.

"Absolutely not," Julie said with a laugh, all while holding the bottle of perfume steady. "I know what that kind of life is like, and it's not for me. I don't mind helping you and papi out, but I'd rather be in magazines for my music."

The shoot was done, the two of them left to chat and clean up-everyone else hd headed out for dinner, with Ray promising to bring back tacos. The sun was streaming in as it set, painting the studio in pinks and reds.

"Can I get another shot?" Reggie asked. "Just for me, the light is perfect."

"Sure," Julie said with a shrug. She smiled at him, not even faltering as he pulled out his phone, taking the snap. "You're using your phone when we're in a literal photo studio?"

"Told you, this one is just for me. Plus none of these cameras are mine." The picture was perfect-but of course it was, the subject was too. "Can I use a picture of you as my background?"

"Why me?"

Reggie turned the phone to her. "Can you blame me? You're beautiful."

"Reggie you regularly with real life models."

"I meant what I said."

Julie looked at the picture again. "I do look good. But you made me look that way."

Reggie snorted at that. "I did not. Simply captured the right angle. You and the sunset did the rest."

"Is this how you see me?" she asked.

Reggie blushed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Well yeah. I might joke around a lot, but I really do think you're gorgeous Julie."

"Do I get a picture of you in return then? Seems only fair."

"Sure." Reggie was confused, but he had never been one to turn down a request from a pretty girl. He let Julie pull them in together, shoulder o shoulder as she lifted her phone. He smiled, awaiting the click of the button.

But then Julie pulled him into a kiss as she took the shot, and Reggie was sure his expression was worth a thousand words.

Julie was smiling as she pulled back, admiring the shot. "I may not be a professional like you, but I think it came out pretty darn good."

Reggie looked at the photo, and smiled. "Yeah, I think I want that one as my background instead."

"You can use the other one for my contact info," Julie suggested. "Maybe put me under Muse."

"Can I put you down for tonight at eight too?"

"I think you can-just leave the camera at home. That's more of a third date kinda thing."

[loadedberetta]

5 Minute break // Ghost x Reader (fem no body desc)

cw mentions of smoking, guns and shooting

You planted your back against the tall brick wall just below the sign that proclaimed this very spot as a smoking area. A tall tree hung over the top of the wall, shading the whole parking lot. It filtered out most noises of the city, making the inner courtyard a cosy little space. From the other three sides, a tall, glassy apartment building encased the little asphalted eden. Smoke almost always rose from the spot you stood at, as all the people working in the multi-storey office building came down to have a break. As you did too. But the people close to you in the office knew you didn't smoke, and stopped offering you cigs long ago.

"You wan' one?" A new voice asked from moderately far away, as you just finished guessing the daily word in the game on your phone. As you registered someone coming closer to you, you looked up. He was a Brit, comfortably in his 40s. If you wouldn't have been an expert in men his age, you would have easily taken him to be a bit younger.

The thick but carefully trimmed locks of dirty blonde hair suited him, sometimes even falling towards his forehead, covering some of the gathering wrinkles below them. His browbone directed your gaze down to his eyes, brown pools of mature coyness. If dark chocolate, coffee, and brown leather had a lovechild, it would be that colour. His nose bent in a sharp line, that set a commanding effect to every small movement with his head, you imagined. Disappearing below a cloth mask that was pulled up to cover his ears halfway too, hid an angular and sharp face; that was all you could figure out before he pulled down the mask. His mouth angled downwards, pink lips contrasting the scars littered across his face, one particular one tearing into the supple flesh of his upper lip.

You noticed yourself staring when he disrupted the line of his mouth with the white, slim body of a cigarette. It stuck to his mouth as he spoke:

"Hey, I asked d'you wan' one? You look like you need it."

Shaking your head a little, you looked up embarrassed, to meet his inquisitive eyes. As soon as you saw he read your gaze, his crow's feet deepened, and he nudged your limp hand beside you with the box.

"Take one."

You finally found your voice again. Or so you thought. The words came out breathy and cracked.

"I don't smoke, thank--" You coughed into your elbow a few times, thanks to the small amount of saliva that you inhaled when trying to clear your throat. So much for first impressions. He didn't bat an eye, but his hands did stop mid-air.

"No, it's fine, light it." You told him after clearing your throat one last time. He lowered his hand, however.

"I'm fine actually. I'm… trying to quit."

Looking up at him with sorry eyes, you flashed a weak smile at him, not knowing what to say. He pulled out the box again and put the white stick away. You had just noticed how he was wearing all black. Boots, trousers, and shirt. All black. Something still showed through it all. A concealed bulletproof vest was comfortably hugging his frame. And to top it all off, the belt you mistakenly took for a utility belt until now, holstered a standard issue pistol, some cuffs, and other accessories of a security officer.

"…head security officer."

Dumbfounded yet again by him in the last two minutes, you looked up at him, meeting his eyes that harboured a strange darkness in them, as if they could tell a thousand stories.

"I'm the new head security officer. Simon Riley."

Finally coming to your senses, you managed to answer without swallowing saliva into your lungs. In the next moment, you had to realize though, that you have in fact swallowed nothing into your lungs. It felt as if he created the air unbreathable around you but in a good way. When you realized you were supposed to tell him what you were doing at the complex, his hand was already out to shake yours. You barely managed to blurt your own name back. He practiced it once, and a small smile settled on his face as he pronounced it back correctly.

"I'm… the sales director at John Rigby on…"

"…the third floor. I know."

Ah, he probably knows it from…

"…the safety briefings. I had to learn the place from the inside out, including all the people who work here. It's sort of… compulsory." For the safety company. A gun manufacturer's sales office is a bit conspicuous and would stand out for every trained eye. Just like his, as they were surely trained on you. From the first moment, he was surveying you. Breaking you down to sheer components, and putting you back together, without as much as saying a word. And you could deal with him, picking you apart. You wanted to remain composed and divert his attention from your features, so you commented snarkily on his appearance:

"Why have you got a safety vest then, and I don't?" You crossed your arms, coercing your delicate breasts upwards, forcing him to choose between talking while looking into your eyes or talking and staring at your tits. He chose the obvious third way, and darted his eyes with painful precision across your body, raking in every last drop of the sight.

"Because bodies like yours don't get shot at." When the compound higher-ups hired this new company, you had high expectations. Optically, they were in the clear so far, and you filed away that for later.

"And what if they do?"

"Then we did our job fucking poorly." He said with a hint of swagger, yet still sounding responsible and capable. After all, he was your new security officer.

After a moment of silence, you decided your break was up. If you spent any moment more out here, you were sure your clothes would have melted off of you, you were so hot. Despite the sun not being able to reach you through the high concrete walls around the spot, you felt hotter than ever, a damp patch growing in your panties with each passing moment prompting you to leave urgently.

For now... As you knew you hadn't seen the last of him yet.

my first long-ish work in a hot minute, I'm very insecure about it. have at it I have more thoughts on security guard Ghost. not betad by a long shot; it might contain some mistakes for which I apologize, this was like a year-old piece I renod