#the muzzle works so well as a mask

[daily-ethoslab]

[911] Ethos comment about being a lost puppy gave me this idea

[simplyholl]

Hunted

Summary: Hydra hosts a training exercise for their super soldiers. You can run, but you can't hide from the Winter Soldier.

Pairing: Dark Winter Soldier x F. Reader

Warnings: Smut. 18+ Only. Minors DNI. This is a dark fic. Non con. Death.

See my Masterlist Here

You ran as hard as your feet would carry you. You were terrified, shaking so hard you were surprised that you could even move. Footsteps approached quickly, your breath hitches as you make a decision. You could run, but the super soldier could easily catch up to you. Or you could stay where you are and pray that you are hidden well enough that he won't find you.

Last month, Hydra caught your uncle's company trying to take them down. They killed all the men that worked there and captured all the women. They brought you all to cells under their headquarters. They fed you three meals a day, stating you all would need your strength for what they had planned.

This morning, you learned what they had meant. You were all brought out to the edge of the woods. The man in charge told you that they were training their super soldiers today. They would be practicing their hunting skills. A large van pulled up, and out came ten super soldiers. You looked around, counting the women who were with you. There were twenty-three of you. A second van halted to a stop beside the other. Two large men drug out another.

He was chained up, arms behind his back, black mask almost like a muzzle covered his mouth. His dark, shoulder length hair was messy, piercing blue eyes locking on you. You felt like you were going to faint. The Winter Soldier was the most brutal of all the super soldiers. A skilled assassin, he was sent on Hydra's most important missions. He did all their dirty work.

The Hydra leader who brought you outside explained the rules to the prisoners and soldiers. They were going to give you all an hour head start. Your job was to hide from the men. If they found you, they could do whatever they wanted with you as a reward. Bile rose in your throat, turning the contents of your stomach sour. Some of you wouldn't come out of this alive. But if you were fortunate enough to make it until sunrise, you would be free.

The footsteps grow closer, you close your eyes hoping he won't notice the footprints you had left in the mud. Then you see him, the man was tall, blonde hair shaved off. He walked toward the bushes you were hiding in. Your hand flies to your mouth to hide your cries. To your dismay, one escapes anyway. The soldier's head whips toward the noise, across the way from you.

You realize it wasn't you who cried too loudly. The soldier smiles wickedly, reaching for the poor woman who just gave up her hiding spot. He flings her out of the bushes onto the hard ground. More tears fall when you notice that it's Claire, the secretary from your uncle's failed company.

The soldier begins pawing at her as she tries to fight him off. It's no use. He holds her down with one knee on her torso, as he strips off his clothes. "You're my second one today." He brags. "Let's see if you're luckier than the last one. I choked her too hard." His evil laugh echoes through the quiet forest. When he rips Claire's clothing from her shaking body, you take the opportunity to run.

He looks up when he hears you leaving your shelter. "I'll catch up to you next!" He yells after you. The sun has started setting, you take a precious minute to catch your breath. You know if you stop for too long, you'll lose your momentum, or someone could catch up to you. You hear the screams and cries of your fellow prisoners as you make your way further into the woods. You search for a new place to hide, since it would be dark soon.

They could have at least equipped you with flashlights, you think to yourself. That was the whole point of all of this, wasn't it? You weren't meant to survive. Hydra expected the super soldiers to kill most of you. The women who survived would be brought back to the prison, probably made to work for them now that their spirits had been broken.

It was almost too dark to continue, so you took shelter in a cluster of bushes, shrinking yourself as small as you could underneath it. Night fell, and you laid on the cold ground, the horrendous sounds of the others getting caught filled the air. Finally, you rested your eyes. You needed the rest if you were going to make until the morning.

You woke up, sensing someone was nearby. You silently prayed that it was just another prisoner and not a threat. You release the shaky breath you were holding when they leave the area. The dark sky turns reddish - pink and you sigh with relief. It shouldn't be long now. Sunrise was so close you could almost taste your freedom.

You close your eyes, hoping that when you opened them the next time, this torture would be over. Your few moments of peace were interrupted when the blonde super soldier from earlier reached down into the bushes, pulling you up by your hair. Your scream rips through the woods, the soldier slings you back onto the ground, kicking you. "Shut up, bitch. I told you I was coming for you. You're my sixth, and from the looks of it, my last." He gestures to the sky.

He rips your shirt from your body. You try to cover yourself, but he moves your hands away. A metal hand wraps around the soldier's neck, a sickening crunch filling your ears as The Winter Soldier snaps it with ease. The soldier slumps over, his lifeless body landing with a thud.

"Mine." The Winter Soldier states, blue eyes locked on your exposed bra. A cold metal finger slips under the bra between your breasts, tearing it from your body with no effort. "No please! I almost made it. Please don't do this!" You cry, pleading with him. His hands find your breasts, squeezing roughly. His eyes land on your peaked nipples, taking them between his fingers.

He twists and pulls too roughly. When he's finished his assault on them, he reaches for his face, removing the black mask from his mouth. He's beautiful, you think for a split second. His blue eyes and pouty, full lips seemed like they didn't belong on the same man who was trained to kill. "Like what you see?" He smirks, when he notices you staring at his face. He pushes your breasts together, face lowering toward them. He runs his tongue from one pointed nipple to the other. Chapped lips taking one between them, sucking harshly.

He bites down, pulling your nipple with his teeth. You cry out, hands on his face trying to push him away. He chuckles, as you fight him, biting down your torso to your pants. He pulls them down along with your panties, discarding them immediately. One thick finger runs through your folds, disappointment evident as it comes out dry. "You're not even wet for me? We can't have that. I won't fit if you're not ready."

You shiver at his words. You didn't want to know how big he was. You had studied the super soldier serum enough at your old job to know that the serum enhanced everything. He brings his mouth down against your core, lips brushing your clit. He swirls his tongue around it, metal arm hooking under your legs to bring you closer. His full lips tug on your clit, you can't help but moan for him.

"That's it, good girl. If you're good for me, I'll convince them to let me keep you." You spit at him, kicking your legs, to push him away. "Why would I want that?" He smiles, because Hydra's gonna kill anyone left in these woods when this is over." You gasp, you should have known. "You didn't really think they would just let you go? You know too much. They will let me keep you as my little plaything though. All I have to do is say the word."

You didn't doubt him for a second. “Stop fighting." He commands, lowering his face again. His nose brushes your clit while he works his tongue inside you. You try to fight back, but he misinterprets your movements. He thinks you're enjoying it now. "That's it." The Winter Soldier suckles your swollen clit, hot tongue lapping up every drop of arousal. You bite your lips so hard; it bleeds trying to keep a moan in.

He grabs your chin, jerking your face towards him. "Do not hold back from me, kitten." His warm tongue drags over you slowly before his plump lips suction around your clit. Your thighs close against his ears as he draws a forceful orgasm out of you, legs trembling as you flood his face. Your moan rips through your throat, earning a satisfied smile from the soldier.

He spreads your legs with one hand, his other freeing his hard cock. You were right about the size of it. You were so fortunate that he got you wet first. You'd be lucky if he didn't split you in half. He plunges inside you, you squirm from the painful way he entered you. "Hold still." He says, holding your stomach down. "I can't, it hurts too much." You whine. The Winter Soldier rolls his eyes, lifting you like a rag doll.

He sits on the ground, lowering you onto him. This position was worse for you. He hit even deeper than before. But he could hold you better this way. His metal arm snakes around your waist, holding you close. He bounces you on his cock, your arms wrap around his neck. His fingers dig into your hips as you get used to it and start to grind on him.

Your clit brushes his dark curls as you ride him. "I knew you would be worth it." He grunts. "I wanted you the moment I saw you this morning. I found you immediately. You're not great at hiding, you know. But I waited. I knew it would be better if I let you think you could escape." He chuckles, "You should have seen those other broads, they would piss themselves when they saw me. But I only wanted you, so I left them for the others."

His dark pants rub against your thighs as he fucks into you. You roll your hips, trying to get this over with as quickly as possible. "You feel incredible." He moans into the crook of your neck. You scratch at his leather clad back, as the Winter Soldier's mouth latches onto the exposed skin of your neck. He sucks harshly, making sure it will leave a mark. You clench around him as he cums inside you.

His metal hand reaches between you, icy digits colliding with your heat. His thumb circles your clit, causing you to unravel. You shake in his arms, too exhausted to move as he pulls you off him. He takes his shirt off, handing it to you. "Put this on. I don't want anyone looking at my little doll." You take it, looking up at the sun coming up in the distance.

Tags

@cindylynn @wheredafandomat @multifandom-worlds @loz-3 @megharat-barnes-reid @kats72 @crimson25 @mochie85 @cakesandtom @lokidokieokie @theallknown213 @alexakeyloveloki @tmilover1993 @yeaiamme2 @pigeonmama @yeehawbrothers @lokischambermaid @fictive-sl0th @nomajdetective @goblingirlsarah @foxherder @weirdothatwritess @silver-tongue-taken-to-bed @freegardenbanananeck @lamentis-10 @jainaeatsstars @queenshu @justsebstan

[hypewinter]

Cass approached the child as carefully as she could. That didn't stop him from shrinking back into the corner, his body language screaming fear and distrust at her. She did her best to project safety and protection as she stopped and knelt down in front of him.

It was now that Cass was about to get a good look at the child. He was skinny. Painfully so. And his clothes were oversized and dirty. There was a muzzle strapped tightly to his face too. Her heart hurt thinking about who would do this to such a small thing and why.

Still emphasizing safety and calmness with her body language, Cass finally spoke to the boy. "Do you... want help with that?" she asked, pointing to the muzzle.

The boy reached up to the muzzle also subconsciously as he eyed her suspiciously. Cass for her part, patiently waited until the boy reluctantly nodded before she began inching forward once more. She projected all of her actions as she carefully reached up and turned the boy's head slightly to get a good look at the back of the muzzle.

It was locked with a special mechanism Cass had never seen before. Clearly whoever did this to the boy wanted no chance of breaking free. Luckily that wouldn't be an issue for Orphan. Cass dug around in her belt until she found the tools she was looking for and got to work. No more than 5 minutes later, the muzzle unlocked with a satisfying click.

Cass slowly slid it off of the boy's face before backing away again. "Better?" she asked cheerily.

The boy reached up with both hands to feel at his cheeks. He gently flexed his jaw. Then he looked up at Cass, hope and disbelief evident in his eyes. She returned his look of awe with a smile though she doubted he could tell since she still had her mask on.

The boy opened his mouth but all that came out was a wheeze. He narrowed his eyes in frustration as he tried again. Cass was ready to tell him not to push himself but then he croaked out, "Than..k....... you." He slowly parsed through the words, his throat clearly rusty from disuse.

Cass smiled once more. "No problem. Would you like to get out of here?" she said as she extended her hand.

The boy hesitated. Cass could still see that despite everything, he still didn't trust her. Still, he eventually took her hand. Cass pulled the boy up and guided him out of the facility she had found him in. Never letting go of his hand.

As they walked, Cass turned slightly towards the boy. "Do you... have a name?"

The boy nodded slowly in return. "Dan....ny," he answered.

"Hmm. That's a nice name."

For the first time since Cass had discovered the boy, she saw happiness radiate from him. At the sight, she couldn't help but think to herself that no sunrise could compare to such joy.

----

(Cass adopts Danny cause it's what they both deserve. She struts into Wayne Manor, blowing Steph's betting pool out of the water because she never thought Cass would be the first Wayne child to pick up Bruce's habits.

Danny can't really talk all that well the first few months he's living with everyone but that's ok because mama bear is going to teach him all there is to know about sign language and body language.)

But wait there's more!

[circeyoru]

The Only Reason

[Yandere!Sung Jinwoo x Worker!Reader]

Note: I have no idea what to call this AU, but I don't think a lot of people will read this so... Haha~ Mental AU? Chaos AU?

Update! This AU is called Mana Chaos AU! Plus there's Part 2 up!!

Part 1 (here) 一 Part 2 — Part 3 — Part 4

Once, the world’s strongest Hunters were revered as humanity’s saviours and heroes for the weak and ordinary. They were once treated like celebrities and hold the highest power and authority. They were respected, praised, and idolized. They still were, now, with a hint of fear.

It all happened due to the infamous incident now dubbed as <The Outrage Incident>. It happened like any other day, in any other country, in any other city. But to only that one strong Hunter. He was an S-Rank Mage, a successful and loved one at that. The story goes like this. 

One day, this powerful Hunter was out on the street enjoying a day off, but something set him off and he used his powerful ability to set things right. It would have been the end of it since an S-Rank’s threat was enough to make the majority crumble. However, his power got out of control and caused an outrage to his being. He was using his powers in public and there was no dungeon outbreak or monsters nearby for him. No amount of justification could calm the public.

After that one incident, other countries’ S-Rank or higher started to experience a similar issue. The worst case was that even Healers of their level didn’t escape such a phenomenon. Soon, the public feared the strong protectors they once saw as shields and swords against the gates. 

Researchers and scientists were put to work quickly to investigate why and how this issue was happening now. The answer was in the overflowing mana levels within their bodies that couldn’t be contained since the human body was weak and frail for such a change. Addition to that, it correlated to the Hunter’s emotional level and their control. Institutions were built to imprison house the S-Ranks while monitoring their situation. 

Whenever an S-Rank’s mana levels and emotions show signs of <Outrage>, a term they now use to describe the Hunter going haywire with their powers on everything and anything around them, they will be sent to a dungeon alone. In the people’s eyes, it was better for that one Hunter to die in battle than kill innocents. Because at first, it was only the S-Ranks, but then some A-Ranks would fall victim to <Outrage> as well. 

The professionals have named the correlation as Emotional Mana, EM for short, which made way for the Emotional Mana Institution, EMI for strong Hunters. The Hunters were treated like mental patients or worse, forced into a straitjacket and some had a muzzle for certain Hunters. These were specially designed and created items that limit and restricts a Hunter’s use of their powers and abilities. 

It was a miracle that someone managed to create such equipment. That someone was also targetted by the S-Ranks after being announced and killed for such a disrespectful act, still the blueprints and prototypes were created and other talents that took over were able to finalize the perfect form.

“Personnel 002, you were specifically requested by SM-10.” 

You looked up from your laptop and paused in your rapid typing for just a few second before you looked back to your screen and continued typing. That code name was to protect you and everyone else that worked in EMI or have some form of connection to it, so that no innocent is sacrificed for the greater good. Still, you can’t get used to it nor do you want to. “I’m busy.”

“Please… SM-10 is way too picky with the people that enters his cell.” This person, Supervisor 843, was one of the newest employee to join the crew. Though, unlike the name of the duty, they were people that were disposable hence the frequent newcomers and high number. “Please help me.”

You sighed and glared up at the person who had a mask over their head and a voice changer to mask their identity. Though, with the way they were speaking, you could deduce this person was a ‘she’. You got up and snatched the file extended to you. Just when you thought you could rest and work in peace, trouble comes knocking on your door. “Get me a drink and some refreshment, I want to see it on my desk by the time I’m back.”

“Yes? Yes!” Supervisor 843 bowed and clapped her hands together, “I’ll do so!”

As swiftly and automatically, you made your way through the hallways and doorways, tapping your access card to unlock needed doors and lifts for your travel. On the way, other Supervisors nodded their heads and bowed in your presence when you walked by. Unlike them who wear a uniform, you only have a lab coat over your usual outfits. You don’t even have a mask or voice changer. 

Why?

You stood in front of the door that was labelled in bold ‘SM-10’, meaning the 10th S-Rank in Korea that belonged to the Mage class. The guard dressed in black from head to toe nodded their heads at you before they started unlocking the various security checkpoints and locks for you to enter into a battlefield in its own right.

“Will one hour be enough, Personnel 002?” One of the guards asked.

“Not sure, just be alert in case I need to rush out.” You spoke stoically with indifference.

Step by step, you walked in, announcing loudly of your arrival to the individual inside. The doors closed behind you and locked you inside with what everyone feared. You sighed and put away your glasses since there was no need for it right now. The room was eerily silent and cold, something you were long used to. 

You took a few more steps, walking deeper into the room where it seemed to get darker and darker even though the lights in all housed Hunters would be on 24/7 to monitor their actions and activities within the room. 

Just when your vision failed you to the point where you can’t see what was in front of you, you were enveloped in a pair of strong arms, your entire form effortlessly pulled back till your back was pressed against a firm wall of muscle one would call chest and abs. Hair tickled one side of your cheek and neck, you felt a breath cooed before a deep voice rang in your ear, “I’ve been waiting for my favourite Personnel~”

It wasn’t at all odd that your name was called as well, if it was someone like him, he’d know everything there was to know. In fact, everyone should be worshipping him right now for his controlled and well-mannered behaviour. Especially when he could have destroyed this entire facility and killed everyone in it within seconds if he so wished. 

“Jinwoo. I need to work, don’t bully the newcomers.” You sighed while looking to the side as if making eye contact with him. 

“I like it when you call me by name and not some code, thanks for that.” Jinwoo hummed as he played with your fingers. “I guess I’ll think about it. It’s a bit bored here, you understand.”

“You removed your straitjacket again.” You let him fiddle with your fingers as if it was the most interesting thing in the world. “You’ll get caught one of these days and then it’ll be game over.”

“Igris helped me remove it. You know how they are with seeing me constrained and imprisoned here.” He chuckled and leaned back, but it turned out he was just taking a seat, presumably on his bed since you still couldn’t see anything in the darkness. “Don’t worry, I’ve made sure no one could see me free and they didn’t kill anyone. Yet.”

Every Hunter that was admitted into the EMI was evaluated and thoroughly investigated to create the perfect profile for reference. All their fighting style, powers and abilities, weapons of choice, gear type, and any other detail was accounted down. It was all for people to be prepared in case one would have an <Outrage> and they were needed to be countered by weaker Hunters. 

For Jinwoo, however, his profile was lacking to put it in the best terms. His mana levels were unmeasureable, yes, so he was placed as an S-Rank. Though, his powers and abilities were unknown. Since he was a Reawakened Hunter, most would assume he was the same class as he was as an E-Rank; a Fighter Class. But he exhibit <Telekinese> and <Shadow Manipulation> so he was placed as into Mage class.

That wasn’t even the tip of the iceberg. 

You saw through his innocence and lie, uncovering his true powers and abilities. To be honest, even if you told your higher-ups of Jinwoo’s secrets, there was nothing they could do to counter it. Jinwoo was a league of his own and only you knew it. He was no mere S-Rank, he was definitely a National Level Hunter.

Ah, yes. The question as to why you don’t wear a mask or bother having done anything to hide your identity. It was not because you’ve been in one of the people who has been in service of EMI for the longest time or wanted something as shallow as respect from the newcomers or other coworkers. It was completely because you knew it was useless to hide when someone like Sung Jinwoo had his eyes on you.

“I’ll try and arrange a dungeon for you to raid.” You marked down on your phone while Jinwoo continued to treat you like a teddy bear.

“You have to join though. If you don’t…” Jinwoo’s voice went deeper as glowing eyes stared at you from the shadows, “I don’t know what I’ll do to get your attention…”

You nodded, pushing down the urge to flinch or jerk away from him. It was normal, something you expected but still unnerving to hear with your own ear from his lips. You swear this place made the Hunters mad in the head, it was a place that made them sick and mentally ill, it wasn’t actually helping them at all. “Yeah, of course. I’m sure everyone will be relieved to hear it.”

Jinwoo smirked as his arms tightened around you, his face buried between your neck and shoulder. “You’re the only reason I stay here. Remember that. If you leave here… Leave me… I’ll do what Thomas Andre did to America.”

Note: I can't help it, it was supposed to upload the requested ones first, but then this idea hit me like a truck (without the isekai part), so now here it is. There are like 2 requested stories written and ready to be posted, but I'm double checking and stuff. Hope you like this AU/idea.

Circe Y.

My Works: MASTERLIST

Taglist: (none at the moment)

[rambling-at-midnight]

Pros and Cons of Midnight Snacks (Part 3; final part)

Pairing: Jason Todd x Gender Neutral Civilian!Reader

Summary: Just minutes after discovering his secret identity, it’s time for you and Jason to clear the air about how the two of you actually met.

Word count: 3.4k

Your heart is racing a hundred miles a minute when you make it back to your apartment. And not just because of the five sets of stairs you have to walk up, although that's pretty bad.

You make sure that your roommate isn't home, then usher your cat out of your bedroom and open the window. You sit on the edge of your bed, nerves twisting in your stomach.

No, you can't stay still.

Also, your cat's scratching at the door, furious that he's been locked away.

You decide to wait in the living room instead.

His approach is soundless. You don’t hear him come through the window, or when he opens your bedroom door, but your cat meows happily and you turn around to see your six-foot-two lying boyfriend looming in your apartment.

“Is your roommate here?” he growls through the mask. Your cat yowls at his feet, wondering why Jason—the Red Hood—hasn’t begun to lavish him with attention yet.

“No, so you can take that off.”

You’re a little pleased with yourself for figuring out his identity so quickly. Unfortunately, you’re much less pleased with him for messing with you. You’re not mad that he didn’t tell you his vigilante identity; you’ve known each other about a month, which is nothing in the grand span of a lifetime. You’re not a pessimist, but you are realistic, and you’re not sure if your relationship is going to work out yet after a week and a half of dating. Any disgruntled ex-girlfriend could reveal his secret identity to the press—not that you’re that type of person.

No, it’s smart to be cautious with his identity.

So wearing a costume that displays one of his most unique features isn’t the brightest.

Also, now that you think about it, Jason wandered into the library the day after the Red Hood walked you home.

So you’re not exactly worried, but you are a bit cautious. You’ve seen that Netflix show You, where that perfectly charming man kills every woman he’s in a relationship with. If it came down to that, you wouldn’t be able to beat Jason in a fight.

Also, you don’t want to fight in front of the cat.

With a click and a hiss, the mask—more a muzzle—comes off, and there appears your handsome boyfriend, a little disheveled and sweaty from the five-story climb to your window after stowing his bike. He’s still beautiful, and it’s such a shame. He could have been the one, had he not stalked and lied to you.

You think.

You’re going to find out.

Jason’s eyes dart to your dominant hand, which is hidden behind your back with your trusty pepper spray ready to go at the slightest sign of aggression. “I take it I’m in trouble,” he says, light, almost joking, and bends to pick your cat up. The little bastard squirms every time you do that, but he settles right down in Jason's arms and gets to purring.

“Jason—” You start, then falter, because you don’t actually know his last name. Or his middle. “Jason,” you say again through gritted teeth, trying to make it as menacing as possible. “I think we have something to talk about, don’t you?”

“Y/N,” he sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Yes, I am the Red Hood. I couldn’t tell you bec—”

“I don’t give a shit that you’re the Red Hood,” you interrupt.

Jason’s mouth clicks shut. He gives you an odd look.

“Well, that you didn’t tell me,” you amend. “We’ve known each other a month. It would be pretty pathetic if you couldn’t keep the secret that long. Everyone in the city would know by now.”

“Okay,” he says slowly. “So what are you mad about, exactly?”

“That I was right!” You exclaim. “You were stalking me! I thought you just liked coffee and reading, but you were following me the whole time. You even offered to beat yourself up. What else about you is a lie?”

“Okay, whoa,” he says, holding his hand up, and if you weren’t mad before, you’re getting there now. He has no right for you to motion to calm down. “Okay, I’ll admit it. I guess I kind of did start this all out by following you.”

Your hands fall limply to your sides. Now that he’s admitted it, all the wind is out of your sails. You’ve never been so disappointed to be right. Secretly, you were hoping he would write it all off as a freak coincidence so thoroughly that you’d have no choice to believe it, all the way up until he strangled you. “Okay,” you say calmly. You hear your own voice, but it’s from very far away. “Are you going to hurt me now?”

“What?” He looks aghast at the very thought. “No, no, I won’t—why would I—No.” He’s so firm in the reply, so utterly certain, that your grip loosens on the pepper spray. He might be a really good liar… or he might be telling the truth. “No, Y/N, I really like you, which is why I asked you out, and even if I didn’t, I wouldn’t hurt you anyway because you’re my friend. And you’re a good person. The Red Hood punishes criminals; he’s not some crazy serial killer.”

“I mean, you kind of are,” you mumble. You’ve seen the statistics. He ruled through fear for several years. But, like he’d said earlier, he’s reformed himself. He still kills people, though, but you find that it doesn’t bother you as much as it should.

“I am not—” Jason stresses, looking you right in the eyes— “the kind of man that hits women.”

There’s a story there, in the way he says it, but it’s not the time to ask. You’re not sure that your fledging relationship is ready for it, either, but you’re still curious. You’re also curious about why he killed so many people when he started out. You’re curious about everything about him. You think you could listen to him talk for hours about himself and you still would only touch the surface of everything that makes up Jason.

“Okay,” you say. His eyes track your hand as you set the pepper spray down on the counter.

He repeats it like a question. You’re a little surprised, too, but— “Jason, I wouldn’t have agreed to be your girlfriend if I wasn’t sure that you’re a good person. But I need you to tell me about how we met.”

“You mean the robbery?” He looks confused. “That really was just a coincidence. I heard that something was going down and stopped by. I had no idea who you were before that night, I swear.”

“Okay. So why did you follow me to the library?”

“Oh.” Jason coughs. “Yeah. Okay, well, the first day, I actually was following you.”

You slap the counter with an open palm, triumphant. Your cat hisses at the sound. "I knew it!"

"Wait, wait, just hear me out. I was following you to make sure that you didn't die of blood loss. Or sepsis. Or gangrene. Or—"

"So you were stalking me... because you cared?"

"It's how my family shows love," he shrugs.

Your eyes widen. Because you hadn't considered it, but if he's a Bat—and he is, judging by the red shape on his chest—then his family is the Batclan. "Oh, my God. Batman is your dad."

Jason folds his arms over his chest like he's self-conscious about the symbol. "Yeah, and I've got the weird attachment style to show for it."

"Wait," you blurt out. "The brother you were supposed to meet in the coffee shop—were you supposed to meet Red Robin?"

"Um..."

You can't believe you were almost in the same place as the actual Red Robin. "Wow. Is his civilian identity as cool as his superhero one?"

"Please don't tell me you're a Red Robin fan," Jason says, his voice pained. "We might actually need to break up."

"Do you think I could meet him sometime?" you whisper.

"He's a huge loser," Jason tells you. "He's short and scrawny and actually pretty ugly beneath the mask. He looks like a troll. Also, I think he watches Andrew Tate videos and moderates Reddit forums in his free time. You really don't want to meet him."

You can't stop grinning. "There's no need to be jealous, Jason. Red Robin's way too young for me, but I think it's cool that he uses his brain to fight crime."

"What, and I don't?" he scoffs.

"Okay." You hold up a hand, determined to get the conversation back on track. "So you wanted to make sure that I wasn't actively dying. Why'd you keep coming back?"

"Well, then I thought you might be a supervillain," he said casually, like that's a normal thing to spring on someone.

You just gape at him.

"You treated a gunshot wound like it was nothing!" he defended himself shrilly. "Most civilians would be a little more concerned about an open wound in their side."

"I'm a medical student. Doctors make the worst patients."

"Yeah, well, Gotham has a pretty bad track record of doctors becoming supervillains, so excuse me for trying to curb a new one before she had the chance to turn."

You cross your arms. "What did you think would happen, Jason? I'd accidentally take a dip in Gotham River and the bacteria in there would travel from my side to my brain and make me go crazy?"

"I mean, yeah. That's pretty much exactly what happened with Harley Quinn."

Well, shit. He's got you there.

"Okay, well then why approach me at the coffee shop?"

Jason raises his eyebrow. "You were the only one there and I had a spare coffee. Am I not allowed to do nice things?"

"It was right after I told the Red Hood that I thought I was getting stalked. Did you do that on purpose?" you accuse.

"No, I swear. I didn't even know that you liked that place. Red Robin mentioned liking it.” Oh, my God, you and Red Robin like the same coffee shop. “I just… kept showing up after I saw you there the first time." He must be scratching your cat too hard, because he wiggles out of Jason's arms and runs over to his food bowl, looking at you pleadingly like he's been starving for a hundred years, even though your roommate texted you earlier saying that he'd already fed him. "I was planning on disappearing from your life and telling you as Hood that I'd, I don't know, threatened the dude or whatever, but..."

"But what?"

He shrugs. "You're pretty, Y/N. You're smart. And you were funny when I talked to you as Hood. Is it a crime for me to want to make a friend?"

"Just a friend?" You squint at him.

"Yeah. Just a friend." Jason tousles his hair again, and this time you let yourself admire the way the muscles of his shoulders and upper arms flex at the motion. "Believe it or not, I've never been in a relationship before. This wasn't what I was expecting—I never expected anything—but I'm happy. You're happy... aren't you?" He's pleading now, and it tugs on your heartstrings.

You sigh, but take a step closer to him. "Yes, I'm happy, Jason." It's definitely not the most conventional way to start a relationship, and most other people would be running for the hills by now, but this is Gotham. You moved here and stayed here because you fit in with the crazy. "I just need you to tell me one thing." Step. "One honest thing."

"Of course," he says immediately. Big green eyes pleading for you to bridge the gap between your bodies, to forgive him.

"What's your last name? I can't date someone whose last name I don't know."

For some reason, he grimaces. "Uh... my full name is Jason... Peter... Todd." His voice gets quieter with every word, until you're straining to hear his surname.

That rings familiar with something in your memory. You frown. "Jason Todd... not like Jason Todd Memorial Library?" Usually with memorials, the person they're named after is dead, but Jason's real and in front of you. Also, wasn't Jason Todd the kid that Bruce Wayne adopted several years ago?

The corners of Jason's lips turn down. "Yeah, I wasn't thrilled with your choice of study locations at first. But it is quieter than my apartment. B adopted too many fuckin' kids, and they always find my place, even when I move—"

"Does Red Robin hang out at your apartment a lot?" you ask, just to see him scowl.

"No, he's never there, and I'm going to dropkick him off a roof the next time I see him unless you stop talking about him."

"Okay," you say. You're close enough now to put a hand on his forearm, so you do. "I'll stop talking." You have to get on your tiptoes and pull the back of his head a bit, but you kiss him, and somehow it's even better than the first time.

Jason's lips are a little dry, but not chapped, soft and pillowy. He blinks when you rest back on your heels, looking dazed like someone hit him over the head with a frying pan. "Am I forgiven now?"

"Mmm..." You pretend to think it over. His hands snake around your back and pull you flush against him, stomach to stomach. "I think so," you say through a gasp, which might be embarrassing if he didn't bend to kiss you before the words had fully left your lips.

You kiss for a little while after that, shivering when his hands slip beneath your jacket. Not quite up your shirt, but getting there. He's got huge hands, and he grips your waist firmly, using his thumbs to gently rub at your hipbones as he pulls you even closer. That small contact, so gentle yet also a little greedy, heats your body from the inside like an inferno.

You're starting to bend backwards now, and the hand on the back of his neck is less there to pull him down and more there to keep you up. Are you lightheaded? You might be. You breathe in through your nose, but it doesn't help.

Jason may be inexperienced, according to his own testimony, but he doesn't kiss like it. He kisses with his whole body. He keeps leaning forward, moving his lips against yours with the single-minded intensity that took you by pleasant surprise the first time you kissed. Soft but firm, pressing against you, in a way that makes you think he'd really like to crowd you against a wall and cage you in. Not that you want to escape.

When you're bent over, you take Jason's chin in your hand and slowly push his head back. He resists at first, eyes fluttering as he chases after your lips, but you're about to fall over, so you murmur, "What's the plan here, babe?"

"No plan," he says, voice low and gravely in a way you've never heard before. Jason looks at you from beneath his long lashes. A heat flashes in his eyes. Something flutters in your stomach, bigger than butterflies. Maybe birds? Maybe robins.

And then you feel his hands on the bare skin of your back when they slip beneath the hem of your shirt. You gasp and jerk away on instinct because his hands are so warm, so calloused, but he's got a good grip on you; you're not falling anytime soon.

Then your entire world shifts as Jason yanks you upright, at the same time pulling the hem of your jacket and shirt up enough so he can see your wound.

"Oh, my God," you groan, embarrassed and a little amused. "You little pervert, were you doing all that to distract me?"

"No." Jason's voice is still gravely. He looks at your hip, then stares at your mouth like he's making a decision. He kisses you again, a firm press, and nips at your bottom lip before he leans back to squint at the scar. "Is it still bruised?"

"Yes," you sigh, covering your eyes. You're embarrassed for reasons you can't quite explain. Maybe because he's pulling your shirt up and you're not quite as firm everywhere as he is. You're pretty sure champion bodybuilders aren't as firm as he is. "It's gotten much better, though. See? No infections or anything like that."

He measures the scar against his hand: it's about two fingers wide, and one finger long. It scabbed over a while ago, and now that the scab's gone, it's just a shiny pink patch of skin.

"You could have stitched it anyway," he sighs.

"I don't care." You grab him by the chin and force him to meet your eyes. "I don't care about scars. Mine or yours. Most of the time, they're sexy. And apart from me, you're the only one seeing it." His hands clench your waist at the words, then loosen. He sends you an apologetic look. You continue, "So as long as you don't mind it, then nobody does."

"I wish it had never happened to you," he sighs.

"Well, it did. But it wasn't your fault and we can't change the past."

Jason's still mulling over your words when you start to work at his belt. He makes a choked noise and grabs your hands. Doesn't push them away, just holds them still right where they are. "What are you doing?"

"Well, I showed you mine." You grin up at him. "It's only fair that you show me yours."

He snorts. "You don't trust your own handiwork?"

"It's a follow-up appointment," you say. "To make sure everything's healing normally. Now take off your shirt, Mr. Todd. This veterinarian's apartment does, after all, moonlight as a strip club."

He undoes his belt buckle with one hand, and you have to make sure that your mouth isn't open. That was probably the hottest thing you've ever seen in your life. "You ready?" he grins, cocky in the way he only gets when he's flirting with you. "One look at me and you'll forget all about Red Robin. Forever."

"God, don't bring up your little brother while we're making out," you groan.

"Good to know that you plan on kissing me some more tonight," he says casually. Then he peels off the skintight gray shirt, and every thought wipes from your mind.

His muscles have muscles. And, somehow, despite your apartment's shitty lighting, he's glowing. His pants sit low on his hips like he's a model or something.

How has no one ever dated him before? He's actually perfect.

The longer you stare without saying anything, the more uncomfortable he looks. Finally he says, "I know I've got a lotta scars," his native Gotham accent bleeding through a little, but you stop him with a hand on his chest. He's warm and firm and soft, just like you thought he would be.

"My God," you whisper. "You're beautiful."

Jason goes beet red.

"And the one I stitched is healing up nicely," you continue, tracing your fingers lightly over the slightly raised line.

His whole body shudders. He swallows almost violently, eyes clenched tight like they're in pain. Then they fly open, and you gasp, because they're glowing green. Not metaphorically glowing. Like, actually glowing.

Jason kisses you again like he's trying to herd you. You don't know where's all right for you to touch, so you cup his face with both your hands and pour everything that he gives you right back at him. Warmth, affection, something bright that you can't name.

Then you lean back. Your lips disconnect with an audible pop.

"Hang on. Is Bruce Wayne Batman?"

Jason's chin drops down to his chest. He groans, deep, and you pretend that warmth doesn't pool in your stomach at the sound. Voice thready, he says, "You know, talking about my dad really kills the mood."

"Oh, my God, he is." You pump your fist in the air. "I'm two for two. Who's the world's greatest detective now, Batsy?"

"If I kiss you again, will you shut up about Batman?" Jason asks.

You grin. "I don't know. Maybe you'll have to find out."

He does.

And you do.

You've decided that the Red Hood is your favorite superhero, anyway.

~~

Forever taglist:

@lemirabitur @annymcervantes @queenmissfit  @iksey @thehyperactiveteen @luxmoonlight @andreasworlsboring101

DC taglist:

@evalynanne @mismatchsposts

[2kiran]

“ 𝐊 𝐈 𝐋 𝐋 𝐒 𝐇 𝐎 𝐓 ”

pairing keegan p. russ x you genre smut reader is a male. dom!reader x sub!keegan cw uppercase typing. enemy reader. gun kink. facefucking. humiliation. handjob.

you’ve never expected that keegan, out of all people, would be into that.

Keegan P. Russ, a well-respected Sergeant and Scout Sniper of the Ghosts. He lived up to his title, his experience on the battlefield providing him positive support throughout his years in the military. A man of many things. Strong and intelligent. Never one to step out of line.

Keegan P. Russ, a man who was proficient in his work field. He was intimidating. Never one to cower in face of missions. He was suited for a respectable leader. His strength and accomplishments gaining praise from higher and lower ranks alike. The air around his presence of an authority’s.

Keegan P. Russ, an embarrassed man who was currently on his knees. The expression of shame on his face hidden by his signature mask. The same one that was once drenched in multiple enemy combatants’ blood now concealing the creeping warmth on his cheeks.

“Don’t tell me you’re backing out.”

He huffed in annoyance at your teasing words. “I’m not.” He wanted to. He really did. This was humiliating, both to his pride and to his reputation. He’d rather fucking die than to be caught in this predicament because of you. “Are you sure?” You leaned back, resting against the couch.

“I mean, I’m not saying that you can’t handle this. But don’t you feel a little conscious?” You shrugged, not waiting for a response, “Not even for your reputation?” A hint of a smirk playing on your lips as you watched his growing anger in the form of his balled fists. It was amusing to see the Keegan P. Russ crumble in need. Even worse, for his enemy.

“Shut the fuck up.” He gritted his teeth.

“Or what?” His hand flew to grab the gun in your hand, but you quickly slapped it away. “Nice try.” It wasn’t a compliment. A sarcastic response to get under his skin further. He knows you enough to realize that you weren’t going to allow him to forget this unfolding situation. There was a high chance he was going to regret this, but he wanted to indulge his fantasies of with you, at least for a little while.

He shouldn’t be down on his knees, on a dirty old carpet, in an abandoned safe house. Especially not with you, a man who’s attempted to kill him and his team several times. Not to mention that you’re the same man who has been wanted by him the police for months.

Wanted in which way, he didn’t know. All he knew was that he wanted — no, that’s not quite right — needed you right now.

“Get it over with.”

You sighed, “You’re so impatient.” Taking out the magazine, you inspected the amount of bullets inside before returning it to the chamber. Switching off the safety, you pointed it at him. His breath hitched, the muzzle centered to his forehead. You were right; he was impatient. It didn’t help that you were mere seconds away from giving him what he wants.

“Your mask,” You reminded, softly, “Can you take it off for me?” He let out a huff, like he was going to decline but his hand rose. Unsure gloved fingers dipped underneath his shirt, the digits meeting fabric as he pulled it off of his head. There he was. Identity bare for someone who shouldn’t see the real him. As soon as the balaclava was on the floor, you trailed the muzzle down his face. He tensed, eyes wide. “What are you—?”

Quickly, his lips bumped against the front sight and you pushed it inside. He instinctively swallowed around the barrel, the taste and wide intrusion leading him to gag slightly.

“Mffh- mmhf? Mhg...” He attempted, even though the gun prevented him to properly speak.

You didn’t take it out, sliding it in further. Focus intent on the way he struggled to sit still and adjust. He shifted his position in discomfort, thighs rubbing against each other to try to soothe the ache in between his legs. His body was betraying him, cock growing hard inside the confines of his pants. He could easily stop you, but he didn’t want to. He was willingly submitting.

The sound of your tongue clicking snapped him out of his short daze, “Poor baby,” you shook your head in mock disappointment. “You’re not even afraid to have your head blown off?” It was a rhetorical question, not that he was going to answer. The letters he learned were turning into complete mush. “I would’ve done this with you sooner if I knew that you were so willing to just... take it.”

Saliva built in his mouth, trickling out of the corner. He was fucking drooling. “You’re better like this.”

He shook his head the best he could. “No?” You chuckled, drawing the gun back. “C’mon. Use your words.” His gaze hardened, but his body was a traitor to his emotions. A glare set in his eyes yet he had a tent in his pants and a blush on his cheeks. Hips rutting into nothing.

“I’m not—”

You shove it back in.

“Not what?”

Deity forgive him, he didn’t know if he hated that fact about you. Unbearable — that’s what he uses to describe you. Unbearable and cruel. A know-it-all. He could never tell you that. Not with the gun harshly pushing back and forth in his mouth, at least.

It was downright sinful.

Sinful, with the sounds that his throat was making. The muzzle poking at the back. He shouldn’t have a loaded firearm on his tongue. Not with you, a criminal that should be locked behind bars, treating it like it was your cock. Your treatment was rough, giving him little to no time to breathe. It felt uncomfortable, but so disgustingly good at the same time. This was your gun. The aftermath will have him lingering on your mind.

He shouldn’t want to be on your mind.

But he just can’t help it. He does have self-control, but you seem to simply take it away. He nearly smiles at the thought of you trying to come up with an excuse to why your gun was wet at the edges, maybe you’d forget to clean it, maybe you don’t even want to. Unknowingly, his hand wandered up to your belt. Shaky fingers took it off, achingly slow.

He finally pulled down your pants. A moan slipping into the muzzle as he wished that it was you in his mouth instead. But he had to wait. He wrapped his hand around the base, stroking it in a lazy manner. His eyes were hazy, throat for sure sore, and sweat on his skin. You bucked your hips into his palm, watching as he gags on your gun. Suddenly, a loud moan erupted from him, muffled. A wet patch forming on the crotch of his pants.

Fucking hell. You pant, currently in disbelief —

“Did you just cum?”

𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

[karlachismylife]

A Spot of Lunch || The Queen of the Clan pt.4

CW: fem!chubby!reader, stalking, animal aggression (no violence)

Paranoia wasn't something you have ever associated with the vast grassy planes of sunlit savanna. An unsettling feeling of being constantly watched, followed, stalked seemed more suitable for the claustrophobic confines of a big city with its tall concrete walls and sleepless eyes of neon signs and late night windows peering blindly into the darkness - or maybe even a cold, isolated cabin among winter woods, with howling wind and creaking floorboards eerily masking the steps of whatever was looking through the frosty glass planes from the other side.

An open space full of busy with their own survival wildlife and sun burning every little patch of shadow anyone could hide in never crossed your mind as a place for a worry of unwanted following.

And yet you felt it.

You've learnt to distinguish this creepy sensation of being watched by something from the constant presense of your crew's cameras and curious looks of the animals. Even coming face to face (from afar, obviously) with the lion pride that was your main target for the documentary and attracting their attention left a different aftertaste - sure, you did feel like prey looking into the big eyes, adorned with a nature-given eyeliner, twinkling predatorily at you from the muzzle of a huge feline partially covered by the tall grass, but it still was just an animal watching you and gauging if you and your weird pack of two-legged companions were a better dinner option than an antilope.

What watched your back when you were sorting through your footage in camp or unloading the rover for another static filming, didn't feel like an animal.

"Well, we didn't even have that much visitors in camp for the last few days, so I'd say we're pretty safe," Kir, the shoulder you're used to rely on at this point, listens to your concerns carefully as he accepts heavy equipment from your arms - you reached a suitable place to have some food, so a temporary camp is being prepared. "Besides, we're always staying together out here, right? I'll look after you for now. Let's see if you still feel this shadow of yours when we get back to homebase, and then we'll look for a solution again. Maybe it's just the savanna getting to you, city cookie."

You scoff and roll your eyes at him, but his reassurance helps shake the unpleasant feeling from your scruff a bit - Kir has a point, the crew is being careful about animals and it's not like there are any other humans in these parts nearby, so you'll probably be alright. Definitely feels nice to have someone who doesn't simply dismiss your concerns and is ready to take more precautions if the initial ones fail to work.

"Maybe it's a heatstroke or something," you mutter awkwardly, now almost ashamed of how serious you make it all sound when no one else is having such problems. Kir immediately turns around, a big duffelbag on his shoulder, skin glistening with sweat, and gives you a disapproving look.

"I'm gonna pretend I didn't hear that. This isn't a hike outside your hometown, every concern you have is worth looking into. Better be overcautious than become someone's dinner, especially when you're already a total snack," finally having gotten you to smile, he winks and hurries to the main camp. When you reach the others to set up your lunch break, a hat lands on your head - you lift your eyes, almost covered by it, and of course, it's still Kir, wiping his forehead with a smile. "No heatstroke for you, cookie. Go have some water."

The hat is a bit sweaty on the inside, but it keeps the sun away better than the scarf you couldn't tie properly this morning.

As you all sit around in the shadow created by a lone acacia and chew on your not so bad meals - apparently, veteran participants of these trips have experience not only in getting close to animals unnoticed or navigating vehicles through uneven sandy terrain, but also in making quite the unappealing looking canned food taste good - quiet human chatter mixes together with the birds calling each other out and little chirping mice sneaking around your camp in timid curiosity. A fit of laughter bursts here and there. Your worry melts into nothingness in the heat, you feel safe as you look at your crew.

These people are doing what they love, and you notice that the dull apathy that was eating at you to the point of taking a break in your studies slowly steps away. Surprisingly, your impulsive idea turned out to be not so bad - maybe you'll take additional courses when you return, to be able to move here, work at the sanctuary, watch-

"Psst, look," a gentle nudge makes you stop digging into the little bowl you have with your mighty fancy teal spork (your 100% recycled plastic pride and joy), and you look up to where Kir points with his chin and puckered lips. "Even I recognize that snout already."

So do you, of course.

A wide, happily grinning, sniffing vigorously at the direction of your temporary camp, round-eared snout with a thick mohawk of a lush mane.

"Finally brought a friend," chuckles Kir next to you - and he's right, shoulder to shoulder with your old pal Stinky stands another hyena, spotted so generously that its fur seems almost brown, as does its shorter, but even thicker than Stinky's mane. Pure elegance shines through the stance of its long legs and the whole form, especially compared to its bulky mate.

And there they are - the most enchanting, heart-stealing, soul-charming dark eyes you've ever seen an animal have.

"Shit," you nearly choke on the corn you forgot you had in your mouth before swallowing anxiously, and try to muffle your coughing, afraid it might scare the animals away; but instead they only tilt their heads in an adorable way and watch as you scramble to shove your food bowl into Kir's hands and grab your camera.

It takes you less than two minutes to sneak to your bag (not the one that was sprayed - that one is banished to lay alone next to a rover far, far away from where you eat, God) and grab the camera, but when you turn back, both hyenas seem to have lost all interest in you and your camp, rolling around together in the patchy grass and partaking in a ritualistic play.

Subtle breaths of warm wind bring over quiet growls and occasional sassy cackles from the scuffle, nips and paw slaps exchanged in equal amounts. The sight is nothing short of adorable: two members of one of the most dangerous species on Earth tossing each other around like playful cubs, almost as if they're fighting over-

"Hey, look, they've got something!" One of the other camera operators points out gleefully with her spoon and you close one eye, focusing your camera on the pair. They definitely are fighting over some scrap, and just as you zoom in on their scowling mouths, Stinky jumps to its feet, yanking something that looks like a piece of hide in attempt to wrestle their toy from the other one's maw. "Hey, can you see what it's about?"

You hum, squinting as you meddle with the settings - it's quite hard to make out what it is, some brown-ish rug, stretching between two pairs of powerful jaws, clenched and pulling in a simple game of tug-of-war. Just as you take a series of quick shots, that dark, lean hyena also gets up and twists its neck, trying to snatch that thing from his broader mate - and it rips.

In your lense you see loose strings hanging from the ripped edges of the torn toy.

"Huh, looks like a piece of cloth!" Curious, you zoom in some more, taking several fine portrait pictures of Stinky's big, displeased-looking snout. Its ears flatten a bit as it shakes its head, sand flying off the fluffy mane and landing on the dark hide of its buddy. The latter seems to be much more content with the end result of the playfight, already lying back on the warm ground comfortably, long frong legs crossed in an effortlessly graceful way and half of the desired prise being chewed enthusiastically before it's dropped with a yawn. "Maybe someone lost a scarf? No pattern though..."

You point your camera at the unbelievably stunning dark-furred hyena and take more photos, almost holding your breath at the beauty of the animal resting on the dusty ground. Its slightly lazy gaze slowly trails over the surroundings and then lands on you.

And then, you swear, it winks at you.

You press the button on your camera automatically, capturing this moment for you to stare at later, when you'll start doubting your own sanity. A lopsided smirk stays on the hyena's muzzle for a second longer - and then it's gone.

"What the hell..." you mutter under your nose, lowering your camera with a dumbfounded look and stare at the embodiment of innocence the cheeky fluffball is now. Almost as if they both heard you, Stinky perks up too, and you finally notice that whatever they were playing with is now hanging off its pleased snout shoved through a neat round opening in the material. So it's definitely something man-made. A shirt that's been shredded by predators' teeth until only the collar or a short sleeve remained?..

You shudder at the thought about how the hyenas got their sock-clad paws on the thing and what happened to the owner. Maybe it's just been discarded after researchers used it to wrap a hyena's head when they darted and collared one of them. Or it just fell out of someone's backpack on the bumpy road. Or...

A loud whoop interrupts your heavy thoughts and your eyes snap back to the furry menace, only to find it clearly posing for you, slumped over its pal's back and resting its chin between the other's fluttering ears. Surprisingly, the darker - maybe you'll call it Chocolate, it seems almost toothrottingly sweet from afar - hyena doesn't seem to mind much, waving its tail with a black brush on end languidly and laying still until you take a few pictures. Even though the rag Stinky can't seem to let go clearly gets in its eyes no matter how many times it tries to brush it away with an endearing ear movement.

Of course Stinky just drops its toy altogether on Chocolate's head the second something else attracts its attention - the way it perks up and loses that trickster grin, looking directly behind you, startles you, but almost twisting your neck to look over your shoulder proves futile. It's just Kir.

"Sorry to ruin your fun, cookie, but we'll have to get moving in a few, thought you'd want to finish your meal," he sighs with an apologetic smile, clearly not immune to the cuteness of the hyenas himself, and hands you your bowl, immedietely earning a growl.

A growl much closer than you'd expect from where your visitors stayed.

You jump, nearly dropping both your camera and food, and quickly turn back to see both hyenas, tails and manes belligerently fluffed up, just a few meters away. Kir steps in front of you immediately, shielding from the animals, but it seems only to aggravate them more.

Maybe it's not the brightest idea you get, but your adrenaline-high brain offers you a memory of Stinky obeying when you raised your voice at it.

"Stay down you two! Shoo! Get back!" Leaning around Kir's muscular shoulder, you wave with your spork at the unfriendly couple.

Somehow, it works.

They almost look upset, tails slowly hanging down and ears lowered - they even lean their whole bodies to the ground as they back away. Stinky is clearly more reluctant, and you would be melting at the sight if your heart wasn't still racing after the scare.

"You get back too, Stinky. Or I'll sign every picture of you with your nickname in all the wildlife magazines!" Perhaps it's your tone making the animals nervous, but Chocolate suddenly lets out a short giggle. Still feels nice to have someone appreciate your humor, especially when it earns him a nip at the scruff from Stinky, finally distracting him from you. "And you don't laugh at Stinky! What, you think there won't be enough of me for the both of you? I'll make fun of every fucking four-legged menace if you keep growling like that!"

An barely started new scuffle between the two stops abruptly, two pairs of huge wet eyes looking at you with almost human perspicacity. Remembering too late that a direct stare can provoke an animal, you avert your gaze, but it's unnecessary: even from the corner of your eye you see both hunched figures slowly gaining speed as they further away from the camp.

"What, you a hyena whisperer now?" Kir lets out a subtle relieved breath and you par his back gratefully, exhaling yourself. "Probably got scared of me because of my size... well, now that's you've proven your dominance, how about you finish your food? I'll pack everything for you, so don't rush."

Still glancing over your shoulder in case the predators come back, you mutter your thanks to Kir and nod at the other members of the crew who praise you for keeping your cool against the animals again.

"Didn't know they teach you that in school nowadays," jokes one of the older scientists with some canned food juice staining grey stubble around the corners of his mouth. "Good job, kid. Hyenas are all about hierarchy, if you show them you're more dominant, there's little they can do. Just maybe don't get into actual fights with them, you know?"

"Not planning to," you chuckle and finally get back to your food. While you chew absentmindedly, wandering around the camp being taken down, your legs bring you to where your slightly rough (and fluffy too, to be fair) around the edges neighbours left their tattered toy.

Just a weird shaped brown cloth, punctured in several places with the deadly weapon hyenas carry in their mouths and with clearly manufactured seams. That round hole Stinky utilized also has neatly finished edge, like clothing would have.

Huh. Weird. Somehow that chewed up and slobbered snippet looks familiar. Can't really quite put your finger on it though.

Part 3 | Part 3.5 | Part 5

Series masterlist | Main masterlist

A/N: Please, don't use any of this story as a guide to handling any animals, wild or not. Although I try to use real documentaries and stories of hyena whisperers as a reference to how hyena-human interactions can look like, it's still fiction. Use actual guidelines provided by authorities as to how to behave in contact with stranger animals.

Tagging:@elaineiswithyou-blog @creepingeva @my-halo-is-a-little-broken @sillymanjaro @ihatethinkingofnames10 @ravensfeatheruniverse @yaminax @ljh861 @darkangel4121 @ginger-n-coco @grey-shadow6475 @cryingpages @mothsdrabbles @mc-glare-is-king @vixxie22 @aldis-nuts

[formylovetodaryldixon]

"Like there was no tomorrow." Daryl Dixon—Chapter 1.

Daryl Dixon promised himself, the night he let you go, that he would always love you, like there was no tomorrow. But when you come back into his life, you’re sure you won't fall for him again. However, even against your wishes, he will stay close to you, protecting you from getting hurt or worse, because a life without you is unimaginable. Now, like a roller coaster of emotions, you have to face your confusing feelings in an apocalyptic world, until you finally decide what the hell you expect from life, besides the chance to live one more day. And when a little girl shows up in your lifes, she may be the path to a safe place you two can finally call home. But, will that be enough to be together? Or will the past be too much to survive the storm?

PAIRING: Daryl Dixon x reader

WARNING: Death, blood, a lot of bad words hehe (but also romance and even some comedy if I can get it right hehe)

ERA: From prison onwards.

A/N: Hello! It is with great fear in my heart that I share with you the first chapter of this series. I hope you like it! I am not the best writer but I want to keep writing about Daryl, so I hope you give this story a chance. Thank you so much! I loved that dialogue of Michonne making fun of Daryl when she found out he had a girlfriend hehehe

You met Daryl before the dead came back to life.

He was a young man working for the owner of a motorcycle repair shop: the pay was bad, but good enough to get by. You were the child of a police officer (who had drinking problems) the typical sheltered (but down-to-earth) young person, just trying to make your life meaningful. Your older brother used to take you with him to get his bike repaired, and the rest of how you and Daryl met was history.

But that first day, it was a big surprise for him when you talked to him, because someone like you, who stood out like a brilliant sapphire among a pile of discolored rocks, talked to him like he was just like you. And it was almost blinding looking at you, like trying to look directly at the sun.

Daryl had a small inferiority complex he knew how to mask well, but from that day on, he couldn't wait to see you every week.

After that, it was a good three and a half years, with a few petty arguments, and a ring hidden in the back of his drawer that he never gave you. But the day he broke up with you, Daryl did it through his own suffocating pain, through his mistaken idea that he wasn’t enough for you, that the life he could offer you wasn’t the one you deserved, so that day, Daryl let you go. However, it would be a lie to say it was easy for him, because for the next 4 months, Daryl did nothing but come to see you every night, just to make sure you got home safely from your job.

A little bit later, the apocalypse began.

Daryl tried to find you that night, but your house was a mess, and there was no sign of you, so he and his brother left town. But he never stopped looking for you anywhere he went, he never stopped dreaming about you, because Daryl knew you were still alive.

But life is a funny and unpredictable thing, because that afternoon, it is you who comes back to him.

“Drop it.”

Your firm voice sinks into the ears of the man with his back to you, whose heart wakes up frantically when he feels the cold muzzle of your gun on the back of his head. The cold air of the abandoned room that used to be a classroom in that forgotten university makes the hairs on his skin stand on end, but he is too scared to even breathe.

You don't mean to scare the poor man like that, but like every so often when you came to look for other kinds of medicine, you never expected to find another living being in that place, especially one that preferred to take the bottles of alcohol when other things were more important. Therefore, he didn't seem like a person you could trust.

“Hey, I’m Bob and I’m not looking for trouble…” The man says softly, his hand holding the last bottle of alcohol that he had picked up from the ground, but frozen now in mid-air. “My group and I are looking for medicine for our people–”

“Yeah? I didn’t know you healed people with vodka.” You say sarcastically. “Put the bottle down and get out of here slowly. I'm not going to hurt you, but don't do anything stupid.”

Helpless, Bob complies with your command before beginning to walk outside, hands in the air to show you that he is harmless, but he is also unable to see the small falcon above your right shoulder. The yellow paws of your little girl cling to the fabric of your black long-sleeved shirt, without hurting you, but keeping her black eyes fixed on the prey before her, watching his movements and any attempt of sudden attack. However, the moment you two cross the door and take a couple of steps into the apparent lonely hallway, a light, almost silent footstep, like the weight of one of her feathers is heard in the falcon’s ears and Aeris makes a low sound, a warning that makes you turn the muzzle of the gun towards your right, towards the door on the other side of the hall in a single second.

Across the hall, Daryl lowers his crossbow when he sees you through it, even if it's almost impossible for him to believe that you're really there in front of him, not after he spent all that time looking for you since you two broke up. You lower your weapon as well, keeping a frown, but your heartbeat is as loud in your ears as if you had just fired a bullet on that silent and deathly place.

You knew he was out there and alive, (because Daryl was too smart with his survival instincts and all) but you never imagined you would see him again. His hair is long and covers part of his eyes, but his gaze is the same, those cold blue eyes that used to see you differently from the others.

“Peach?” His deep, low voice, the one you once thought was lost when he let you startles you now, but you keep your emotions back on track as he approaches, slowly, with a singular fear in his eyes. “Shit. I can’t believe s’ya.”

Behind him, a man with a gun and a woman with a katana walk out of the room, backpacks on their shoulders and serious expressions, because in that new world no one bothered to smile and be friendly with strangers anymore, and it is understandable given the circumstances.

“I went to look for ya at yer house when the bombings in the city started…” Daryl always had a special way of looking at you, just like now, so intense that when you first met him, you were afraid of drowning in his ocean-colored eyes. “Ya weren’t there, and yer dad…”

The sudden memory, the one you used to push into the deepest, darkest part of your memory, comes back to you with the force of a hurricane.

“Yeah, my dad was too drunk to get out of there.” You say softly, so softly so as not to sink into guilt for leaving him when he yelled at you to run. “My best friend was with me that night and it's just been me and her this whole time.”

“Peach…”

But Daryl’s voice is silenced when Aeris makes a sound again, looking down the hall where the first walker turns the corner, growling and bringing others behind it.

“We need to go!” The katana-wielding woman takes the lead, walking the other way.

You and the new group follow suit, passing a pair of classrooms that hid a pair of silent walkers until they feel everyone's presence. That moment, they start growling, following you all. The only clear room you all enter is windowless, and it is so dark that it plunges you into a new kind of darkness that the light from the flashlight you and the woman pull tries to fight off.

“Hey! The door’s broken.” Bob whispers, teeth clenched in fear as he presses himself against the closed door.

“Hold on.” Daryl steps closer, pushing the heavy animal bars to block the path of the walkers that begin to pile up against it.

You stop beside the woman, your own flashlight pointing at the staircase sign above the double wooden doors on the other side of the stifling room.

“Hey. There.” You tell her, and when her flashlight points in the same direction, she nods at you. But as you approach the chains covering the doors, the walkers on the other side rush at the small gap between the boards, rotting hands trying to reach for you all. “I don't know how many are on the other side.”

The unlocked door on the other end begins to give way, letting in more walkers.

“We can take ‘em.” The big man in the woolly hat says, his gun ready to fire, but is silenced by Bob’s words.

“No! They’re infected. Same as at the prison. We fire at ‘em, get their blood on us, breath it in. We didn’t come all this way to get sick.”

The man in the hat points the flashlight at him.

“How do we know the ones in there aren’t any different?”

“We don’t.” The woman replies, sword in her hands.

“Well, it’s gonna change sometimes.”

Daryl approaches the upside-down chair near him, using his boot to break the legs. He steps up to the door next and uses his weight against the chains to break them, throwing the doors wide, the first few walkers nearly tripping over each other with their hands in the air, ready to sink their teeth into the skin of the closest victim.

Simultaneously, you and the woman take down two with a bullet and a swing of her katana, clearing the way for the others. It’s dark the minute it takes you all turn around a corner, but then, the daylight hits you in the face as you take the first step towards the staircase, the sunlight lighting the way up with the others in front of you.

Aeris swings on your shoulder before taking flight to the next floor over the heads of the others. You had saved that bird when she was a chick, and now, she was the compass that always guided you to a safe place: you trust her with your life.

“Follow her...” You say, taking the lead when everyone stops for a microsecond. “She’ll find the path clear of walkers.”

“How the fuck will she do that? It’s a bird!” Bob growls, but following the rest up the steps.

“Because she’s smarter than all of us put together.” You say through gritted teeth in frustration, stepping into the floor as the stairs finally end in front of you.

The room opens up into two hallways, and though the hallway on the left is clear, Aeris is standing on the edge of the closed window on the right side, speaking in small sounds.

“There’s no way out through there!” Bob shouts, but before he takes a step into the apparent emptiness on left, more walkers round the corner and others come out of the adjoining rooms, growling in the distance.

“Fuck…” Daryl growls as he passes you, watching in frustration as the bird returns to your shoulder. “We make one then.”

He loops his crossbow strap around his body before grabbing a fire extinguisher from the ground, finally throwing it at the glass. The window makes a loud sound as glass falls in all directions, but clearing an improvised path for you all. Daryl climbs up to the edge, giving the woman his hand first to cross to the other side, but when he's about to do the same with you, you're already standing on top on your own.

He narrows his eyes, frustrated at your tendency to do things alone.

You jump onto the roof next to the window, but it is so narrow that your knees bend as you fall, using your hands to keep your balance. Aeris rocks with the movement, but she remains on your shoulder. The man in the hat jumps next, followed by Daryl, and finally Bob, who uses a little more strength than necessary and the weight of his backpack propels it over the edge, falling into the void where dozens of hands rush to try and grab it.

On the ground, mouths are open and hands grab onto the backpack strap, but Bob has no intention of letting go even as he struggles with them, half his body already down. The others rush to help, but Aeris shifts uneasily on your shoulder, as if she's holding you back, her own reaction to the impending danger and not just from the walkers.

Finally, Bob manages to pull himself halfway up from the edge, pushing his backpack against the floor of that ceiling, which makes a clear sound you know well from your past life: the sound of glass bottles. And amidst the haze of confusion and as racing hearts try to calm down, Daryl kneels in front of the half-open backpack, grabbing a full bottle of vodka.

“Ya got no meds in yer bag?” You can hear it, the danger in his angry yet low voice. “Just this?”

Bob tries to speak, to say something in his defense even when everyone knows, including you, that there would be no excuse to support his reckless action.

But when Daryl tries to throw the bottle, Bob’s hand instinctively reaches for the gun at his waist, letting out a no under his breath. And suddenly, and even outside and with all the open air, the impending tension closes dangerously around the others. You knew Daryl grew up without a single ounce of fear in his body, after forgetting what fear was after all the beatings his dad used to give him when he was little, and now, he, so sure that he can beat the shit out of Bob without even using his gun, steps closer to his face, looking him in the eyes. Daryl has a short temper, and from behind, you can see his back tensing up in anger, his hand taking the gun from Bob's waist before grabbing him by the collar of his shirt. He's good, you know that, but his rage and frustration were always really short, almost deadly, and dangerous like playing close to a volcano.

But Daryl keeps growling softly, like a wild animal, his blue eyes fixed on Bob, though he can't meet his eyes.

“Daryl…” You say softly, trying to ease the tension of the situation before he ends up pushing the poor man over the edge. You’ve already seen him hurt someone for less in a bar, when a drunk guy tried to hit on you, calling you by a disgusting name that Daryl eventually made him swallow with the punching he gave that man. “Don’t do it… please.”

Daryl exhales through his nose, letting out all his anger first, his jaw too tight to speak at that second.

“Take one sip ‘fore those meds get to our people, and I will beat yer ass into the ground.” He says, low, and it’s not a warning: it’s a promise you know he’ll keep as he pushes the bottle against Bob’s chest. “Ya hear me?”

Daryl steps away from Bob, giving you a silent look before continuing, but hating that only you could calm that fierce temper of his, even after being apart for so long.

“Do you have a doctor where you’re staying?”

Out in the open field, Aeris is always flying nearby, you know that. But the moment you enter the once-convenience store, connected to a house, the long hallway seems to become small until it closes around your throat because of the thought of not being able to get help for your friend, a thought that begins to dance in your scared mind.

“Yes, but…” Michonne hesitates, not knowing how to continue, how to explain that the seemingly safe place is falling under a strange virus. “But I don’t know if it would be best for you to come with us right now.”

“It’s not for me…” You say in front of her, opening the back door that eventually extends into a forgotten, old living room, with just two small sofas and a wooden table in the center. But the daylight coming through the white curtain gives the place a warm touch, like an image from centuries ago, as if the world hadn't gone straight to hell. “My friend is sick and I don’t know how to help her.”

The others enter the room, the two men sitting on the couches while Michonne paces around, and they all carry a strange mix of emotions under the promise of getting enough gasoline to get them home, but still under the shadow of what happened back at the college. You can read the discomfort on their faces, making you feel uncomfortable too.

“Ya and Sam live here?” Daryl stops beside you, looking at you as deeply as those days that now seem not so far away. “Is she okay? Are ya okay?”

You let out a heavy sigh before continuing, thinking back a bit.

“Yeah. Maybe a month ago an older woman found us in her store looking for supplies, and I guess she was either nice or naive but she invited us to eat with her because we didn’t seem like bad people to her. Ellie lives here with her husband, who is unfortunately quadriplegic, so Sam and I stayed with them. They offered us food and I... security in what I can do.”

“Can you shoot?” Michonne asks, approaching you.

“Ya kiddin’?” Daryl snorts. “The first time we fought she threw a peach at me that landed exactly where she wanted. (Y/N) has a hell of an aim.”

For the first time and after the danger has passed, Michonne smiles.

“I wasn’t kidding when I told you my aim would help me if an apocalypse ever broke out…” You try to chuckle, but the attempt falls flat on a sigh. “Can you please take my friend with you? I don’t know what else to do for her, and I’m afraid that if she keeps this up, she’ll ask me to end her suffering at any moment.”

The new group falls into a heavy silence, debating internally whether doing so is a good idea.

“If we don’t, you won’t give us the gasoline?” Tyreese asks, eager to get back to his sister.

“Of course not.” But you shake your head, trying to explain yourself better. “I mean; you can take the gas either way.”

Silently, the others share glances before voicing their opinions, but the absence of noise makes your hands shake and a strange warmth awaken in the pit of your stomach, running through your entire body, so in response, you push up the sleeves of your shirt to cool you down, forgetting for a second about your scars, revealing a secret you thought you wouldn’t have to share with anyone else.

Daryl spots them immediately, too wrapped up in you to miss them.

“The fuck happened to yer wrists?” He grabs your arm, lifting it up to observe the aftermath of that night when you had to burn both of your arms to set you free. “And don’t ya fuckin’ dare lie to me.”

In a second, your body fills with anger when you hear that tone spilling over from his voice, so you yank your arm away.

“Fuck you, Dixon, I’m not your problem. So don’t ask me for explanations like I’m your responsibility.”

“Ya are ma fuckin’ responsibility.” He steps closer to you, so dangerously that it alerts the others.

But to their surprise, you chuckle humorlessly, and they're already getting the idea that you alone could handle Daryl Dixon.

“You're wrong, Daryl, I’m not yours at all, in any way.” Your gaze is as deep as your words, which fall on his chest at the memory of a relationship he ended. “Now, if you can take my friend, I’ll thank you infinitely, and if not, take the gasoline from the kitchen and get out of here.”

Michonne’s chest falls when she exhales, but she gives a silent look to Daryl, who hasn’t stopped looking at you with some frustration.

“Okay, we’ll take her with us. You can come too.”

You shake your head.

“I’m not leaving Ellie alone with Mark. But I have two walkie talkie, so you can take one and if Sam gets better, I’ll go get her. And if not…” Your chest tightens with the anxiety and uncertainty, the incessant fear of not being able to do more for her. “Just try to help her, please.”

When you feel the warning of the first tear behind your eyes, you tell them that you will get the gasoline so that way you have an escape route, some comfort in solitude in case the worst happens. She is your best friend, your sister, your person, a rock you could hold on to when a storm fell upon your life, and the thought of losing her too in that cruel world takes your breath away, slowly killing you.

But when you take a few steps into the kitchen that now has yellowed walls, Daryl walks in behind you.

“Ya are comin' with us.”

As you turn to him, you can’t help but hate that order in his deep voice, that command he used in his misguided attempt to protect you.

“Daryl, thank you, but I don’t need you to worry about me. And I’m a big girl, I can take care of myself.”

“I dun fuckin’ care.” He growls, moving closer to you again. “I ain’t leavin’ ya alone in this place.”

You chuckle, just to prove to him that his words don’t have an effect on you.

“I’m not alone, I have Aeris.”

Daryl narrows his eyes.

“That fuckin’ bird?”

“Hey, watch your mouth, sunshine…” You smirk. “Because that damn bird saved your ass today. If it weren't for her, everyone would have gone into the corridor with the walkers. Now… grab the gasoline you need and leave.”

Your gaze leaves him the moment you walk out the kitchen, cruelly, leaving him unable to continue seeing those deep eyes he always loved to gaze upon, because they could tell him without a single word everything he once meant to you. He always thought that you had probably been the only person capable of loving him with all his flaws, without ever being afraid of him, ever, but in the end, because Daryl knows he won’t change your mind, not with a personality as stubborn as his own, he takes the gasoline with the help of the others.

About half an hour later, the car hidden beneath some branches is ready to take them back home, but the feeling of leaving you alone again is suffocating for Daryl as he watches you from outside the car, the way you say goodbye to your best friend, telling her she will be okay even though she is practically unconscious, too weak to respond to your last show of affection before you pull away.

“Thank you, (Y/N).” Michonne says, in a tone so warm it makes you smile slightly.

“No. Thank you. I hope you get safely to… your home.”

With a final look filled with gratitude, but absent, you say goodbye to most everyone, stepping away from the group to return to the safety of your own small home. Silently, Daryl watches you go, but harboring that same desire that seems to be carved into fire in his chest, that desire to go after you now, like he wanted to do that night he broke up with you. The second you left that night, Daryl wanted to go after you to tell you that he was sorry, that he was lying, that he was too much of a coward to stop listening to those thoughts in his head that told him he would never be able to give you what you deserved, even though he didn't even know what that was.

But the moment you disappear around the corner of the building, Michonne approaches Daryl as the others enter the car.

“Who was (Y/N) in your life, Daryl?”

He lets out a growl through clenched teeth, part of him hating you (although not seriously) for always being so stubborn.

“Ma goddamn woman.”

Michonne nods slowly, weighing his words because in her eyes, he always seemed too lonely to let any person get close to him like that. Daryl seemed too reluctant to let a person penetrate that armor he had around himself, that concrete wall that prevented full access to his insides. She also knows that Daryl is a good man, but it is almost impossible to believe that someone like him, who used to push others away from him so as not to get too attached, would be capable of showing that kind of affection towards someone else.

But it’s fascinating at the same time.

“She kind of hates you.”

Daryl shakes his head before going to the car.

“Nah. That’s her special way of tellin’ ya she still loves me.”

Michonne chuckles, following him. He gets into the driver’s seat, closing his door as she does the same with the other.

“You’re going to come back for her, aren’t you?”

“Hell yeah. Now that I found her I ain't lettin' her go again, even if I have to carry her stubborn body over ma shoulder to take her with me to the prison.”

Michonne smiles, loving the idea that Daryl could be so honest with his feelings even in front of all of them.

“So you do have a soft spot after all.”

Daryl growls quietly as he starts the car, driving away from the building to go back to the prison. Daryl Dixon promised himself, the night he let you go, that he would always love you, like there was no tomorrow, but now that he found you, or that you had found him, Daryl wouldn't let you leave his side never again. He wouldn't make the same mistake twice. Hell, no.

@fluffy-dixon

[death---dealer]

for the love of all that is HOLY part two to that caesar fic maybe a continuation where you left off. Reader cleaning his body? *Wiggles eyebrows suggestively*

I said I wasn't posting today well guess who Lied LOL. We love one stoic hot ape here and his name is CAESAR,, Reblogs and likes always appreciated, enjoy reading.

Title: Side By Side. Fandom: Planet of the Apes. Pairing: Caesar x Human! Reader. Rating: T. ( Teeny tiny bit of aggression. ) Words: 2.1K+ Summary: ** Part One: War Paint** Putting the paint on was the easy part of your job.

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Your hands were shaking. You didn't have an excuse this time like before. You weren’t cold, even Caesar had to have noticed that you were in fact sweating, a small fire in front of you being more than enough to pound you into a lucid sense of heat. Tucking your long sleeves up on your biceps to keep them out of the way, you dipped a cloth into water gathered from the river nearby. Notice, he surely did. He didn't need to see, he could simply smell it. Almost every move you made in front of him caused a sweet fragrance to waft his way. It was so very familiar to Caesar, it almost felt like he’d drown in it. Nervous? He tilted his head minutely. Yes, Caesar had seen you nervous and he knew how it looked on your face. Reserved? Yes, Caesar repeated and watched as you wrangled the old cloth, enjoying the sound of the droplets falling back into the bigger pitcher of water.

Like rain against a roof, it reminded the Ape King of a meager memory and he found himself sliding his eyes shut. He could recall many times in San Fransisco… Many rainy nights where he sat in the home he proudly shared with Will, Caroline and Charles… Listening to the rain, looking out the window, wondering what it would feel like on his fur, what it would feel like cupped in his hand. Little did Caesar know in those moments of self-reflections, that many years later, they would be gone from him and all he was left with was the sensation now of water dripping from his fur onto the floor below, giving the impression that it was bridging the gap between himself and you. Taking advantage of his closed eyes, you made your move and swiped the cloth against the bridge of his brows and down the right side of his face. You were more comfortable working around his expressions if his eyes were not dragging you down into a room full of thoughts that were only about Caesar.

The white paint smeared against his wrinkled skin, giving a small twitch as you dragged the cloth across the space next to his muzzle. He seemed to have aged overnight from years upon years of unbridled stress and loss. Your heart churned uncomfortably at that, at how rugged he looked, at how he held himself as opposed to earlier. He seemed so tired now, so willing to accept and roll over. All you wanted to do was throw the cloth over your shoulder and embrace his face in both your hands. Take in each pleasure of feeling how it traced under your fingers, your bare fingers. Caesar tried to keep it light and positive when you had talked about loss before, but it was so apparent that it had a detrimental effect on him despite his ability to put on a mask for his Colony, for the greater good of the Apes. Where there was loss, he had explained in a rather rudimentary way, typical of Caesar when he knew what he wanted to express but lacked the dictionary knowledge of how to put it in a way that you would understand. With loss, there was much to be gained was how he put it. Said like a true leader, you dropped the conversation after that and it was never brought up again.

That’s how it worked with the Ape King. You questioned, he answered and you left it alone; Caesar was not a creature to come back to dwindling thoughts when he was so adversely confident in his abilities, practices and words. That’s what made him so enticing, magnetic by force and you fell right into the sphere of his gravity. Shaking that thought out of your head, you drew your bottom lip to urge yourself to focus on the task at hand and lightly placed the cloth against his cheek idly. You were looking at him now; the furrow of his brow, his mouth slightly agape as if in anticipation of your next movements, eyes shut, not squeezing but flutteringly that if he wanted to look right back at you, it wouldn’t take much effort on his part. A thin set of eyelashes trickled with action as you came upwards and swept the paint from under his eyes. Droplets fell onto his cheeks, giving the faux nature of tears. It was symbolic, in some sick and twisted way and your eyes trailed the drop down, down… It got lost in the fur of his chin.

Oblivious to your own nature now as you were so transfixed on the Chimp in front of you, your mouth had fallen open, bottom teeth now evident in Caesar’s eyes as he finally opened them in question of what you were doing, what was taking so long. Lake was fast to clean, you were slow, biding your time for an unknown reason, at least to Caesar. Green irises burned a hole in you, through your skull and it felt like he was able to read your thoughts. It felt like your skin was crawling, like he was inside of you and puppeteering as you unwaveringly looked right back at him.

Big mistake.

“Uh---” You hummed under your breath, the huff hitting his face due to the close proximity before you turned your body away from him, knees now pointing to an empty corner of Caesar's private sanctuary instead of directly at the King. A shot of what felt like electricity lingered in your entire self, radiating uncomfortable from your fingertips, your thighs, your head and oddly enough, your toes even felt a bit funny. “T-…” Clearing your throat as you dipped the cloth back in to get more dampened, you were screaming to keep your heart from jumping out of your chest. There was absolutely no way that he didn't know that, telling you often that he was able to get a good view of your internal self from his ability to smell, his ability to hear your heartbeat.

“The paint came off a little bit.” A mindless topic of conversation, and you weren’t sure if Caesar would comply. He wasn’t big into small talk and really only pleasured you with it when he felt it served a purpose.

He hummed in response, knowing you had to figure that words weren’t necessarily worth any other acknowledgement. It was such a deep sound coming from his chest, Caesar’s eyeline suddenly flushed with your chest as you stood. “It…” He nodded silently as you advised him just as quietly that you needed him to shift. With intentful action, Caesar’s jaw clenched as he let his head tilt backwards mildly, only accentuated when you had pressed an urging finger under his chin to aid. “Rained…” He bargained with you, “Thought it would.” That was said with what could only be described as smugness.

You paused in front of him as his words spilled, giving you the wanted attention that was leaking out of all of your pores. The way his voice came out in the position he found himself in was rougher than usual, vocal cords straining against his jugular. Pleadingly, you looked at said body part and felt a flush of something familiar now lingering in your tailbone. You could just reach up and grab it, though you knew Caesar would grab yours in return, probably ripping the vein right out of your neck. You began applying a bit more pressure to the red that trailed between his brows and down his nose the only part of his face paint that lingered. The white was easily gone, already faded deeply from being exposed to the weather. He was tentative in nature, staring at the ceiling before his eyes were flooded again, this time with your face as you moved above him to look, observing he assumed, where you needed to apply more pressure to clean the now crusting paint off his perpetually grouchy appearance.

Statically, he grasped your wrist when the realization came to light that with his face clean, all that was left was his body. He had enough with the paint placement on his chest hours ago,thankful to get that out of his mind for the hunting trip he went on with his closest council. That hard beating of his heart, that vile feeling in the very pit of his stomach at the idea of you just cleaning him… No no, Caesar’s eyes narrowed in thought. Grooming him made him uneasy with conflicted desires. Just mere seconds away from the cloth touching his chest, from letting you draw it along the lines you had placed on him, erasing them from his chest and following suit downwards… Down, down… Caesar's teeth clattered together in his mouth, the sound so loud in his ears. So close to the burdens, introspective thoughts and animalistic urges he had about this entire situation. He wouldn’t be able to control himself if he allowed you to continue; allowed your hands anywhere near him anymore. If he just… let you… You twitch your wrist in his grasp. Ultimately now, you were one bad flick of the hand away from Caesar absolutely crushing your radius and ulna. He wouldn’t; but the gravitas of the thought rocketed a primal fear in your mind.

You stared at the mere contact of his hand entirely encasing your wrist, usually not a point of contention. Caesar had grasped at you in the past when you were flurrying off the rails just to keep you momentarily grounded enough, never enough to make intimate contact but enough to draw your senses back in. Most often, it happened when you were talking about something in a passionate fashion. Your mouth parted in wonderment before trailing your gaze up his forearm, not doubting that if you chose to reach out and touch, it would ripple with taunt muscles. His bicep, the sheer size was enough to cause a lump to form in your throat. The width alone left enough to your imagination, the knowledge that he could very easily pick things up, heavier than his body weight, with just one arm. The glow of the fire in front of you illuminated his features further, giving play to shadows along the bridge of his nose, flirting and teasing at the line of fur that started right above his brows. He was undoubtedly handsome, you tried to come up with an excuse for your thoughts but nothing came to fruition.

There had to be a question lingering on his lips. They were pursed in such a position that it appeared he was going to say something. A hot flash hit the back of your throat as you wistfully admired him from such a juxtaposed position, knowing factually that you had to have looked so stupidly star-struck.

What was he thinking? You slid only an inch or two closer, body almost leaving the rock you were sitting on, knees swerving to give him your utmost attention. What was he…? Caesar stared right at you, gaze refusing to leave your own even if you chose to break the bond then and there. Whatever grasp you had on the cloth you were using to clean faltered and it fell flat onto the ground in front of you with a soft ‘sploosh’ sound. What was he thinking? Linearly, you looked into his eyes and found yourself wrapped in how they looked. Eclipsed irises coupled with dilated pupils, most likely due to the fire and dim lighting that encased your bodies, at least, that’s what you were telling your racing mind. Delicately, the flames flickered against your face… Too delicately and Caesar felt something prickly inside of his mind as he wanted to take that delicate nature and crush it between his hands, giving him pure dominance over the most subtle and entangling form of submission.

Gasping as his clutch on your ceased, your other hand rose instinctually and held your wrist tenderly. You were going to bruise there. He was almost aggressive in nature, giving the appearance of shaking you off of him like a bug. “You… Don’t… need to finish.”

You blinked, figuring out when he beckoned you after his arrival that he was only allowing you to clean him due to the human element of it. You knew he didn't care if it came off or how it came off; the opportunity for you to clean him was just another in the long list of Caesar accommodations he made for you. You wanted to ask why. Why you didn't need to finish, why he wouldn’t let you but all he muttered to you as his back was suddenly in your line of vision was, “Paint will… come off with rain.”

Opening your mouth to protest, you found yourself deflected as Caesar rose, all so powerful, his stance telling you that he was more than capable of taking care of himself here. His eyes, those eyes that had been so intently lingering in yours, were now hardened and so very distant. “You… should... go.”

[kivino]

OUT OF THE SHADOWS I || SIMON ‘GHOST’ RILEY X SHADOW!GN!READER

Word counter – ~6.9k words

Tags/Warnings – Gn!Reader, Shadow!Reader (it’s not for long lol, don’t get your hopes up), murder of civilians/corpses/blood mentioned, physical fights, reader likes to throw fists, Reader’s callsign is Bug to pay tribute to my original idea.

Summary – After the betrayal of Task Force 141 and the slaughter of civilians in Las Almas you decide to leave Shadow Company on the spot, which works out sideways, leaving you with simmering hate towards the man whom you used to look up to and new interesting figures in your life. 

also available on my ao3!

a/n after the fic because they’re too long. but just know that this is the first chapter of the series, feel free to let me know if you want to be tagged in the next part. enjoy!

Everything was calm. The sound of rain covering up the murmur of trucks helped you wind down after the adrenaline rush, and a sense of accomplishment for a job well done swelled in your chest. You already anticipated a long sleep and maybe a night out with your friends when you’re back home from the job. Maybe you’d even get a bonus from Graves and buy something nice for yourself. 

In all honesty, you didn’t even mind being crammed into the backseat along with those 141 guys. Working with them was a pleasure and they seemed like an interesting sort of crowd. Especially that man with the skull mask. Ghost, was it? He certainly attracted your attention the most, with his huge size, booming voice, and undeniable skill in what he did. You were willing to admit that the way he took out the enemies with ease and swiftness was mesmerizing.  And…your train of thought that consisted of pure fascination was interrupted by the abrupt stop of the convoy in front of the base gate. 

Everything was calm until you were surrounded by shouting and then eventual gunshots, along with muffled screams of your brothers in arms. You didn’t understand how it all escalated so fast. One moment you were sure about Shadow Company and Task Force 141 being on the same side, but now you didn’t know what to think of it all. And from Graves' words, it was apparent that Shepherd was behind this too. So naturally you, and many other shadows, the lower ranks, had no fucking clue what all of this was about. One would care to tell a mindless weapon where to shoot, but not why. Blood rushed through your veins and pulsed in your ears, turning the pleasant buzz in your body into strained sharpness. You hurriedly pulled up the rear sight to your eye level. Two bodies dropped to the wet asphalt with soft thuds right in front of you. You felt your heart sink right down to your feet. Instead of firing your shots, you hesitated, backing out to hide behind the bumper of the truck, while hearing agitated, aggressive shouts. You weren’t able to tell who was shouting. So, you leaned out and felt yourself freeze in place. 

And there he is. Ghost, eyes locked right on you. He sure has a…strong presence. And instead of shooting you he just…looks. You don’t like the stupid flowery language, but in this split second, it really feels like he is staring right into your soul. Or like someone is sticking metal rods right through your chest, with how hard breathing becomes in an instant. 

You knew that if you were to shoot him right now, you’d never forgive yourself, all because you were kept in the dark about the whole thing Graves had planned. And you were not willing to get blood on your hands because of some “mistake”. If you pull the trigger, there will be one less person who’s able to make a change. One less person who’ll be willing to get their hands dirty and save people. 

So, you lower the muzzle of your rifle and nod to the side, urging him to start his getaway, before other Shadows and Graves decide to check the perimeter. You see his dark eyes blink, or at least you think you do before he disappears into the darkness. Like he was never there in the first place.

In the end, you didn’t get even a single scratch. Three other Shadows were K.I.A.

Your head buzzed with so many different questions you wanted to ask Graves, and more importantly, the guilt you felt from whatever happened in front of the threshold. You had no idea what happened with that Los Vaqueros base or what was up with your CO, while you were escorting him and those 141 guys along with several other Shadows for this mission. Why was he taking it? What was he even thinking? You wanted to pull out your hair and claw out your eyes just thinking about all of it. Which, you weren’t paid to do, but that didn’t mean you weren’t concerned with the moral side of things. Unlike the majority of the Shadows, as you came to find out.

Confusion bubbled up inside of your mind, eyes burned by the white synthetic light of the gate when you looked up at it just to feel something aside from sheer distress and bewilderment. You didn’t want to believe that your Commander was the type of person to sell himself out, and you didn’t expect him to be, from all the time spent working with him. The man was nothing short of likable and friendly, with his beaming smile, confident attitude, and outgoing way of communicating… a natural-born leader, that was the first thing that came to mind when you thought about your boss. And with how Graves treated you and all other Shadows like you were more than just his employees, the realization was even more painful. Of course, you didn’t want to think about how he could so easily turn his back on people who trusted him.

It raised many questions in your mind about the price of his word, as well as made your stomach churn with acidic, flesh-eating poison full of doubt and suspicion. If it was so easy for your CO to cut out the men someone he told you all to think of as your brothers, then how long will it be before he sells you and other shadows out for…whatever was offered to him? 

“Find ‘em!” Graves barks and your chest swells with bitter disappointment. You thought you knew him before (as much as a subordinate can know their superior), but how can you even begin to understand him now?

You hear Shadows mutter a quiet “Yup-yup”, more to themselves than to your CO, and you could almost feel the doubt settle over them in a thick, transparent blanket. From the conversations you can pick up on while Graves is out of earshot, you guess that some of them don’t think betraying the 141 guys and trying to hunt the two of them down is the right thing to do. But it didn’t seem like they were going to do anything about it though. You, however, want to help. You know that it’s not right, so…screw it. You can always find another job, and if it comes down to it, 141 seem like an okay sort of people, the type that would have your back if you had theirs. At least, you have hope for it.

So maybe you could hold out until they come back for Los Vaqueros. And you were certain they’d do that, no way they’d abandon all these men. You haven’t seen how the things were on said base that was taken from them, but you were certain you could do more on the inside than if you were to leave right now. Maybe you could break Colonel out of there, or help the Task Force sneak in, you were sure they could use any help from you. 

That was the plan before you saw what Shadow Company did to Las Almas.

The picture that Shadows were painting with innocent blood on the rainy landscape was horrifying, to say the least. The metallic smell hit your nose the moment you jumped out of the truck right onto the flooded pavement. That was the exact moment when you realized you couldn’t stay with Shadows any longer. You were supposed to help these people. It was your job. Instead, you felt filthier than the dirt on your boots. Traitor. Backstabber. You choked on your breath behind the mask each time you noticed the bodies of the victims in every dark corner of the city, nausea coming up your throat when you could see rivers of crimson streaming down the road and right into the sewers. Your Shadow Company patch felt like the mark of a killer, etched into your skin permanently, instead of just being part of your uniform.

Limp bodies that didn’t even have the time to grow cold yet, scattered around warm homes. Some of the killed were probably already in their beds sleeping, coming back from work, watching TV, or cooking dinner when they got dragged out under the rain and massacred…Everything felt like a blur, your thoughts were a jumbled mess of whys, while you were led further into the town, to continue the revolting, disgusting crimes of your brothers-in-arms. You couldn’t stand to spend another minute in here. You need to get out before you do something you’ll never be able to forgive yourself for. You were many things, but you were not willing to go that far. Not here, not anywhere. 

“Hey. Where’s Graves?” You tap another Shadow, your “close colleague” with a callsign Kruk, on the shoulder. He turns to you, while you see several other soldiers passing by, yellow streetlights barely illuminating their swiftly moving figures. You knew why it was hard for you to even look in their direction. Kruk points towards the building to the left of you two and croaks something about “briefing the rookies”. You nod and thank him, stumbling in the general direction he pointed you to. 

“Commander, with all due respect, I think it’s time for you to discharge me.” You only came to your senses when you stood in front of your CO in the cramped space of someone’s living room. Wallpaper, creamy in color, dulled lights, tons of decorative cushions on the couch… Your voice is quiet, but firm, not leaving any space for compromise when you speak up to the blond man, and your politeness is as fake as this copy of “Guernica” you could see hanging on the wall. Blood pulses in your ears. You want to leave, you want out. Out of here.

“Bug, now’s not the time for jokes, I need you on the field now. We’ve got our orders.” Graves barely raises his eyes from tapping something on the tablet, that usual scowl that you got used to present on his face. His actions are as ugly as he is. Him not taking you seriously sure does a number on your confidence. But that only reassures you in your decision. You need out. 

“Do I look like I’m joking? I’m leaving, because I don’t think what we’re doing is right.” You try to stay calm, you really do. But how can you, when out of something so vile he makes a joke? Makes all these people a sick joke.

A crease lies between your brows, and shadows falling over your eyes make your face look similar to a carved statue. Before talking to Graves, you decided to take off the eyewear that obscures your face and pull down the thin mask, the signatures for Shadows who are lower in the chain of command. You’re the faceless sort, after all.  “And I don’t think you know your place.” You’re instantly taken aback by his sudden outburst, but you don’t let it show. “I point and you shoot. I sign your paychecks, Bug, and you take them.” You feel something inside of you flinch at the way he mutters your callsign. “I’m in charge. You don’t have a say in what we do.” With each statement, his gloved finger points from him to you, making the rage and frustration boil inside of your chest. You trusted Graves and he led all of your colleagues, along with you to dragging out unarmed, innocent people in the dead of night out of their houses on their streets and executing them. Hell of a leader he is. 

“Well, I’m stepping down. If that’s what we do, I don’t want to take part in it.” You wanted to tell him a lot more, give Graves a piece of your mind on war crimes and killing people in their own homes. On how drowning Las Almas in blood won’t fix whatever the fuck he was trying to fix right now. Instead, you kept it to yourself, tightening your fists just so you didn’t spit in his face or punch him.

“You’re putting a target on your back. Do you not understand how what you’re saying makes you look?” Graves leans in closer to you, the low volume of his voice making it even more threatening, similar to the hissing of a snake. Give him a minute and he will start spewing real venom right in your face. 

“You know that whatever you’re thinking is not true.” To be completely honest, you didn’t care what he thought right now. Graves’ mind and morals were clearly in the wrong place if he considered all this bloodshed justified. 

“Do I really? A moment ago I was sure that you were my subordinate, now I’m not even sure what to make of you.” You’re barely able to resist rolling your eyes at this. Your heart is picking up the pace with each minute. Getting more and more desperate to leave your body altogether, just so you don’t have to listen to his bullshit any longer. You wish it was that easy.

“I’m not taking orders from you. Not anymore.” Saying this took a lot more out of you than you expected, you felt your chest tremble when you met your CO’s eyes.

“Well, would you just look at that, you happen to be a fan of our local drug lord too?” If eyes could kill, Graves would’ve dropped dead right this moment. He smiles, his sharp canines peeking from under his top lip. He knows he’s making your skin crawl and your stomach flip from this interaction, which, if you’re lucky, would be the last for the two of you. “Helping the cartel and corrupt police won’t look too good on your resume”

“I see you’re just making it up as you go.” You let out a breath you didn’t know you held in your chest. Shaky. Uneven. Infuriated. Your eyes are drilling Graves’, a deep frown between them as proof of how much you despise him now, for the baseless assumption too. After a moment of silence, you add. “You know what my stance on this is. Whether I get your approval or not, I’m leaving.” Graves finally withdraws from your personal space, sliding the palm over his face with a heavy sigh, as his lips tighten into a thin line. You knew that this combination meant he was trying to calm down. After a moment of silence, he speaks up again. 

“Look, Bug, you’re a smart kid and frankly, I like you.” he makes a short pause, sighing. “So, I’ll give you a fighting chance. Five minutes – if you’re not out of the city, then you’re a target.” He wasn’t that fucking courteous with the civilians that lay dead a few meters away. Shot on sight. Without any questions. You grit your teeth.

What are you supposed to do with that? Those five minutes didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things, most likely, you’ll be rotting in the ditch somewhere shortly after your time runs out - too little to get out of the city or find the Task Force you so desperately wanted to help. Graves won’t leave any witnesses. And you are one. He knows it’s not going to be easy for you to just turn on the Shadows like that too, even though you despised what they were doing while following his orders. They still were your family. Dysfunctional and disproportionately big, but family, nonetheless. Even if they deserved it for their lack of action to prevent what was happening now, you don’t turn on your family like that. What he’s doing is forcing your hand.

Regardless, you have no choice but to take Graves up on his last “generous” offer.

“What are you waiting for, hm? Get out of here while you can.” You didn’t need to be told that twice. So, still balancing your rifle on your arm, your free hand reaches for that patch on your shoulder. Tearing it off in a quick motion makes the sound of Velcro strips snapping open almost echo from how quiet it is. It felt like a whole mountain dropped off of your shoulders when you threw the patch on the ground and stormed out of the building right into the pouring rain.

You felt goosebumps and tremors creeping up your spine as you ran through the dark streets, getting more and more soaked with each second. You didn’t feel much better though. The resentment for Graves grew each second, with all the steps that sent ripples on the surface of the deep puddles, and every raindrop that fell from the copper-colored clouds. But now wasn’t the time to wallow in your misery. Although you wanted to. It did feel like the loss of a person you used to know, of someone you looked up to. The only thing is, he was still living and breathing, and the only thing that died was that idealized image of him in your head. 

There was a cold hollowness somewhere in your chest. Gaping with the darkness that, and you were sure of it, will eat you alive soon enough. Even though you backed out of the Shadow company, it won’t bring back all the people who are not here anymore. You won’t fix it, no matter how hard you try. That bitter guilt snaked its way into the back of your mind and it was there to help stay. 

You managed to pull yourself out of this to make things right. But why do you feel so helpless still?

Your footsteps get faster and faster, as you maneuver through the narrow alleyways, staying out of the range your former colleagues were in. It was easy to hear them, gunshots and voices echoed throughout the city in a weird cacophony that your ears got used to after a long time working for the Shadow Company. They were not afraid, probably feeling like masters here. Somebody has to give them a scare, you thought. So they know better in the future. But it wasn’t your job at the moment. Right now, you needed to get out and do it as soon as possible.

Stopping and coming up with any sort of plan that would help you was not an option - hang in somewhere for too long and you’ll be found. And you were sure you wouldn’t be shown any mercy. 

So instead of staying on the street, where you can be easily spotted with the help of the dim light of a flashlight, you decide to alternate between the corridors of empty homes, with doors wide open for anyone seeking shelter, and the maze of alleyways crawling with Shadows. It felt wrong, invading someone’s homes like this, but you knew if they were unlocked and lights beamed around them, giving out a warm glow the inhabitants were most likely not coming back.

You felt that tingle on the nape of your neck, ready to hide or flee in case you heard any sudden movement from any direction. It’s dead quiet, except for occasional radio talk from the shadows, which you tried to listen in on when you could. It didn’t give you much on where 141 could be. You would start losing hope if you had any left after Graves. But you continue your search nonetheless, reflexes instead of thinking, pure determination instead of hope, and fire in your veins, instead of blood.

That is until you quietly step inside another warm hallway, and you’re met with a wide-eyed stare from another Shadow that makes you freeze like a deer in the headlights. Something inside of you starts to churn with terror from the looming understanding – only one of you will walk out of here alive. Your eyes trail down to the raven patch on his tac vest. It’s Kruk. You want to ask what he is doing here, but you already feel his gaze studying you too. And as soon as he sees that the Shadow Company patch is missing from your uniform, the muzzle of his rifle points right at you. Fucking shit.

“Drop your gun, Kruk!” You warn the man, pointing the weapon in his direction too. He only shakes his head, refusing to stand down. With each second air is laced with tension more and more, you were sure that soon enough it’ll be so thick even a knife wouldn’t cut through it.

“You drop yours first.” His voice is shaky and unsure like he can’t believe what he’s doing right now either. “Commander gave us an order. You’re an enemy now too, Bug. Better get used to it.” Kruk started slowly approaching you, while pulling something out of the bag, strapped on his hip.

“Oh, fuck that!” You swing towards Kruk, trying to approach him in your momentary rage, but you’re immediately met with the warning “Don’t” from Kruk, who doesn’t stand down. “You know what they’re doing here. It doesn’t matter to you?” The man is silent. You don’t see his face behind his mask, so you’re left with even more questions instead of answers. Regardless of what he was thinking right now, you didn’t want to hurt him. So, you bend down and put your rifle on the ground with a quiet clack. If he needs a gesture of goodwill, he can have it. “Your turn.” Kruk only shakes his head.

“Turn around.” So, it was a mistake to trust him. Naturally. Your gullibility will be your downfall. You can almost feel the bitter taste spread inside of your mouth when you look at Kruk. Fucking asshole. But you comply, although reluctantly. He grabs you roughly by the wrists with one hand and by the neck with another, leading you toward what looks like a kitchen in the dim lights falling through the doorway. You get lowered on your knees and then pressed into the dirty floor. And it hits right then and there. He’s going to execute you. Oh, shit, shit, shit.

“You know that I don’t want to do this.” He says quietly so that any shadows passing by don’t hear him. You feel your heartbeat shake your whole body and nausea so intense like you are on the verge of throwing up all of your internal organs, but giving up is just not an option right now. So, you try to prevent him from tying your hands together with all the strength you have.

“Then don’t fucking do it!” He does not answer this as you continue squirming in his hold, trying to make it as hard as possible for him to restrain you. He only grunts but keeps a firm grip. Your head was a mess, you thought Shadows were a family. But all it took was one order from Graves, now they’re scouring the town like damn bloodhounds for you too.

“Get…off of me!” You grit through your teeth. You feel a zip tie slide over your hands and turn your head. The rifle he previously held in his hands was gone, probably so he could tie you up properly, so you take your chance and deliver a hard kick to Kruk’s stomach. He chokes out a pained gasp and finally lets go of your hands. You scurry to get up from the floor with wide smears of rainwater and dirt decorating it, but you get grabbed by the leg, which causes you to stumble and fall once again. You turn your head and kick Kruk with all your might, while attempting to take off the zip tie off your wrists, which, thankfully, he didn’t have the time to close.

You manage to shake the man off of you, as you scramble to your feet, knocking over a corner table with some decorations on it. Yet when you see Kruk fumbling with his hip holster you immediately tackle him to the ground, which causes him to drop the handgun. The whole fight is just a mess, nothing but blinding rage is pulsing in your temples, melting your bones and muscles into something no better than an animal. You get up again, while Kruk is on the floor, searching for the handgun in the darkness. You feel the heavy metal press against your boot and you kick it behind you. You hear it slide across the floor and here it is. Kruk’s eyes, are directed right at you. His hands claw at your leg, trying to drag you down to the floor. And then you black out completely. Kicking, punching, pained wheezes and screams are all you hear, a stuffy abyss with little to no specks of light surrounding you.

You come back to your senses when you don’t feel the familiar weight of your handgun pressing against your hip and then you see it again. Kruk managed to grab it while you were in your anger-induced frenzy. Everything around you slows down. His shaky fingers pull on the safety, but you reach out and grab his hands, pulling them up, not letting him aim at you. Kruk grunts and you see his eyes focused on you in fear, and desperation, as he tries to overpower you in the struggle. You see his weakened state, but the self-preservation is stronger than any compassion towards him at the moment. Kruk will take your life if you don’t take his. That’s just the gist of it. You can’t let him walk away.

Your hands tremble when he manages to overpower you momentarily, but it’s all in vain when you press the handgun harder and harder into his frame, feeling his hands start to yield more and more with each second, strength leaving him. The fear in his eyes is directed at you and only you, but you try not to look. The muzzle of your gun is pressed snugly under his chin. Your gaze trails to his eyes once again. They burn you with terror. Your fingers hook around the trigger guard. You hear a faint whisper.

“Please…”

Gunshot rings in your ears for another second, despite the earmuffs in your helmet.

“Fuck! Fuck…I’m so sorry…I’m sorry.” It all came crashing down on you in one moment. You wouldn’t feel guilty if it was the enemy, you wouldn’t care. He was an enemy now, so why do you feel so guilty, why is it starting to corrode and eat you alive even more? Your palms cover the profusely bleeding gunshot wound, going through his neck and cranium, hot blood pouring out with impossible speed, staining your hands, gear, and skin. Staining your whole being. How could you do something like this? Shadows are family. Killing an unarmed man who’s pleading for his life?

You’re no better than Graves.

The gunshot alerts the Shadows and they start scurrying around on the street. You have no time to mourn Kruk or search for your rifle in the dark, so you yank your handgun out of his hands which only started succumbing to rigor mortis, and sprint out the backdoor, desperately attempting to get away. You can feel your heartbeat booming in your ears, wet hair sticking to the nape of your neck, as you hear distant commotion and a chase stirring behind you, as you dart inside another building and run through the hallways, searching for a way out.

Back on the street, rain droplets are so cold that it feels like they’re splitting your skin open, you can barely feel the pain in your ankle from adrenaline pumping through your blood flow. You start slipping on the slick pavement, but you still refuse to stop, diving inside another doorway. Your head hurts, your lungs feel like they are about to explode, and you think you stepped into a puddle of someone’s blood. No time to ram through the locked door, so you jumped out of the second-story window and landed on your foot, twisting it in the process and swallowing the sob that welled up in your throat. You needed to move.

That bought you some time to get up and dip into the dark alleyway before you heard the loud footsteps approaching the window that you used to escape. You let out a heavy exhale, propping your back against the cold stone. You’re not completely safe, but…that’s better than nothing. The commotion of shadows quiets down and you hear it become more and more distant with each second. 

After a moment of silence, you continue moving, albeit slowly, trying to get used to the hot pulsing in your leg, that shot up right through your nerves with each step you tried to take. You wince and whine in pain, dragging your leg behind, grabbing at the moist stone walls, clinging to them for any sort of support. However, it’s not much of a help. 

Your escape is cut short when your legs finally give out, causing you to stumble and fall while crossing the church garden. Although it probably looked magical in the daylight, right now it was far from it, the smell of metal and smoke still lacing the darkness. You already feel your ankle swelling and some bruises forming under all your gear. You see the lights on the exterior of the church blend into the ribbon of lights and shadows and the thought crosses your mind. You can hide there.

You almost fly up the stairs despite the hurting leg, fumbling with the door for a second, before it creaks open. You shuffle inside with light steps and close the door behind you as quietly as you can. Your knees tremble as you slide down the cold wall and crawl further inside the building, barely feeling any strength left in you. God, you are so drained. Strained gasps are ripped out of your throat every second. You want nothing more than to lie down right there in this church and just let the darkness overtake you in a peaceful slumber. That would be so easy.

Your calm moment is interrupted by someone yanking you up on your feet, to which you let out a surprised yelp. You can’t see the person, but you can feel their hands tugging on your gear roughly and dragging you somewhere. It takes you a second to weigh your pretty limited options given the fact it’s so dark that you are barely able to make out your surroundings. So, you decide to take this fight head on and your heavy boot comes down right on their foot, which prompts the person to grunt, revealing a pretty low male voice, and let go of you.

You tear out from his grasp and almost tumble down to the church floor, bunching up dust with your loud, uneven footsteps. Your back is hunched as you look up at the dark figure from under your eyebrows, ready to deflect any blows if he decides to attack first. You stay silent, feeling like a cornered animal in his presence, small, feeble. Weak. Of course, you were at a disadvantage here, taking a beating, running from Shadows, twisting your ankle, and losing your rifle certainly didn’t help your chances to win, but you were ready to claw your way out of here with your bare hands, breaking your nails and skinning your hands if you had to.

But any punches or kicks you try to land the man easily deflects or blocks, not trying to attack or overpower you however, opting to just take up the defensive position in the fight. Which is, admittedly, a lot easier than taking the offensive one. Maybe he was aiming to exhaust you and then, when you are at your lowest point, he would attack. That seemed like a solid tactic, but you don’t want to let that happen. However, before you can think of anything you end up rolling with the man on the floor. You can hear him huff in frustration and exertion, the wood pressing harshly against your ribs and all the bruises on your lower body pulsing with pain.

After some struggle, however, you managed to tackle the man to the ground, pressing him down to the floor with your weight. Your hands snaked their way onto his neck as you glared at him, resisting the urge to bare your teeth akin to a stray, abused, and betrayed dog, crawling with fleas and parasites. Choking him out obviously wasn’t a nice thing to do, but you were trying to send a message here, that if you continue being followed, you will use your strength. If violence was the only language Shadows understood (and that’s who you believe the man was) then you were ready to become fluent.

“I swear, I’ll fucking kill you!” You press him into the floor harder, hands squeezing the man’s throat, your vision going blurry. You feel his hands grasp at your wrists, but he does not resist. Why is he not trying to shake you off? Why is he letting you choke him like this? Why is he not fighting back? 

“Let go, Bug.” The man’s voice is strained, but familiar, he whispers through his closed jaw. You can hear the way his throat tenses up, or his Adam’s apple bobs under your thick gloves, the warmth of his skin, and the moisture that seeped into the mask. Mask. More light falls through the window thanks to the momentary flicker of the streetlight. Skull. Eight lines on his chin, two on the forehead. Dark brown eyes.

Your hands shoot up like his neck is on fire. Guilt settles in your gut and your throat, pulling you in like you’re some puppet with no free will. You try to get up from the man’s midsection but tumble down on your side from trying to do it too quickly. It’s Ghost. How the hell did you not recognize Ghost?

“I’m sorry. I’m not…myself right now.” You were now sitting on the floor, palms resting on your face, wet from the rain, skin burning up, either trying to regulate the temperature or from all the exertion. Either way, it didn’t matter right now.

“Yeah, you made it pretty obvious.” Ghost coughs, trying to shake off your attempt to cut off his air circulation just seconds ago, as he gets up from his lying position. “At least now I know you’ve got a good grip.” He lets out a deep chuckle which only earns him an eyebrow raise from you. He was joking at a time like this? Must’ve hit his head pretty hard too.

“I could’ve choked you. Why did you not fight back more?” You were royally confused about that. He could’ve stopped the fight before it even began and avoided some bruises along with the sore neck if he just told you who he was or fought back. But he didn’t.

Ghost wants to say something, but stops himself right after opening his mouth. You see it in the way he looks at you. The pause stretches for an endless amount of time and you feel your skin crawling with anxiety while his eyes study your face.

“I was going easy on ya.” Ghost says in a rather blunt manner, which didn’t answer that many of your questions. Well, if he was going easy, he should’ve been at least going at you, which wasn’t true – you saw him only defending himself and blocking some of your blows. Did he?.. Was he trying not to hurt you? Okay, the more you thought about it, the wilder it sounded. Maybe you should just drop it. “I don’t suppose you came here to wash your sins away.” You want to scoff from the bad taste. “Lil’ birdie told me you ditched the Shadows. Any particular reason why?” The man inquires, turning to you. Sitting like this on the floor with him felt unusual, like some sort of weird church sleepover. Give Ghost a minute and he’ll bring you some ice cream so you two can watch some wacky TV shows together.

“Did your little birdie also tell you that Graves is hunting me down too?” You ask while pulling your drenched mask over your face. It brought some comfort and familiarity that were gone the moment you spoke to your CO in that living room. And, well, it would be awkward if Ghost was the only one in the mask.

“I guessed by the gunshots, some racket, and a horde of Shadows taking a night run through the neighborhood close by.” The man chuckles and you feel your face burn up in embarrassment under your mask. You try not to let it show, however. You knew that it wasn’t a very sleek move that you pulled with Kruk, but you were desperate and you didn’t need motherfucking Ghost telling you it was stupid. 

“You’re just hilarious. Is that how you became a lieutenant, by cracking jokes left and right?” You roll your eyes and hope he won’t notice it in the darkness. This banter was pointless, you knew it but…you needed it. It was not easy losing something familiar, so you desperately wanted to feel that camaraderie you experienced in the Shadows.

“You’ll find out once you’re a lieutenant yourself.” And Ghost indulges you. Which, you are thankful for. Isn’t such a scary guy after all, huh?

“Yeah, if I’m alive long enough.” You scoff at his concealed attempt to comfort and reassure you, but you can’t help that warm feeling in your chest. Weird.

“Well, you’ve already surpassed my expectations by staying alive until now.” The man stands up from the floor with a low grunt, pressing an arm around his midsection, right around where you might’ve pinned him to the floor with your body. “Let’s make sure it lasts, eh?” He extends a gloved hand toward you in an open, inviting gesture. Your eyes trail over his huge figure and land on specks of light in his eyes.

His eye black is all smudged and messy.

You have to shake off the sudden thought, observation too close and intimate for your liking, as you grab him by the forearm, trying to ignore the way your skin burns up when you feel his warmth through his gear. Ghost pulls you up to your feet, but doesn’t let go of your arm once you’re up. You don’t let go either. The silence rings in your ears. God, he’s so warm.

 “Are you like a human furnace or something?” You joke to fill the excruciating silence. Which you immediately regret. You wish it wasn’t so dark so you could see just how his face stretched the fabric of a skull mask, which you clearly heard happen by a small shuffle very close to you. Who knows, maybe he cracked a smile?

“Why? Need someone to warm you up at night?” Okay, this is terrible and stupid, and so damn corny, and why do you feel your cheeks grow hot and breath get stuck in your chest? Maybe that’s just how awful his jokes are. Ghost clears his throat and reluctantly lets go of your forearm, fingers still clinging to your sleeve as he pulls himself away too quickly for it to be something nonchalant or casual.

“So, are you answering my question, or do I have to use torture?” Fucking hell, his jokes are morbid. You almost forgot in those several hours you haven’t interacted with him. Although that would be quite hard, he leaves quite an impression, after all.

“Well, I suppose you’ve seen the…the civilians?” You can’t call them anything besides that. To call them corpses is to take away from their whole being. To call them dead would just be a lie. They were still alive in the walls of their homes, in the memories of their breathing relatives and friends, and in the pictures, their traces are everywhere. Ghost silently nods to your question, prompting you to continue. “Then here’s your reason.” You didn’t want to explain your feelings in great detail. And you didn’t feel the need to; you saw the compassion in his eyes. “Plus, the whole thing with the Los Vaqueros base.” If you saw Ghost’s face now you’d note how the expression darkened in a single moment. However, you do feel the temperature in the room fall several degrees lower, so you decide to joke again. “Pay wasn’t that good anyway, so…”

“Fair enough.” The man chuckles while rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ll keep an eye on you though. Don’t think you can just waltz in here like this and be completely trusted.” Well, that’s understandable. If you were him you wouldn’t trust yourself either. Although you did hope that the mercy you’ve shown him earlier would influence his decision making. At least a little bit. “And you better toss that thing. Or else.” He points to the radio, still strapped to your tactical vest. You unclasp the device, detaching the small microphone that was holding on by a thread, and hand it to Ghost.

“You’re welcome to get rid of it for me.” And he doesn’t waste any time, dropping the radio on the ground, stomping on it so hard that the sound of it breaking echoes through the church. You assess the scraps of wires and plastic on the floor with a pitiful gaze, coming to a conclusion that you wouldn’t want to end up under Ghost’s boot. Or maybe you would, but under different circumstances. “Well, that’s…effective.”

“You good with the sniper rifle?” The man ignores your previous remark, immediately firing back with the question.  

“Decent.” You were a lot better in close quarters and preferred a more hands-on approach. But a sniper rifle wasn’t that bad. As long as he doesn’t ask you to use it without a scope.

“You’re on the lookout with me then. Don’t screw it up.”

Oh, you’re absolutely not going to.

check out my masterlist or send me a request!

a/n – first of all, thank you for reading this fic, and if you enjoyed it, consider dropping me a comment, i’ll really appreciate it! SECOND OF ALL.  I’M NOT A GRAVES HATER, DON’T COME @ ME. segment with him also was written before the campaign release, so in case there are some inaccuracies with the plot/his character – let me know, so I can fix it. all of this is a huge rework of the series that I started but never posted. Originally, it was supposed to be Graves x Reader, but for multiple reasons, moral mostly, it didn’t quite sit right with me. So instead of letting 6k words first part that I’ve written and abandoned go to waste, I decided to remake it into something else here, based on the idea of @mockerycrow (ily you have such a big brain)! so yeah, that’s it for now!

[aggiepython]

rachel lindt cosplay!!! WIP images and more info under cut

i used blender to model a rough dog head shape. it's super low poly because i used the export paper model addon (comes with blender, u may need to enable it in settings) the addon makes a PDF that can be printed and taped together. i found it works best with lowpoly and all triangle objects.

i printed several mockups on printer paper to get the size and fit right, then printed it on cardstock. forgot to take a photo before i started paper mache-ing it sadly. i can share the .blend and .pdf files for the mask if anyone wants them, although they aren't very polished.

i used paper mache (newspaper and elmer's art paste) to add definition to the cheeks, lips, nose and eyebrows of the mask, and to make it more durable. i'm especially pleased with the shape of the nose, and the wrinkles on the nose and around the mouth. rolling newspaper into a tube and holding it down with a single layer of gluey newspaper worked well for finer details. i wish i made the eyeholes a little larger since this mask isn't too easy to see out of. but the mouth hole incidentally makes it easier to breathe and talk wearing the mask.

i painted the mask with acrylic paint and added teeth, made of newspaper rolled into cones, wrapped with masking tape, covered in paper mache and painted. i formed the horns in a similar way. painting the mask wasn't too hard, it's all solid colors except for the muzzle and horns.

this is supposed to be the mask that taylor made for rachel. (it turned out slightly lumpy which i think kinda works to my advantage since it's a homemade mask in-universe :P) i misremembered and thought it was a hybrid between a normal dog and a transformed dog, not a normal dog and a human. i like my idea better tbh. (also why would taylor make it from chicken wire that sounds so poky and unpleasant to work with)

the outfit is clothing i already owned or bought from goodwill. i added a fur collar to a jacket i had. i traced the collar onto newspaper to make a pattern, cut it out of fake fur, and jankily hemmed it and sewed it in by hand. i don't enjoy working with fake fur, cutting it is so hard. i have a lot of respect for fursuit makers.

[ghostlysoaps]

Nothing behind the eyes

Simon had thought himself equipped to handle it, the world crumbling down, but even Ghost can’t shield him from the sight of Johnny falling in a hail of crimson, blood pooling around his head like a jagged crown, nor the feeling of stillness as he presses his fingers to the side of his neck.

They leave him there, though he fights tooth and nail against the grip on his vest. They’re not even in the clear when the facility blows. His ears hadn’t stopped ringing since the gunshot and the explosion after helps none. Debris scatters with unbridled force, yet he doesn’t feel the gauges they carve through him until Price presses down on the weeping wounds.

He’d been the lucky one out of them, their captain. Ghost had needed stitches and Gaz a lengthy hospital stay on top of physical therapy before he was fit for fight again, albeit with new shadows haunting his eyes.

Ghost hands his resignation in soon after and does what he does best.

Disappear.

His new flat sees more life than his last one ever did. In the daylight hours he walks shambling trails on the already worn floor, tries to keep his mind and body busy, to acclimate to the sounds and scents of a smaller town where he’s not yet mapped the streets in their entirety. At night it hears him choking on gasps, sees his stirring limbs and the heaving of breaths as he jerks awake, again and again, from nightmares so vivid the taste of gravedirt lingers on his tongue and Johnny’s corpse, grinning from within a coffin his sergeant hadn’t seen, is still imprinted on the backs of his closed eyelids. 

The only torture worse than seeing Soap broken, being the one to further desecrate his corpse to free himself, is seeing him happy. When he’s hail and whole and reaching for Simon with laughter pouring like gold from his mouth. Because he’ll wake from those moments of false tranquillity, where all is right again, only to face a reality wherein it never came to fruition.

-

It’s a small thing. A creak of the floorboards. Something shifting close by. Simon is surprised to have heard it over the low whine in his ears, but instinct is a formidable thing even while on the cusp of sleep.

Ghost catches the steel-bearing arm when it careens for his neck and twists himself out of bed as he works to unsteady the assailant. They’re trained well. When he hooks one foot behind their leg to take them to the floor, they retaliate by grappling him in a move Ghost remembers teaching countless others. He’s at a disadvantage. The person going for his throat is strong and he’s dressed in tactical gear. Heavy where he struggles to pin Ghost down enough to wring his neck or slice the scar running down his chest back open again. 

But he’s not the only one armed, not when Ghost has knives stashed within reach and he manages to fumble one into his palm and drag it down his assailant’s thigh.

The distraction it brings allows him to flip their positions, to bash the man’s head against the floor until his eyes grow dazed.

He’s wearing a mask to shield his lower face, metal akin to a muzzle, and Ghost hesitates when those green irises catch his own – the shade of them unfamiliar though the shape of the eyes carrying them are not.

Cognisance is returning rapidly in that hollow gaze so Ghost does the only logical thing. 

He knocks him unconscious.

It gives him a momentary breather and Ghost uses that time to strip the assailant of his gear, of any hidden weaponry, and to tie him up with firm bands of rope made from hastily repurposed sheets. He doesn’t touch the mask until the overhead light is switched on. It feels sacrilegious to rid someone else of  the very thing Simon had used to protect himself for so long.

Soap stares back at him from beneath it. His mouth and jawline, his facial hair messier than he’d seen before. Ghost’s body had felt it the moment he had his thighs wrapped around the shadowed figure standing over his bed, had known, deep down, and had denied it until the proof was irrefutable. Dread creeps up his spine the longer he stares. Messy locks of brown hair covers his temple and Ghost very nearly rips it out of his scalp in his haste to bare it. A gnarled scar rests underneath, free of new growth, spanning nearly the length of his profiled head.

Pain blooms over his forearm and Ghost hisses, training kicking in to shove the appendage deeper into the teeth lodged there rather than tearing it (and a chunk of his flesh) away. His remaining hand digs fingers into the hinge of Soap’s jaw until it falls open, teeth bloodied and frothing with saliva. Yet the expression on his face barely changes. It remains terrifyingly placid. The way a rabies-stricken animal can go sweet and comfort seeking before the inevitable decline. They stare at one another for a beat, Ghost’s hand now gentled on his face – though a pale show of one considering how he’d been born for violence alone.

“Soap?”

No response.

He goes through every name he remembers them calling him and nothing sparks so much as a blink.

-

Prompts by @whumperless-whump-event and @seth-whumps

[tadpolesonalgae]

Cassian x reader: Collar and Muzzle[*]

A/N: inspired by a Midnight Thought™️ so here we go :)

Summary: Under that rough, resilient exterior of his, beneath the grins and the jokes and teasing, those comments really get to him. Maybe he needs to figure away to dull the sting—take the bite out of it.

Warnings: smut, kind of pet play I guess?, use of collars, leads, muzzles, femdom, degradation, not at all proofread, 7.4K words

“Spit it out,” you snap.

You get antsy when people dodge around a point.

“You know a lot about…degradation,” he finally poses. You look up from your book—you’ve been trying to read it for the past half hour but he’s seemingly been working up the courage to begin this conversation.

You shrug, setting the book down, “I suppose I’m familiar with it.”

He steels his spine. He knows you’ll be less likely to oblige him if he pisses you off first thing in the morning. “I’d like to ask you for a favour.”

You lower the magnifying glasses from your nose—the damned text is so small. “Illyrians getting on your nerves?” You muse, propping your cheek on your hand as you peer at him. “Want some help laying into them?”

The General stands from his chair, then looks back at it, wondering if he should have remained seated so he won’t fidget. He shows too much, wears his heart on his sleeve. He’s easy to read, if you know where to look—which you do.

“No, actually. I thought you might—…” he pauses, rethinking his words. “Azriel mentioned that…” he seems to be searching for a way to phrase it. “What did Azriel say?” You ask mildly, watching him from your relaxed position.

There’s the faintest kiss of colour to his cheekbones, and he’s having a hard time keeping eye contact. “I don’t know how to approach this right,” he admits, gaze finally flicking to yours. He looks almost apologetic. You suppress a smile, even if your lips twitch at their edges.

“Sit down, and talk to me properly. Stop tripping yourself up with imagined issues,” you drawl, gesturing for him to take his seat. He nods, then repeats the action seemingly to himself, settling down in the chair, shuffling to get comfortable. “Now, what did Azriel say about me this time?”

Your eyes mark the roll of his throat intently.

“We were talking,” he begins, hesitantly.

“About what?” You ask, enjoying the way his shoulders tense. It’s sweet when he gets uncomfortable. “Just…things,” he supplies, “male things…” then winces when he realises male things sounds like a euphemism. He shakes it off, returning to the conversation, “he mentioned you had a reputation, of sorts, with…” he coughs into his hand, a nervous tick he hasn’t thought to mask, “well, being in the bedroom.”

If the male had been paying attention, he would have noticed the stiffness that had overcome your body. You shift slightly, and make a note to bring this up with the Shadowsinger later. Find out what, exactly, he’d said to Cassian. “We’re familiar with one another in that area,” you say, keeping your tone as controlled as possible.

“Right.” Cassian nods again, eyes finally settling on you as he sends you a nervous look. Why is he so jittery?

A silence falls, stretching between the two of you and his hands clench into fists on the arms of the chair. You keep his attention, staring at him coolly.

“I want to try it,” he blurts, pressing his lips together.

Ah. That’s why Azriel had mentioned you. Your heart rate picks up. You’d have to get him something nice in return for this opening he’s gifted you with. Being the Spymaster, he’d quite easily picked up on your fondness for the General. You’d been after him for a while now, but you weren’t the type to pursue unless you knew it was reciprocated—the Warlord had given no such indication. Yet here he is. Surely it counts for something.

Maybe you need to be gentler with him?

You sit up straighter, trying to let him understand you’re hearing him out—that it’s fine for him to talk to you. It’s what you want, after all.

“What’s sparked this sudden interest, Cassian? I was under the impression you were content with your own bedroom activities.” You conceal your wince at your relaxed tone that came out sounding short, and dry. Not what you had hoped to say, but it’s better than some of the other things you’ve accidentally told him.

He looks at you sincerely now, slight vulnerability in his hazel eyes. “I want to take its power away,” he says solemnly. “Being called a dog. I don’t want it to have power over me.”

“So…you would like someone to degrade you, because…?” You’re struggling to see his thought process. He looks down at his lap, mentally reciting his words before he looks back at you, “I want to change my association with it. Azriel figured if I give it another meaning—one that pleases me—it’ll become easier.”

Your hand settles over your lips, rubbing thoughtfully as you consider it, before you nod. “I think I can find someone for you, Cass. It’s been a while since I’ve run in those circles but I’m sure I can pull someone up.” You should take this opportunity to talk more with him. Find out what he’s been doing. At least ask for something in return, since that wouldn’t be too unbelievable. Maybe you can wrangle a dinner out of him. Yeah. Insist he takes you out to dinner, then you can have a night together, chatting, feel him out a little more. Just you and him.

“I was hoping you’d be willing to show me, actually.”

You forget how to breathe, blinking at him as your lips part, a soft puff of air exhaling from you in surprise. He wants…you. He wants you…to show him. He wants you, to…

“You want me to take you to my bedroom?” You ask slightly hoarsely.

“Again, I’m not sure how to approach this. So I thought I’d try and be straightforward with you.” He admits, soft colour blooming high on his cheeks but he holds your gaze.

That’s just like him. Straightforward and honest. Right to the point, just as you like. You can only hope your own flush of warmth isn’t too obvious as you feel something tug on your heartstrings. He’s too endearing for his own good. So baldly charming and sweet.

“Why me?” You ask, regaining your composure. “Decisions like these need to be carefully thought through. You can’t just pick the person most convenient, and as General I would hope you know that.” You manage, smoothly. “I need it to be someone I trust,” he explains, voice thick with emotion, “I’m sure there are some lovely females out there, who might indeed work better. But I trust you.” He declares. “Again, it’s only a request. And I hope I’m not making you uncomfortable with being so blunt.”

You feel that giddy sensation in your chest, the kind that tends to surface when he’s around. You resist the urge to soothe the feeling.

“I take it you understand the sexual nature of the favour you’re asking me for,” you say, softly, watching him over the rim of your glasses.

He swallows, heat crawling up the back of his neck at the look you give him. You look so fucking sexy whenever you do that. Give him that dismissive stare, as if you don’t care what happens to him. How many times has he imagined you giving him that precise expression whenever he fists his cock, how you might run your eyes over him when he’s finished, displeased with his mess.

The General nods his head in confirmation. You hadn’t immediately shot him down like he’d thought you would. Maybe Az was right—you aren’t as cold as you appear. Of course he would know that, he thinks bitterly. He doesn’t care to entertain the idea of how his brother knew about your bedroom tendencies. If the two of you had ever—

“Very well,” you say sharply, breaking him from his train of thought. You reach for your book, indicating the conversation is coming to a close. “Come to my chambers at ten O’clock,” you order. When he moves to open his mouth, you snap in before him, “it doesn’t matter what you wear, as long as it’s easily removable.”

So you’re really doing this, then. He doesn’t know whether to feel relieved or panicked. He’s finally going to have alone time with you—but he’s going to have alone time with you. He hopes he doesn’t mess anything up. Maybe he should just swallow his pride and ask Az for a little more about you. So he can prepare—he doesn’t want to disappoint.

He’s got one clear shot at you. And it’s tonight.

————

“I seem to be rather popular today. You’re the second person to visit me in ten minutes.”

You’ve learned not to be surprised when he detects you. Even though you know you didn’t make a sound, and his shadows were no where in sight. “What did you say to him?”

“Just now, or what did I say to prompt him to make a move?” Azriel asks, still not looking up from his reports. You grit your teeth at the information he’s dangling before you, just waiting for you to pounce on it so he can spring his trap. “Both,” you growl, walking up to his side to get his attention.

He sighs, then reaches for another report, comparing it against the first, before setting it down and scribbling something in a diary which promptly vanishes after use. “I’m not in the mood for games, Shadowsinger.” His lips twitch as he reluctantly sets the papers down, turning to face you, your arms crossed over your body as you level him with a icy stare.

“I merely set the two of you in motion. You’ve been dancing around each another for a while now. I figured a friendly push in the right direction might set you on the path to collide.” He answers, his posture relaxed; casual.

Damned bastard.

“Keep your nose out of my business, Az. How would you like me meddling in your own affairs?”

His expression remains neutral, mouth set in a bland line but amusement makes merry in his eyes. So similar to Cassian’s. You grit your teeth at the smug look, as if saying you wouldn’t be able to if you tried. He keeps his lovers entirely to himself, tucked away in his belt. “You’re Spymaster. Not matchmaker. Stick to the role you know, Az.”

He raises a single, taunting brow that has red edging your vision. Does he understand how important this is to you? That tonight goes well?

“Why not both? You know how I like to switch from time to time.” Your brow narrows at his tone. It’s lilting…almost as if designed to allure. To seduce. He hums to himself, a sound deep in his throat. “Yes. You know quite well indeed.”

“What are you playing at?” You ask, voice deceptively soft. The tell to your growing ire.

He pushes off from his chair in one elegant movement, hands settling on the desk either side of you as he cages you in. “Playing dumb, angel?” His eyes glint with amusement and mischief, wariness flooding your body. He leans down, his breath brushing over your neck as his silky hair tickles your cheek. “I’m putting on a show for our guest,” he whispers, so softly only you can hear.

And not the male just the other side of the Shadowsinger’s office door.

Your eyes widen as you whip your gaze to his, just as the presence you’ve finally noticed disappears along the corridor. No sooner that the General leaves, Azriel pulls away from you, settling back into his seat, returning to his reports as if nothing had happened.

“If anything will get him to act,” the Spymaster begins, still paying you no mind, “it’s that jealous streak of his. Always was his downfall during the snowball matches.”

Your hands clench into fists at your side. “You’re in deep shit, Shadowsinger.” You growl as you move toward the door, “deep. Shit.”

Azriel has the audacity to huff a low laugh as you slam to door shut, so hard the hinges rattle.

————

He knocks at ten. On the dot.

He had no idea his own brother was trying to covet you. And it indeed sounded as though you’d had relations in the past. Whether those relations still held strong… He doesn’t have the time to consider as your door cracks open, and you peer out.

He suddenly feels ridiculous. Acting as if you’re his when he hasn’t even had the opportunity to take you out for dinner. He doesn’t deserve to be jealous over you. You appreciate straightforwardness. Maybe he should just ask? Get it out of the way. Or would that be inappropriate?

You save him the trouble of the drawn out debate that would have surely continued as you open the door wider, stepping aside to let him in. “Ah, the eavesdropper.” He stiffens under your assessing gaze, levelling him with a cold look that tells him you did not appreciate his invasion of your privacy. Even if you hadn’t even properly closed the door, so really it was completely reasonable that he could have just…overheard.

“I’m not late, am I?” He says instead, choosing to sidestep you for now as he enters your room. And maybe takes the chance to inhale softly, taking in your feminine scent. Tantalisingly mouth-watering.

The door closes softly behind him, snicking shut as the lock clicks. You’re dressed in a thin, cream night robe, concealing the gown beneath. Sharp heels adorn your feet, the point having enough of an edge you could probably take someone’s eye out with a well-aimed kick. For some reason, his pulse spikes.

He takes in your room with a sweep of his eyes, attempting to remain calm, and collected. You don’t seem to appreciate chaos, or any of his arsenal of charms if he’s honest. He wonders if maybe you’re only doing this as a favour—nothing more.

“If you’re thinking you can come in here with an attitude like that, then I’m afraid you’re sorely mistaken,” you say bluntly, running your eyes over him. “I’m not in the habit of tying down loose canons, Cassian. Either you be good and obey, or you can take the door. Your choice.”

He takes you in, sizing you up. He knew you were cold—icy, even—but this is different somehow. Maybe you’ve been holding back on him all this time.

So he plants his feet on the floor, dipping his head ever so slightly.

Your displeased expression doesn’t budge, keeping on a mask of vague neutrality. “Better,” you say, striding past him as you move to the bed. You turn in time to see the wariness in his eyes, the rigidity of his figure as he takes in the items you’ve laid out for him. But for his troubles, he’s rewarded with the slight twitch of your lips. You seem to be satisfied with his reaction, to a degree.

He clears his throat, “what are those?” You gesture for him to come forward, and he follows willingly, padding across your wooden flooring. “I thought we could start with these.” He comes to a stop at your side, assessing what you’ve chosen.

“Cassian,” you say, drawing his attention. “It’s important you remember you can reject any of this. I do anything you don’t like, and you tell me so. This is supposed to be helpful, not worsen how you feel.” When his eyes flick back to the bed, you add a touch softer, “that includes vetoing any of these.”

He swallows, but nods in confirmation.

The warmth disappears from your tone. “Answer me.”

Hazel latches onto you, tongue darting out to wet his lips, “I understand.”

Your brow narrows, “ma’am.”

Arousal slides down his spine at your demanding tone. “I understand, ma’am.” He could swear the air shifts. Becomes sweeter, somehow. “You’re going to be good and obedient for me?” You arch a brow as you take him in, the powerful muscles, the silky black hair, the two large wings at his back—you hope he’ll one day let you touch them.

It’s your arousal, he realises. He can smell your arousal.

“Yes, ma’am,” he answers, a little hoarsely.

The edges of your mouth quirk, heat dancing in your eyes but you turn toward the bed. He’d assumed there would be a build up before you reached for any of the three items. He’d assumed he’d have time to prepare. But you take the black, leather collar in your hands and step toward him.

It takes a surprising amount of will not to back away from the object you’re holding, but he stands strong. Even as you enter his space, pushing up onto your toes as your arms slide over his shoulders. All he can look at is the red of your lips, the smoothness of your skin, the sweep of your lashes. Mostly your mouth.

The collar clicks into place, and you begin tightening it until you can only fit two fingers beneath the seam. “How are you feeling?” You ask, and it takes him a while to respond. “Fine,” he manages, roughly, knowing well enough you’ll be able to scent his own arousal. He hopes it pleases you.

You tug at the leather, dragging it back against his throat and he chokes with surprise. “Ma’am.” Heat swirls down his spine and he has to grapple with his instincts to fight back. To spin you around and pin you to the bed when you’re so clearly threatening him. But instead he manages a nod, “fine, ma’am,” he corrects.

You release the collar, stepping back from him. His chest feels cool.

“Remove your shirt. Slowly.” You settle elegantly on the bed, watching him intently.

Relief spills within him. That’s something he knows how to do.

Following your orders, his fingers find the buttons of his shirt, slowly—teasingly—popping them out, then tugging the slats at the back free of his wings. He’s surprised by the hunger in your eyes. Hunger that’s directed at him. So intense he feels his mouth dry. Even for him, it’s an effort not to shy away.

When his shirt falls to the floor, your gaze roams over him, “good.”

He suppresses a shiver at the thickness of your voice, as if you’re having to hold yourself back from pouncing on him. It’s exhilarating, to be wanted in this way. As if the roles have been reversed.

“Come.”

He follows compliantly, moving until he’s before you. You reach for the leash now.

“Sit.”

He swallows down the heat that’s wanting to rush to his cheeks. But he asked you to do this for him, and want aside, he trusts his brother to know you. Apparently quite well. So if he says you might be able to offer some kind of help, he’ll trust you. More than he already does, if that’s possible.

Hesitantly, he lowers himself to a kneel, so he’s within reaching distance of you.

Your attention returns to him, leash in hand, “good boy.” His throat rolls at the praise, cock stiffening with arousal as you gracefully cross your legs, allowing him a glimpse of the white lace beneath your night robe. He curses mentally, replaying the short peek he’d been offered.

He nearly loses his mind when your legs open again, but this time one extends toward him as you lift his chin with the tip of your foot. “Attention on me, Cassian.” Even the way you say his name is a gods-damned turn on.

You shift on the bed, allowing him a longer peep between your thighs as you drag your foot down over his chest, until the sharp point of your heel drags over the hard shape of his arousal, making him hiss softly. “Like that?” You drawl, lowering the base of your foot as you press against him, giving him that sinful pressure as his hips back lightly.

“You look lovely on your knees, Cassian,” you comment, leaning close as you attach the leash to his collar, eyes flicking up to his, holding his heated gaze with your own for a moment longer than necessary.

“You’d look better, Angel.” He doesn’t know where the intent comes from, but he’s overcome with the need to know what was going on between you and his brother in his study. Though maybe he could have chosen a different time to bait you. Like when you don’t have your foot pressed over that incredibly sensitive part of him. You could inflict a lot of pain with the slightest of movements. Though he supposes that’s why you’ve positioned him as he is. At your mercy.

Surprisingly, the amusement remains in your eyes. “Careful, mutt. I had the sense you didn’t like that third item,” you drawl softly, and he knows you’re talking about the muzzle. “As I said before, if you’re going to refuse to play by my rules, you can walk out that door.”

He bites his tongue. He wants—needs to know what was going on between you and Az. What he’d whispered to you when he’d pushed you against his desk.

“As for your comment, I’m surprised you so readily admit to eavesdropping on us. Something grating at you?” There’s no way you don’t know. Not with the way you asked, not with that mocking lilt to your voice.

“Simply curious, ma’am.” He manages to keep his voice surprisingly even. You raise a brow, “he mentioned you had a jealous streak.” He hissed when you drag your heel over the ridge of his cock, making him twitch in anticipation.

But you lean forward, attaching the leash to his collar. Then your free foot presses against his shoulder, and you tug, sharply. He hisses at the pressure of the jerk, keeping his instinct in check. How easy would it be to just grab your ankles and spread you apart?

You know you’re wet. There’s no way you aren’t with the way he’s looking at you. As if he’s imagining every position he could be rutting into you, cock nestled deep inside of you. It’s enough to have your mouth parched. You can’t help yourself.

“What are you thinking about, pet?”

“I’m thinking about how good I could make you feel, ma’am.” As usual, his answer is full of unfaltering truth. Blatant, undeniable. You know he marks the spike in your temperature.

You jerk on his lead in reprimand for the bold statement. “You think it’s appropriate to be having those kind of thoughts about me, mutt?” You tug on his leash again, dragging him closer so your leg can hook over his broad shoulder. You can practically see the stillness overcome him, as your scent hits him. His eyes dart between your legs—he has an unobscured view, and he’s not wasting a second of it, eyes glued to the damp lace.

You tilt your head, allowing the tie of your night robe to come loose, revealing the sheer, matching gown beneath. “See something you like, pet?” He growls in response, and you hook your other leg over his shoulder, so he’s between your thighs. “I might be calling you an animal, but I should hope you’re still capable of an intellectual response.” You make a show of running your eyes over him, as if doubting your evaluation. “Using words, at least,” you amend.

“Yes, ma’am.” The words are guttural. His pupils fully dilated as they don’t budge from your concealed heat. You wonder what would happen if you told him to crawl for it. You get the strangest feeling he would, and it’s exhilarating. Maybe you can indulge yourself a little.

Humming, you slide your hand to his cheek, raising his jaw so he’s forced to look at you. “What is it you like the look of, hm? Maybe I’ll lay you have some.”

You’re being cruel. You know that. But you can’t resist brushing your calves against the tendon in his wings, getting off on how they shudder, but don’t tuck away. As if he wants you to touch him there. You oblige happily, running the pad of your heel up the great wing, skating over muscle and cartilage, and sensitive, sensitive skin.

He trembles beneath your touch, breathing shallowing. “You,” he groans. “I want some of you.”

His head spins lightly as you unhook yourself from his shoulders, sliding down off the mattress into his lap. “Disobey once more, pet,” you whisper over his lips, free hand now gripping his jaw, “and I’ll slap that muzzle on you faster than you can protest.” His hips roll beneath you, needing to feel more of your soft heat against him.

“Understand, bitch boy?” His pupils dilate at the title, nostrils flaring as he gets high on your scent. “Yes, ma’am,” he murmurs, wanting so desperately to put his hands on you, feel the skin of your waist, how it will give a little beneath the pads of his fingers. “Good boy, Cassian.”

He shudders, the sound of his name on your lips making him twitch beneath you. “Undo them.” He’s not sure he heard you correctly.

You grip his jaw tighter, nails biting into the muscle of his jaw. It’s enough to set his shaky hands moving, fumbling with the strings.

You wonder if he can hear how loud your heart is pounding, if he can tell how desperately you need him. His scent is all around you, and you feel like you might go crazy. You need more. You need him inside of you, to have him tearing at your clothes, to have him snarling and biting for a chance to sink his teeth into you.

“That’s better,” you murmur over his mouth when he’s out. It’s an effort to keep from drooling at the sight of him. “Show me how you touch yourself, Cassian.”

His breath hitches as you shift on his lap, breasts grazing his chest as you lift to make room for his hand. Your eyes are piercing into him, as if you can read every despicable thought he’s ever had of you. And he knows you can see the vulnerability in his gaze as he wraps his hand around himself, he can’t hide from you.

Your eyes flicker as he begins stroking himself, slow, languid touches. Hard, and rough. As if he likes that edge of pain. One arms snakes over both his shoulders, the other hand cupping his jaw to keep him looking at you. “That’s a good dog,” you murmur, soothingly, and he allows the praise to wash over him. To sink into the marrow of his bones.

He looks at you quietly, a request in his eyes. Amusement dances in your gaze as you ignore it, but bring him closer. “You want a taste, mutt?” His attention narrows on your mouth, how your tongue flicks out to wet your lips. He’s panting softly, heat radiating from his body, and he groans as you roll your hips, pressing your abdomen against him.

“Yes, ma’am,” he breathes.

You lower yourself to him, “gentle, Cassian.”

He follows compliantly, tugging softly on your lower lip, even if all he wants is to bite, and snap, and devour. He’s practically trembling with the effort of holding back.

He jolts, hissing when your hand encases the damp head of his cock, teeth sinking into your lip.

You tug sharply at the back of his collar, yanking him back so he can see the blood beading. His eyes widen marginally, “I’m sorry,” he breathes. It comes out quietly, hardly more than a whisper. But your tongue flicks over the puncture wound, and already it’s sealed.

He didn’t mean to hurt you. Oh fuck.

Fuck.

Your lips press to his, firmly, hand still resting over his own as you pump him roughly. You moan softly into the kiss before pulling away. “Even purebreds would be put down for biting their master,” you drawl.

Cassian watches you silently, tensely.

“Bad dog,” you murmur, raising up onto your knees.

His head goes quiet as you raise your night gown, allowing him a glance of your wet heat as you pull the lace to the side. “I need you to be good, or I can’t give me to you, Cassian.” He growls, a sound deep in his chest, full of ravenous hunger. You tilt his chin, forcing him upright as you stare down at him. “You want me, don’t you?”

His pupils dilate further, lips parting slightly as he inhales your scent. “Want to sink into me, hm? You’ve got to be a good boy for that. Earn your rewards. Because that’s what I am to you, mutt. A reward.”

Cassian’s panting heavily, a light sheen over his skin as his temperature spikes, your thumb occasionally swiping beneath his tip, the up over his slit. Just as tight as he likes it. But he wants to be inside of you. In some way, anyway. Between your legs or in your mouth. Dear gods, he needs to feel the wet heat of you in some way.

“Isn’t that right, hell-hound?”

Cassian growls, so close to that edge. The soft, firmness of your hand. Perfectly showcasing yourself. The physical softness of your body, contrasted with the sharp talons that lie just beneath your surface. He’d gladly allow you to sink them into him.

Your brow narrows in distaste, before you’re pulling your hand away from him, raising fully onto your knees as you press yourself flush against his front, smushing yourself against the hard contours of his powerful body.

A sound between a snarl and a moan tears from his throat as you run your fingers down the base of his wings. Your back arches at the sound, and his head falls forward, burying himself in your breasts. You hum, satisfied with his reaction as you flush with feminine pleasure. Maybe you press against him a little tighter, allowing him more.

He can feel that wave cresting, reaching its peak, towering high as it prepares to sweep him away. Mind lost in the swirling euphoria you’ve worked him to.

A wave of magic bats his hand away, and suddenly he feels cold.

He hardly has time to comprehend that you’ve removed yourself from him, as his vision clears slightly, though it’s swaying. Enough for him to see you settling upon your bed, leaning back, spreading your legs, enabling him a perfectly erotic view as your gown hikes up your thighs. You kick off the white lace, and all he can seem to focus on is your gleaming, hot, wet, heat. So ready for him, so ready for his fingers to pump and curl, his tongue to lap and flick, for him to slam his cock into you, bury himself so deep he’ll be more that six feet under.

“Have a taste, Cassian.”

An animal snarl rips from him as he forgets his own pleasure, fingers biting into your thighs, surely bruising as he shoves between your pretty legs, needing to finally set his mouth on you—

Your fingers flick toward him and you moan, the muzzle snapping over his mouth and nose, locking at the back of his head just before he came into contact with you, the mechanism rubbing against your heat instead of his tongue. His eyes go wide. You’ve completely knocked him off his feet on this new battlefield, legs wrapping over his broad shoulders, sliding between the two great wings at his back as you lock him in place.

Magic snares his wrists, tying them tight behind him as he’s suddenly completely at your mercy.

“I don’t tolerate disobedience, mutt.” You say, coolly. He snarls, struggling but your magic is pressing in on him. You give him a look of mock sympathy, “all you had to do was remember some damned manners, mongrel.” But when pain flickers in his eyes—soul pain—you thread your fingers through his hair. Your expression remains displeased, but your touch is soft; affectionate, brushing down to his cheek, skating around the edge of his muzzle.

“Do you know better now, mutt?” You ask coldly, peering down at the great male you have trapped between your legs. How badly you want that contraption off him, so you can kiss and mouth at him, have him between your legs. “Yes, ma’am,” he grits out, lip curling back.

“I don’t think you have,” you reply nonchalantly. “I think you’re being greedy. I think you’re trying to get into my good books again so you can take advantage of me.” Your hand ducks beneath his chin, raising him a little, but roughly. “A wolf in sheep’s clothing. That’s what you are,” you stare down at him, allowing him to see the heat in your eyes, “a wolf.”

“Yes, ma’am.” His gaze is fierce, starving hunger blazing in the hazel depths.

Your heart kicks up a pace, as your lips twitch.

You lay back, propping yourself up on one forearm as you drag your hand down yourself, settling at the hem of your gown. Then dipping further.

Cassian let’s put a sound that’s a mix of a groan and a whimper, his eyes glued to your cunt as your fingers dip between your legs. “Like the view?” You whisper, middle and fifth finger spreading yourself, slippery with arousal. “Don’t you just want to set your mouth on her, huh? Drag your tongue over me? Until you drown in her release?” He struggles again and you tut, summoning his leash to be beside you, using your magic to tug him closer, the muzzle pressing flush against your heat.

You roll your hips over it, and you swear Cassian’s eyes nearly roll to the back of his skull with arousal. You laugh softly, sultrily. “If you try hard enough, you might be able to lick it up.” He’s so nearly lost his mind. You’ve worked him up into a rage of lust, his vision unclear as he presses forward, as if he might be able to get closer.

You moan softly at the pressure, how his head shifts and the wide rubbery bars roll against your clit. You bite your lip as you kick off your heels, dragging your feet up his back as you press him into you, raising your hips. Then you drag one foot higher, brushing it against your wings and his moans. He moans so deeply, so desperately, the sound so raw you aren’t sure you can keep teasing him like this. Not with your own orgasm now on the line.

But instead of allowing him off the lead, you drag him back a little, forcing him to watch as you rub the pad of your middle finger over the top of your clit. Once…twice…then you dip down, coating your two middle-most digits in slick, and you sink them into your heat. Your back arches lightly and he growls with the need for it to be his fingers instead. It needs to be him inside of you.

You force his gaze to yourself, lead tugging on him to drag his attention from your slick heat. “You want to be inside her, don’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Guttural. Raspy. Husky.

“Too bad I don’t let mangy mutts in my bed.” You can smell his arousal. That deep, masculine scent that only serves to make you wetter and wetter. His arousal is appetising.

“No,” you growl, “I want something better. Something stronger. Something to make my eyes blind and my senses weep. Something to take me so hard I scream. Something so deep, and raw, that I have nothing left.”

The muzzle vanishes and he dives forward but the lead keeps balancing his force in the opposite direction. Your fingers pull from your heat, threads of silvery slick connecting them before you grip his jaw.

It’s hell for him. Hell and heaven all wrapped in one. You’re so near, so utterly around him, filling every sense, and your cunt is right before him, your slick coating your fingers and he just needs one taste one taste and then he’ll be okay just one taste—

“Can you be that something for me?”

“Yes,” he sobs. “Yes, ma’am.”

Your lips hitch into a small grin, and your magic releases him. “Good boy, Cassian.”

He surges forward, tongue dragging up your centre, flicking and sucking and licking as he tastes and tastes and you fill him up you encompass him while and it’s not enough it’s not enough—

The breath is snatch from his lungs as he’s unleashed upon you. He’s mad. Raging with masculine delight as he devours his female. His female. His.

He goes between your legs, but needs more, pulling away to shove your gown away from your skin, revealing your breasts—nearly tearing the fabric in the process. His teeth nip and bite, tongue flicking, hands gripping you. And then he’s kissing you, swallowing your flavour, both hands roaming all over you: groping your chest, thumbing your nipples—pinching them. He drags his hands down your front, wings flaring in an inherent display of dominance, and he knock something over but neither of you care. His mouth opens over your throat, teeth biting into you as his arms snake around your back, feeling the soft, warm press of your body against his own.

Moans spill from your lips as you allow your head to fall back, thighs parting invitingly, legs wrapping around his hips as you drag him closer. He grinds against you, getting himself covered in your slick before pressing the tip to your entrance. And pushes in. Even in the midst of his hunger he’s careful, going in slowly, a few inches at a time until he’s as far in as he can fit and you don’t exaggerate the moan he pulls from you.

You’re gasping, and he’s panting deeply, heavily. And he looks at you as he draws his hips back, then slams in. You melt in his arms, liquidate until it’s only him keeping your together. He’s pounding into you, going to the hilt every time, filling you with sunlight, and heat, and all the other lovely things that make you’re heart thunder with vivacious life.

“Cassian…!” You gasp, his cock touching that spot within you. At your keen, he shoves you further up the bed, hand dropping to your ass as he orders you to raise your hips. You do, and practically sob when he aims for that spot, rubbing it, abusing it over and over as his thumb finds you clit. He groans in response, twitching inside of you.

“I—…” he growls as you clamp down on him, arms snaking around his shoulders, fingers touching his wings as you bring his mouth to yours. You understood him well enough. He’s about to collapse, spill into you with the force he’s promised to you.

And he does, your own release following as thick, hot liquid shoots into you, spurting from him in rivulets. Your lips part in a gasp, and he snarls when your hands graze his wings, the overstimulation already too much.

You pant heavily, basking in the aftermath of his pleasure. Your own pleasure, too. You’re not sure if you were fully conscious for the entirety of your release, with how hard he forced you to come.

He’s still inside of you, and you’ll be happy if he never leaves. Remains planted deep within your heat. He’s breathing erratically still, and his eyes flick to your mouth, as if he wants to—

The leash goes taut, and his mouth is hauled to yours as you open for him, allowing him past that line. He understands, too, moving softer, more tentatively as his tongue flicks at your roof, hands lightly gripping your waist to keep you against him.

When you finally pull apart, you’re not sure you’ll be able to hold yourself together. You don’t want to confess your feelings to him while experiencing the high of your orgasm. Things like that need to be thought through.

“That was…good.” He breathes, and you manage to narrow your brows at him—somehow. “It was better than good, and you know it.” The collar and lead vanish, freeing him, but he doesn’t try to move away. Instead he kisses you again, at the slow, steady pace. As if he’s taking his time feeling you out.

But he pulls away, swallowing, “about you and Azriel—”

You grimace, “I really do not want to hear his name while you’re still inside me, Cass.” He winces and moves to pull out. You growl softly, tightening your grip on his hips, keeping him nice and warm. “So that means, don’t talk about him.”

He watches you, wariness creeping into his eyes.

Oh. Right.

He saw you in his study.

You sigh. “Your brother’s a dick. You know that?” Cassian’s own brow narrows in confusion. “He knew you were out there,” you state plainly. “You heard what he said, about getting us to collide.”

His lips part silently as he connects the dots. “Az was the one who suggested I talk to you,” he says, softly. “He knew I—”

Heat flushes your cheeks, heart-rate spiking. You hand grips his silky black hair, tugging slightly. “Finish that sentence.” He shifts inside of you and you suck in a breath.

He presses closer to you, front flushing tight against you, hips firmly between yours as he noses at your neck: the various bite marks. He inhales softly, as if getting his courage from you before pulling back.

“He knows I want you. That I…still…want you. Badly.”

Holy Mother.

Your heart’s practically in your throat as you nod in agreement. “He knew about me, too.” His eyes flick to yours, surprised. It gives you the push you need. “I’ve been after you for a while. I figured you weren’t interested.”

Incredulity flashes in his gaze. “How could I not want you?” He breathes, softly. His arms tighten around you, pressing deeper inside of you, heat flushing your skin. But you purse your lips, attempting to regain your composure, “you’ve never shown any intent before.”

“How was I supposed to? You were always so…distant. I thought that was your way of saying you weren’t looking for anything like that. That you’d just find it annoying to have a male panting after you.” He admits, quietly.

“I see.” You watch him silently, his lips twitching.

“Is that you being affectionate?” You swallow, looking away. “I sometimes forget to shift my expression. That’s my fault, I suppose. I didn’t want you to see how much of a mess I am.” His brow knots, hand cupping your cheek, “you’re not a mess. Not a bad one, at least.”

“I don’t like being out of control, Cassian. What you do to me, how you make me feel…I don’t like it. It’s too much. I don’t know how to manage all of it.”

“And that’s why you always seemed so cold,” he finishes.

“I didn’t mean to come off as harsh. I was supposed to appear put together. Steady, so you’d look at me and think, she knows what’s she’s doing. She has a purpose.” You peer up at him, and he sees that vulnerability in your eyes.

“I wanted you to look at me and see someone impressive. I wanted you to think I was strong, and independent. I don’t want to be a burden to anyone, and the easiest way of accomplishing that is by doing everything myself. I don’t want you to think I’m someone who needs help.” You’re unaccustomed to this sort of intimacy. The dangerous, barbed emotional kind.

“There’s nothing wrong with needing help, though. Hell, I came to you for it.” His thumb strokes you cheek, and your eyelids flutter closed, leaning into him. “I want to help you, where I can. I want to do things to make life easier for you. I don’t want you to go through it on your own.” He brushes his nose over yours, lips grazing your own, your eyes still shut. “I want to be the person you come to when you’re struggling. I want you to want me. To want to…to want to be around me.”

“I do,” you reply. “It’s a near constant need I have no idea what to do with. It’s a pain and I don’t know how to stop it.” Your hands tangle in his hair, his mouth slanting over yours.

“I’m not sure I want to.”

Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020

[threepandas]

The Vod's List: Part 2

You know the worst part about the Republic standard hazard mask? No, not the "for dealing WITH hazardous materials" one. The "your species can be fully or partially CONSIDERED one, so to interact with the rest of polite society you gotta wear protection so we don't DIE" one. THAT hazard mask. From the set.

Yeah, you the worst part about THAT mask?

It's like someone really, REALLY high up in power DELIBERATELY made the who set as... well, for lack of a better term? Slave-like and uncomfortable as possible. As humiliating as possible. Like they WANTED the people who had to wear it, to suffer and be upset. And like? I KNOW it's probably just some really REALLY out of touch politician? Who's never had to WEAR one of these kriffing things in their karking LIFE?

But come ON! It looks and feels like a MUZZLE.

A BADLY FITTED ONE at that! Like? And don't ask me how I KNOW this? Because the holonet is deep and filled with weird wondrous horrors? Buuuuut... according to CERTAIN individuals. Who HAVE reviewed a VARIETY of muzzles for... personal reasons? And Bones bless! No judgment! According to certain Unnamed Experts of The Field, as it were?

.......these masks kriffing SUCK nifflestones.

Padding is shit. Airflow it terrible. Not customized for individual races AT ALL. Just? Mouth a "hazard"? Cover it. Who CARES if that means the individual kriffing suffocates. Or karking near DROWNS on their own threat or stress response. To say NOTHING of those who have to routinely either use their mouth's "hazard" or have it TRIGGERED by something pressing AGAINST their jaw!

It's a genuinely terrible design! Almost deliberately so. Keeps a lot of people from ever even bothering from leaving their planet's.

Why do I bring this up? Because working at the senate building is stressful. Dealing with sleemo plasbone's who like to shove me around cause I'm in a glorified MUZZLE is stressful. Knowing I recently infected an innocent man is KARKING STRESSFUL!

And you know what the Techganic response to STRESS is?!

Drool and STRESS BITING.

My ENTIRE fucking BLOODLINE was literally genetically ENGINEERED to fight in a FUCKING HOLY WAR! With BIOLOGICAL WARFARE. We BITE! We bite A LOT!! We are, in fact, SUPPOSED to bite! It's like the unsacred, technological abomination child of those ancient human tales of the "zombie" and the "ber-serker"!

Stress? Stress means we are in battle. Being attacked. Threatened. Stress means ATTACK. Bite and bite and BITE. Thanks the Bones and Blood, I've never been THAT stresssed. I even had to take a test for it! Anyone with a hair trigger is NOT allowed off planet. I'm considered absurdly calm. Chill.

Doesn't mean I WON'T.

Just that it would take A LOT.

But the drool? THAT is involuntary. Is the prelude you can't escape. The means of SPREAD. Of WARRING against the machines. Organic nanite against technological nanites. Host against host. Spread against spread. Ours was a story of PLAUGES. And it left no unchanged survivors.

I get that. I DO. The horrors of our history, the fear and terrors. The resistance forces who wanted no part in the war. Who tried to escape.

What happened to them.

I REALIZE that... that a single Techganic dropped on pretty much any planet can start a nanite plague that can't be stopped. That the more stressed we get, the more our instincts demand we Spread Ourselfs. The water, the soil, the air. Yeah, we can get DANGEROUS.

But we aren't ANIMALS.

We are not who we used to BE. WHAT we used to be. Show me the planet without blood in its past and I will show you a planet that has wiped its past away.

Which is all well and good...but...

I'M FUCKING DROWNING.

These karking hazard masks are so, SO stupid and I'm trying not to panic. My hands shaking. Because if I panic? I will be stressed. If I am kriff KARKING STRESSED, I will drool FASTER. And there is no room. My karking mask is FULL OF LIQUID AND NOT DRAINING FAST ENOUGH.

I struggle with the latches. They are wet. Because my hands are wet. My neck is wet. EVERYTHING IS WET. The mask doesn't even WORK to contain the "hazard"! My hands can't get a grip on the latches. My lungs are burning for air but I can't... if I try to breath now... I'll just get... just get!

I'm in a side hall.

Would anyone even find me? Oh Stars. I'm going to drown.

Except not. Quick heavy steps down the hallway. Two gaurds spot me after turning a corner, break into a sprint. Once again the Coruscant gaurds are a beacon of calm in my darkest moment. One gently pulling my frantic hands away from my mask so the other can quickly work out how to unlock it.

With a gush, air finally hits my face as the mask unlocks and begins to be pulled away. I sputter. Cough. I think I may be weeping. The hallways is spinning as air finally rushs back in. My front is DRENCHED and I hate it. It's so gross. There was nothing I could DO and I felt like an animal. Feel like a mess.

Every drop of it is deadly. The whole hallway will have to be deep cleaned.

Am I apologizing? I think I'm apologizing.

The gaurds are so nice. Talking in low, reassuring voices as the stay with me. They called a medic. Ask me about my hobbies to distract me. A playful argument on how to "properly" take your Caf. Which local diner is the best.

I am gently bundled off by the medic, once he arrives. Another of the Guard thank Stars. The Senatorial medical team are so... judge-y. The Guard's medical is patient and professional, though the only thing he can offer me to change into is the blacks that the gaurd wear under their armor.

Tell NO ONE... but I feel kinda cool. Look at me~ I'm all holo thriller and mysterious in these. I get to KEEP them too!

Not getting the mask back though.

It nearly killed me. That and my asshole coworker who deliberately stressed me out earlier. He... the Guard ARRESTED him. And... look, I KNOW I shouldn't smile. I shouldn't. His life is probably ruined. But... but the sleemo harrased EVERYBODY. Anybody he thought he could abuse? He DID.

Looks like he finally went too far.

I lay back. Not allowed to lean until the medic is SURE there is no secondary drowning symptoms. I grab the shirt that turned out to be just a touch too small and fold it up, drape it over my eyes. It blocks out the light pretty well. I get comfortable.

As I drift off... I'm unaware that the Vod around me stop bothering to pretend the AREN'T blatantly watching me. That the normally sparsely populated medicenter ISNT damn near full of every Vod not currently on duty. The cheif medical officer himself, carefully collecting what he can from my mask.

A dense crowd of eyes slowly run over black clad limbs.

Looking to THEM. Trusting THEM. Threatened, in need of back up. Look how TIRED she was. How vulnerable. Wearing part their uniform. Like a lover, having stolen their clothes.

She trusted them above the natborns. PREFERRED them.

Thoughts began to stir... they wonder...

[httpscomexe]

Muzzle

Summary: Your life couldn’t possibly become more annoying, at least that’s what you thought before a stranger comes knocking on your door at 3 in the morning.

(Find what I'm currently writing by checking my pinned post)

Parings: Winter Soldier x Reader

Warnings: There will be individual warnings per chapter. Blood, wound, stab wound, mention of rape, mention of kidnapping, murder, guns, a lot of bad language words. The Winter soldier is also a warning.

Word Count: 3777 (Find all chapters here) Chapter 2

A knock on your door was the last thing you needed to ruin your day at 3 in the morning as you were just about to finish the last paragraph of your final. Who the FUCK is knocking on my door at 3 in the fucking morning?! You groan, leaning back in your chair with your hands rubbing down your face as you wait for the shadow under your door to disappear, but whoever it is, they just fucking stand there.

Then they knock again, so you stumble. Get up from your chair and quickly hop into the jeans that were thrown off earlier, and you shove your pink toy into your drawer.

“What do you-?” You freeze. You don’t know exactly how to process the situation since it was the last thing you expected to be knocking on your door at 3 in the morning considering you live in the college dorms. They don’t even speak as they walk into your dorm, their gloved hand holding onto their shirt where they were bleeding out as they made their way into your bathroom. As if your day could get any worse. “Uh, excuse me, what the FUCK do you think you’re doing!” You shout at the man, he wore a mask, more of a muzzle as he made himself at home, going through your bathroom cabinets and taking out your first aid kit and your medical student kit, something you knew he was grateful you had as a med student. “Hey, jerk, I’m talking to-” You stop talking, he eyes looked up at you as if he was some sort of hungry beast and another word would’ve meant your end.

He grunted as if he couldn’t use words, probably from his stupid ass muzzle. Who did he think he was? Coming into YOUR dorm, uninvited you may add, then going into YOUR bathroom and going through YOUR stuff. He grunts again, but this time nodding his head towards the medical kit that was on your sink. He expected you to help him. Why the fuck should you help this asshole? “Fine. But then you leave, asshole.” You tell him, opening the kit. “How bad is it?” You ask him and he finally moves his hand. A stab wound? You have a fucking final to finish god damned it. “Take your shirt off.” You demand, not able to help with his clothes on.

You watch as he reaches behind and grabs the back collar of his shirt and some blood oozes out of his wound, then he pulls his shirt off his head, and grunts again. “Use your goddamn words.” You raise your voice at him then finally look down at his wound. Wounds more like it. “What the fuck did you do…?” You ask him, not exactly expecting an answer as you quickly get to work, first cleaning around every wound on his stomach and chest with a warm, damp rag, and gently drying it with another, eventually the bleeding slows down and you debate where to make him lie down. “Okay so…” You start, grabbing a clean and dry towel off the rack and leaving the bathroom to lie the towel down on your  bed so no blood seeps into your mattress. “Well come here, why are you just standing there?” He immediately starts moving and lies down on your bed. Everything about this was weird, but you didn’t care. You just wanted it to be over with. You were tired, exhausted, and are so close to being done with your final, then this shit happens? Not the wifi going out of the power going out, no, it had to be some random ass shit that would never happen to any other student but you.

“Stay still.” You tell him, beginning to delicately help with each of his wounds, starting with the biggest. Taking your needle and thread, you began to stitch it, and he didn't move an inch, high pain tolerance you assumed, considering he looked like he just ran away from war. “You smell like shit.” You tell him as you add another stitch. “You can shower here too if you like, I have some old hoodies that I stole from my dad and some sweatpants too. It’s late so I guess you can also stay the night.” He grunts again, but it’s in approval. “Are you not able to talk through that mask or something?” You ask him as you tie a stitch and snip it, beginning on the next as he nods. “So take it off.” You tell him, then watch as his left hand moves up to it and he tries to tug at it, but it doesn’t even shift, he was showing you it was stuck, then you noticed the key hole on the side. Who the fuck locked a muzzle on his face. “Oh I see.” You begin with a tight smile. “You’re into that kinky shit but it went a little too far huh?” You joke, nodding towards his stab wounds, but he shakes his head. “Do you want it off?” You ask him, and he answers with a nod. “Okay.” You finish his last stitch and sift through your drawer, his eyes never leaving you so you assume he has trust issues. Then you pull out a small kit, opening it to reveal a bunch of little tools for lock picking. “Another thing I stole from my dad.” You admit, groaning tiredly as you move to your knees beside him and begin to pick at the lock on his muzzle.

“What about your gloves? It’s like a thousand degrees outside dude.” You ask him, and the lock pops as it comes loose, you remove it from his face gently, being careful when taking the strap out of his long black hair since it was tangled. “Jesus dude, when was the last time you ate?” You ask, genuinely concerned. He just shrugs. “You still aren’t gonna talk to me?” You put your hand on your chest, trying to seem offended.

“M’not supposed to.” He finally says, and his voice was scruffy like he hasn’t drank anything in weeks.

“You sound thirsty too.” You tell him, reaching over and grabbing a water bottle from your bed side, which he gladly accepts, quickly drinking it down. “Look dude, I don’t know about you, but you need to find a new girlfriend.” You tell him.

“Not my girlfriend.” He says, his voice sounding more clear, but still deep.

“Yea. Sure.” You say, patting his shoulder. “I’ll get you some clothes and set up the couch for you to sleep, then I need to finish my essay.” You tell him, standing up from the bed and moving to your closet, taking out an old Hard Rock sweater and some grey jeans that were always too big on you. “Here.” You hold your hand out with the clothes. “I’ll get the shower started up for you.” You tell him, leaving him on the bed as you enter the bathroom and turn the water on, keeping your hand under the shower head until it is warm. “Okay, come shower.” You shout, walking out of the bathroom as he stands up and walks past you, closing the door behind him as he takes a shower.

When he’s finally out of your sight, that’s when you finally freak the fuck out. “What the fuck-” You mumble, quickly moving to your desk to grab your phone. Something you didn’t do before because that man could definitely rip your arm off with no effort. You scroll through your messages until you see your best friend's name and you tap it, typing rapidly to send them a text.

You: DUDE!

Peter: DUDE!

You: No seriously, DUDE WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING?

Peter: IDK UNLESS YOU TELL ME

You: Some dude with stab wounds covered in blood just popped up at my door.

Peter: You use the caps for ‘DUDE’ but not that? What happened? Are you okay?

You: Yea I’m okay, I stitched him up and he’s taking a shower, I told him he could stay the night. He seemed friendly, but boy if looks could kill.

Peter: Should I report it? Call the police?

You: No, but if I don’t show up to class in the morning you know why. Anyways, goodnight.

Peter: Okay yea, seems normal, at least for you. Goodnight. Don’t die.

You put your phone back on the desk and look at your almost finished essay, then lean over your desk and type in two lazy and sloppy sentences before turning it in. I’m not spending another minute on that damned thing. You tell yourself, then you hear the water in the bathroom stop. About two minutes later you’re sitting on your bed, some extra blankets and a pillow thrown on your couch for the man, and he walks out.

“You don’t smell like sweat and garbage anymore?”

“I smell like flowers…” He grumbles and you giggle a little.

“What’s your name?” You ask, he doesn’t answer. “Well mine is Y/N. A lot of my friends call me Bee, like the bug. Cause I’m a happy person and yellow usually indicates happiness.” He stops at the couch and gives you a look. “You can sleep there. It’s dark out.”

“Thank you…” He pauses.

“Bee.”

“Bee.” You smile a little as he sits on the couch, and uses one of the thinner blankets.

“Lights on or off?”

“On.” God damnit.

“Okay, goodnight grumpy.” You tease, and you feel him look at you after you get comfortable under your blankets, and finally get to fall asleep.

You awake to the feeling of your phone vibrating, about 5 minutes before your alarm was set to go off. Sitting up and stretching, in your vision you could see the stranger from last night. He was curled up in your pretty pink my little pony comforters, and the thinner blanket was halfway off the couch as he snored quietly. You were careful not to wake him, making sure your alarm wouldn’t go off by unplugging it before stepping out of bed and stretching, it felt like heaven as your back was stretched and you went right back into your daily routine.

First, you snatched a twinkie from its box and opened the wrapper, setting it on one of your paper plates. Feeling extra hungry from your long night, you decided to also grab a roll of cookie dough from your mini fridge which you popped into the microwave for a minute with some marshmallow set on top of each one. “Where are you?” You say to yourself, opening up a cabinet as you searched for the chocolate powder before pulling the milk out of the fridge, then you reached up, grabbed a mug and you began to mix some chocolate milk.

You hummed quietly to yourself, waiting for your coffee to finish brewing as you snacked on a cookie. Then you heard a shuffling behind you, turning around and you saw the stranger from last night. You still had yet to learn his name. “Well good morning.” You say softly. “Hope I didn’t wake you.” You apologise quietly, then take a bite from your twinkie.

“Smells good.” He says in his morning voice.

“Want one?” You ask, picking up a marshmallow cookie and handing it to him. He inspects it before taking it with his right hand, your eyes glancing at his left hand before the coffee brewer sings to you, letting you know it was done. 

“It’s good.” He says as you take the pot off the machine and pour some into your metal tumbler until it was half full, filling the rest with milk and vanilla syrup. “Smells good too.” He says, looking at the coffee pot. Without looking at him, you make him a mug as well.

“Here.” You hand it to him, then you leave to go to the bathroom to get ready.

“Okay, routine.” You remind yourself, starting with brushing your hair, and everything else before finally turning on the shower and stepping into the nice warm water.

You shower for about twenty minutes. Washing your hair, cleaning your body and just relaxing overall before your presentation. But soon, you had to get out. You figured you could stay longer and just cancel class, lose a few points for not presenting, then get it over with, but you couldn’t afford the water bill anyways.

“Shit.” You curse. Normally you’re alone in the morning so you can shower then leave the bathroom naked and get dressed by your closet, but today you’re not able to do that. “Hey.” You call for the man and he looks over at you, your head peeking through the door. “I hate to ask but can you grab me some clothes? There's an outfit on the top of my dress and my bra and panties are in the top left drawer.” You say, feeling your face heating up but you can’t let him know this is awkward for you. Once again, he just grunts in response before putting the coffee mug he was drinking from back down on the counter and going to your dresser, taking out a random pair of panties and a random bra as well. “Can you grab the black ones please? They match.” You ask, and he puts them back, shifting through your clothes awkwardly before his hand comes back out, the hip part of your black lace panties hanging from his index finger with the bra next to it hanging on his middle finger. “Those, yes. Thank you.” You blurt out as he takes all the clothes and walks to the bathroom door, you stick your hand out to take them.

As soon as you’re finished dressing and drying your hair, you decide not to style it today. You finish in the bathroom by spraying your perfume and then you get out and start to get your bag together. “How long are you staying? I’m about to leave for class.” You let him know, flipping some hair back that falls in front of your eyes before looking up at him. “I’m not actually even supposed to have you here, this building doesn’t exactly allow boys.” You tell him, then move to the counter and grab your twinkie, finishing it. “I mean you can stay, but you can’t leave once the halls are packed.” You say with a stuffed mouth. When he doesn’t answer you, you look up at him, expecting an answer. “You gonna answer me or are you gonna stare at me like you’re gonna rip my throat out?” You blurt out without thinking, then he approaches you and your posture straightens. “What?” You say quietly, then his right hand reaches up and touches the side of your lip, when he draws his hand back, you see some white on his thumb. Fucking twinkie. You curse to yourself on this inside, and you’ll admit that his gentleness did send butterflies through your stomach. “Well?”

“You smell good.” He says suddenly, interrupting you.

“Oh uh-” You shift on your feet a little. “Thanks I uh… Thanks.” You stutter, and he gently pushes a strand of your hair behind your ear as he looks into your eyes. Fuck no. You turn away, grabbing your bag and you throw it over your shoulders as you walk away from him. “I have to go. Remember, you can stay, just make sure that when you leave, the halls are empty.” You tell him, then you open your door, slamming it shut behind you after making sure your keys were still on your belt loop.

“So Peter told me what happened last night.” Was the first thing your friend said as she saw you. “Something about someone breaking into your room and-”

“What? He didn’t break in. I let him in cause he looked like he’d kill me if I didn’t.” You also fail to mention how he just kind of shoved passed you without asking.

“But it’s still weird. Like I would be freaking out if some bloody dude showed up at my door at 3 in the morning.”

“I don’t know, it bothered me at first but he’s cool. He’s really quiet.” You tell her, still walking to your class, wishing something would get in the way of your presentation.

“Only you wouldn’t be bothered or concerned about that.” She scoffs. “What if he’s part of some gang? They might find out you helped him then next thing you know your head is rolling off your neck. Haven’t you done the gauntlet challenge? Those gangs do that shit, Bee.” She tells you, then gets ahead of you, crossing her arms to stop you. “I know you think life is all sunshine and rainbows and shit, but it’s not. What if he had raped you?”

“Tiffany!” You raise your voice, calming yourself when some people's eyes land on you. “Come on, it’s not that serious. There’s no gangs here in Manhattan. Now please. Stop talking about it.” You tell her, passing her but she speeds up.

“You can’t tell me I’m wrong, you can’t let just anyone into your room. What if you were caught?”

“I’m sure the dean would understand once she saw his stab wounds?”

“Stab wounds? Are we talking about the possible gang member slash serial killer that you’re so casual about?” Peter suddenly joins the conversation, along with Ned and MJ.

“Oh my God, you’re all ridiculous.” You say back.

MJ: I mean, they aren’t wrong. Are you down to skip your first class?

Peter: She can’t skip, we have a presentation.

You: Gee Pete, thanks for answering for me. What were you thinking of doing?

“I was gonna go get some coffee then go to the arcade, wanna go with or is the presentation too risky to skip?” She asks, sarcasm laced in her words.

“Yea I’m down, it won’t hurt my grade. It gives me an excuse to skip, wanna walk or drive?” You reach towards your waist band, pulling off your keys.

“Lets walk, I don’t feel like driving and it isn’t far.” You answer with a simple okay before you both leave the group and leave campus for the coffee shop, which was about a 5 minute walk turned into a 20 minute walk with human traffic.

“Hi, yea, can I get just a vanilla frappe? Thanks.” MJ orders, then you step up and order your usual, you each pay half and half.

“So is this guy still in your room?” She wonders.

“I mean I haven’t gotten a notification that he’s left.”

“Yea but I didn’t even see him enter. I was at the front desk this morning for 7 hours and didn’t see him come in. The side exits are locked with a shit ton of boxes blocking them.”

“Well that’s weird.” You hum confusedly at first, but then hum in joy as your coffees are brought to your table.

“Maybe he’s some secret ninja?” She chuckles.

“Oh haha, what do you think he’s a gang member too?”

“I mean it’s possible. But I doubt it. Did he seem like one?”

“Nope. It was weird, he had this muzzle on and it was locked, so I picked it and he sucks at speaking, it’s like he doesn’t know how to properly form a sentence.”

“That’s weird. Sounds like some kinky ass shit though. A muzzle and stab wounds?” You both start laughing.

“That’s exactly what I thought! But believe me, he did NOT like it when I said that.” You laugh a little, and a car alarm goes off behind you, but you ignore it, it is New York after all.

“Oh yea? What'd he say?”

“He didn’t say anything, he just gave me this look…”

“Show me the look.” She demands in a playful way and you try to contort your face into his, making a total fool of yourself as you do.

“I don’t know how to make it, but I promise it was threatening.” You both break out in laughter, hers turned into a scream as you hear glass breaking behind you, making you snap your head around in time to see a man holding just about the biggest fucking gun you’ve ever seen hit the floor, followed by the man who was in your room last night jumping through the window. “What the fuck…” You whisper, quickly getting out of your chair and backing away with MJ, keeping your body in front of hers. “That’s the guy from last-” You’re cut off by him lifting his leg and then stomping hard on the other man's skull, hard enough to hear the cracking of his skull from the other side of the coffee shop, causing more screams to erupt. “Night…” You whisper, and everyone watches as he reaches down, picking up what you presume is an M4, something you’d know from the countless movies you’ve had to watch with your guy friends.

“Don’t move.” You tell MJ. Still keeping her behind you, but your voice catches his attention, his hand immediately reaching for his waist and pulling out a solid black desert eagle, which snaps in your direction, pointing straight at your head. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He looks at you, and you can see some sort of question in his eyes, it was the look you give people when you see them for the first time in years. He looked at you as if he was about to ask if he knew you. Then he lowered his gun, but kept his eye on you for a moment, watching as you took a deep breath.

“Well you helped him so he shouldn’t shoot us right?” MJ whispered, quiet enough for only you to hear, but you kept your eyes in the man's eyes, refusing to look away. Then he turned and walked away, putting his smaller gun back at his waist and raising his bigger one as he left the coffee shop.

“What the fuck. What the actual fuck?” You spit out as soon as he’s gone.

“So is it still wrong to think he’s a gang member?”

“MJ, shut up.”

“But didn’t you see that star on his left arm? Which may I add was made of fucking metal!” She screams as you both gather your belongings as a fight happens with bullets outside, causing you both to duck under the table.

“So what?”

“Its the fucking soviet symbol.”

“And…” You feel your heart skip.

“Do you even look at the fucking news? He's the winter soldier. Hydras fucking escaped project.”

Oh yea. You fucked up.

[mering]

letter: dear mer i watched all your lifesteal animatics/animations on youtube (2 of which id never seen before) during a watchparty with some friends a couple days ago. they were awesome and im still thinking about certain parts of them. particularly the movement of vitalasys hands in gash on the cheek after being stabbed, noticing your vitalasy design has a fox muzzle mask(!!!) in even the dogs, and. the entirety of luddites & lambs. the blocks. well i giggled but i quite enjoyed the zam & subz boat scene inclusion & the dramatic shot of block subz on block hors. your shot composition and camera movement is really inspiring and clean even in your unfinished works. ok aaaand signed xoxoxo🪲

THANK YOUUUU <3333333333 i'm glad the hand movement in gash on the cheek stuck with you ^w^ i really like animating pov shots of hands because it's crazy easy to reference. on account of you can just look down. which means i can get subtler movement that feels pretty natural...

my vitalasy went through a lot of iterations. mask makes sense because he's defined by trying to control how he's perceived, but i like the maskless face because it means you will always see his emotions. here's a sketch from around the same time i made even the dogs & a quick attempt at how it would look on my current vitalasy:

luddites & lambs was one of my very first ever attempts at lifesteal fanart (almost exactly a year ago to the day ? wow...) and i can't remember what exactly possessed me to do it blockstyle. i think in part it was because that meant i didn't have to worry about character/set design at all. and because i was so immediately taken with how lifesteal is unequivocally a story about minecraft and how the game functions that not literally representing that felt like it was losing something. plus it maintains the tone of the thing as funny and a little absurd.

which makes the contrast between luddites & lambs and gash on the cheek really funny because you can see how dramatically the way i thought about it all changed over time. when i did luddites & lambs i was still in the process of watching through season 4, which is why it's focused on castle arc/leviathan/early eclipse. but in late s4, while it's still about the game, there is suddenly so much more of a human element. like, straight up drawing the cubes invokes the idea that it's a game with people playing it but you don't see the people, and at a certain point it started feeling like you had to see the people in order to accurately represent the emotional stuff that happens, when gameplay itself becomes so secondary to any of the most important parts of the story. you can draw cubes fighting each other but you can't really draw cubes displaying subtle body language