#this is mostly aimed at my job who can Fuck Right Off and Stop Sending Me Emails)

[sinni-ok-sessi]

nobody @ me I'm chilling

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Everybody Talks Too Much (Cassandra Dimitrescu/Mute!Reader)

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T for language, brief violence Summary: Whenever Cassandra gets angry, no one wants to deal with her. Well, no one but you, that is. Thankfully, the middle child appreciates your company... not that she'd ever admit it. Notes: Another self-indulgent fic with a selectively mute reader. This one's a lil different. Sections in italic are mostly indications that the reader is miming actions in order to communicate, though there are a few internal thoughts that are marked as such. Unlike the past two I've done, this takes place pre-relationship, so there's some mutual pining of sorts. I think that's the word.

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Among the many servants of Castle Dimitrescu, there were a number of secret rules to be followed. Guidelines that were never written down, only spoken in hushed whispers, for specific (and dangerous) circumstances. Most could be divided into one of two categories: 1, how to reduce the chances of a Lady of the house killing someone. 2, how to make sure that if they kill someone, it will not be you. Of these rules, there was one that you knew best of all, despite never having been told it. Why? Because you have observed it time and time again. After all, the rule revolved around you. To put it plainly… If Cassandra Dimitrescu was in an awful mood, but had yet to draw blood, send in the mute.

Even now, as you rushed down a corridor, you did not know why this rule was in place. You simply knew that you had been summoned countless times by frantic maidens, to go serve their volatile mistress. Admittedly you did understand their eagerness to thrust the task upon someone else. Cassandra was often considered the deadliest of the Dimitrescu daughters, for she was the quickest to anger, the one with the deepest bloodlust, and took the longest to calm down. Personally, you disagreed, believing that it wasn’t terribly hard to know what she did and did not like. All it took was some observation. It was Daniela who scared you, seeing as she was unpredictable. She didn’t even need to be in a bad mood to want to kill you.

Of course, that didn’t necessarily mean that you saw no danger in working with Cassandra. In fact, you saw a fair bit, such as now: Right as you round the corner, a shiny object hurls past your head, embedding itself into the wall. Had you been walking ever so slightly faster… Well, you preferred not to dwell on such things, especially not when the one who threw the thing was still nearby. Based on the howling laughter and swarm of insects that moves around you, the intended target was Lady Daniela. Across the room is the markswoman herself; Cassandra stood tall, huffing in anger, staring at the spot her sister had just vacated from.

“Damn it!” She yelled, stomping her foot as if the resulting shockwave might do what her weapon had not. Oddly amused, you’re quick to remove the sickle from the wall, careful as to not damage it. It’s a tad dirty, but nothing you can’t fix with your handy pocket cloth. Cleaning as you walk, you slowly move towards your employer, not even bothering to spare her a glance. After all, you had your own rules for dealing with her.

(1: Avoid eye contact for at least one minute after an outburst.)

By the time you make it to Cassandra, the minute has come and gone, allowing you to ever-so politely look her in the eyes when you return her blade. She scoffs, then practically rips the sickle from your hands. This was your job, however, so you made no complaints. Not that you could, at least not verbally. Instead, you gave a short bow of acknowledgement. Afterwards you stood still, awaiting either instructions or a dismissal. Neither came.

“I can’t believe that little shit tried to take my favorite dagger and thought she could get away with it! Agh, the nerve of her! Can you believe this?” Cassandra snapped, turning to you as if you might agree with her. Nod, simple yet effective. “At least you know how to handle a blade. Damn Daniela is lucky she didn’t get any scratches on mine.” Then she pulls the knife in question from its place on her belt, letting it gleam in the light. A soft exhale, head tipping to the side, wow is it pretty. So is the one holding it. Your mind wanders but your gaze does not. Always polite, always ready to serve.

(2: Do not get distracted; she is no patient lover, rather a demanding boss.)

“Cassandra! What was all that noise a minute ago?” Someone called, interrupting your ‘conversation’. The speaker soon appears, being none other than Lady Bela, the most reasonable of the castle residents. Though that meant little, considering the nature of her family. As if to prove your point, Cassandra merely rolls her eyes in reply, refusing to divulge the truth. And so Bela turned her gaze to you, perking a brow. “Feeling up to talking today?” She asked, already knowing the answer. Of course, your hands are already moving, not even waiting for her to finish speaking. This is a game you know intimately.

A hand goes to your belt, moving to pull a nonexistent blade from its sheath. Raising it, moving it forward then back several times, launching it towards the wall- towards the hole left behind. Then shifting, waving your hand in front of your face while exhaling a sharp breath. Flinching. An exaggerated gulp, pretending to check if your nose is still attached, sighing in relief. Lastly, an inclination of your head towards the culprit. Cassandra.

“I was aiming for Daniela. Not that it matters, nobody got hurt,” she stated, confident. Both hands clasped together, then tapping the palms together, mimicking a heartbeat at a reasonable pace. Suddenly a stomp. The beating stops, and you hold your hands next to your ear, as if listening for signs of life. Pause. Three seconds. Worried expression, eyes wide. Finally, fast as a gunshot, the heart beats again, wildly. At this, Bela shoots her sister a look of doubt, as well as judgement. Hoping to change the subject, Cassandra looks to you. “What are you doing here anyway?”

Rubbing your chin, thinking. Squinting for effect. Ah, got it! Both hands go to your sides, lifting the imaginary hem of a dress you aren’t wearing. Waltzing forward, yet in place, with the poise expected of a professional maid. Then the focus shifts to your face. Fear. A silent scream, a hand at your forehead, feeling like you… might… faint. Falling backwards, making a step at the very last second to prevent a real collapse. End scene.

“Someone was scared?” Bela asked, sounding uncharacteristically unsure of herself. When you nod, she does as well, considering the implications. “Why would they send you?”

“I hardly care why, I just want to know who so I can kick their ass,” Cassandra interjects, taking a step closer to you. All you do in response is shrug. Unsurprisingly this is not enough to please her, and before you know it she’s wrapped a hand around your throat. “Give. Me. A. Name. Now.” A perked brow. Thoughts practically telegraphed. ��What do you expect?’ Opening your mouth, slightly, then wide, back to almost closed. No sound comes out. Obviously. It’s not like you wanted to break your own rule, but in this case you had no choice.

(3: Give her whatever she wants, consequences be damned.)

Luckily for you, Bela acts as a foil to Cassandra, there to smooth the seas. Moving behind you, she reaches into your back pocket and retrieves the notepad you keep there. Then she’s handing it to you while making eye contact with her sister. Cassandra promptly releases you, though she’s clearly not pleased, going so far as to push you away in one last act of anger. Internally you roll your eyes. On the outside, however, you quickly write down everything you know… which isn’t much.

“I don’t remember who it was. A lot of people have asked. This happens a lot.” Then you hand the paper to Bela, who soon looks back up at you in confusion. Too antsy to wait for her own turn, Cassandra yoinks the notepad from her sister’s hands, reading it over several times before reacting.

“What the fuck? Why would they send you to me because somebody pissed their pants in fear? I’m going to kill someone. Ugh, I don’t- this doesn’t make any goddamn sense,” Cassandra ranted, pacing back and forth, looking like she wanted to destroy something immediately. To your surprise, Bela doesn’t look the slightest bit concerned. If anything, she looks amused, and smiles when the two of you make eye contact. Something tells you that she knows something that you don’t. Before you can react, she quietly retrieves your notepad and returns it to you. Then she pauses, thinking, eying you with curiosity.

“Why don’t you go for now? See if anyone thanks you for stepping in, hmm?” She suggested, tone implying that this was absolutely about something else entirely. Still, you don’t care to disobey, and so you bid the two of them farewell with a deep bow. As you leave, you can almost make out part of what they say next. But you’re certain that you must have heard incorrectly. “Showing your favoritism a little too much, sister? If even the servants can see it-” the rest of the sentence is cut off by angry muttering from Cassandra. After that you’re too far away to hear anymore. What a strange day...

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“Hey, you know where Lady Cassandra’s room is, right?” Ygritte asked, casually, definitely not having just been told by someone else that you were the solution to her problem. Pretending that you were unaware of this, you give her a smile and a nod. Later, behind her back, you will mentally add her to your list of people to watch out for. Maybe even decide to refuse to share your biscuits with her. In the meantime, you pretend that you don’t mind whatever task she’s about to dump on you. “Can you bring these books to her? I really have to get back to the kitchen soon, and that’s in the opposite direction…”

Technically true. Something told you that the real problem was that Cassandra had been extra loud the past few days. Regardless, you accept the books from her, leaving before she even finishes thanking you. Why do people do this? I don’t get it, you think. It’s like they think I’m immune to her rage. If that were true, I’d gladly throw myself between her and others. But no, that’s not the case. Hmmph, if only they saw my scars. Shaking your head to clear your thoughts, you keep walking, subconsciously rubbing the spot on your arm where Cassandra had cut you. Well, the worst spot. Being pain tolerant had made her take interest in you, during your first few weeks, but it’s what allowed you to learn her rules. Your rules, really.

Knock. Knock. A pause… three more, much softer. The door swings open, revealing your Lady, whose eyes widen at the sight of you. Tipping your hat (which you are not wearing), you greet her, forcing another smile. Then you present the books, free hand gesturing with a spiral motion towards them. She doesn’t respond. No, wait, she glances at the door hinges, considering closing the door in your face. Now both of you are staring at each other, daring the other to move.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” she finally said. There’s a gruffness to her voice that you hadn’t expected. It’s unlike her usual tone, less angry, more tired. Were those bags under her eyes?... No, just smudged makeup. “Don’t just stand there- tell me why you’re here.” Again, you gesture to the books, extending your hands further towards her. This time she takes a half-step backwards to avoid you. Peculiar. “Someone else was supposed to bring them, dipshit. Fucking hell, why can’t anyone around here do their damn jobs?” At last, she takes the books from you, carrying them deeper into your room. Though she does not close the door, you assume that your job is done. Or maybe you simply do not wish to deal with a Cassandra who’s frustrated by your specific presence. Either way, it breaks one of your rules, though you do not remember until it is too late.

(4: Do not leave until dismissed by a member of the family.)

“Where the hell are you going?” The sound of buzzing flies, a blur of motion around you, then the form of Cassandra solidifying in front of you. One of her hands is raised, pressing against the center of your chest. She pushes you, hard, making you stumble backwards into her room. Next thing you know you’ve crashed onto her floor. A tad stunned, you bring a hand up to hold your head, blinking rapidly for a few seconds. There’s the sound of a door closing, and then someone’s trying to help you stand. “I didn’t say you could leave yet. Now c’mon, I’ve got stuff for you to do.” Then she’s guiding you to her bed, making you sit down on the end. Panicked thoughts race through your mind one after another. What exactly was she intending? Thankfully you don’t have to wait long to find out. “Read through these, and-” a pause, like she hadn’t known what she was going to say until she was already speaking- “take notes. Make a summary of the bookmarked sections, or whatever.” Handing you a couple books (neither of which being ones you had just brought to her), she sits on the other side of the bed, refusing to look at you. She does, however, say one last thing, voice barely above a whisper. “Just stay for a while, okay?”

Inside your head, you make a mental note to amend your list of rules.

(4.b: Do not leave until dismissed by a member of the family. If Cassandra asks you to stay, you stay, no matter what. It’s worth it.)

[cblgblog]

Sorry I’m advance but one of my other favorite accounts just reblogged a Tony scene and people are talking about Civil War and how it made them Stan Tony, and how when they watch that movie they hate team cap👀 Then someone was all about how he was sleep deprived and how much pressure he was under and couldn’t understand how people didn’t like Tony because. Someone literally said that when someone says they don’t like Tony in Civil War they say “did you watch the same movie as me.” I’m baffled. Oddly enough someone else said, “he just wants to help everyone.” Sorry for the rant but I think people forget about what the accords are and what it would mean for people. Side note, I hope you’re having a great day/night 😀

No sorry needed!

I feel you man, I do. Honestly, I’ve unfollowed people based on similar posts when I was in especially Done moods, so.

Look on the one hand, the movie would’ve been a narrative failure if everyone was in favor of one side or the other, right? The whole point of the damn thing—besides giving the Mouse overlords more money—was to spark discussion, debate. Which, yeah, we’ll call that the tame description for what actually happened. But just, the thing was meant to split the fanbase so in that regard…winning? Thanks, I guess?

Film is also very obviously subjective, different strokes for different folks, so yeah, ten people can watch a movie and none of them are gonna see the exact same film. Let’s try to remember that this is, in theory anyway, a good thing. I just read a professional film review yesterday where I had the same reaction. What film were you watching, dude? Incidentally his reviewing partner said the same thing.

So honestly, no, they weren’t watching the same film as you or I or anyone else, because everyone brings their own biases and experiences and knowledge and interests into a thing, and that’s always going to flavor how it’s viewed. Again, let’s try to remember that this is good. In theory. Heavy on the theory.

That out of the way? Let’s get into Tony specifically so his uber stans can find this and scream at me on anon as though I just shot RDJ with a nuke.

Oh yeah, he was stressed. Oh, he was sleep deprived. Yeah, I’ve heard that. And that it’s Pepper’s fault, if she hadn’t left the poor baby, if she was there to rein him in, he’d be fine dammit, leave the baby alone!

Here’s the thing. You know who gets a pass on their shit behavior when they’re upset or tired? Actual babies. Actual babies and toddlers, and children, up to a point. Because they actually cannot always help themselves. Their bodies and brains are different, they have not learned better.

When you’re a 50-year-old man who’s supposedly the world’s bestest superhero, who wants, wants to be in charge of protecting the whole world? You need a little more self-control than that. The sleep deprived excuse works if you snap at someone before you’ve had your coffee, not for this. Roseanne Barr didn’t get to blame Ambien for her racism, Tony doesn’t get to handwave CW away because oops, I was tired.

Really? You’re a superhero, dude. Most of your teammates are tired too, that’s part of the gig. If you crash and burn this badly without your afternoon nap, fucking hang up the armor and go back to your billionaire playboy lifestyle.

Speaking of that, sure, right. It’s Pepper’s fault because she left him. Put aside the argument on whether that was justified or not (cough, it was and she should’ve stayed away even though they are adorable together). It’s not Pepper’s job to keep Tony sane. It’s not any partner’s job to do that for anyone. If she wants out, she has a right to that, without Tony going off the rails and blaming it on her. Seriously, he says part of the reason he backed the Accords was to “split the difference” with Pepper.

Dude. You were an asshole and you lost your girl. You destroyed all your suits, turned an emotional and mental corner in IM 3…and then relapsed 4 minutes later I guess because Whedon. Either way, Tony admits himself that he does not want to stop. So instead of doing that, or finding another partner who can accept that, you back an unjust international law that pits you against your team, your supposed friends? Go to therapy, have a pint of ice cream, cry into your pillow, send her more of those strawberries you sent her in IM 2 that she’s allergic to. You don’t go trying to change international law in ways that could ultimately affect millions of people because your girl left you.

Honestly—and thank God they didn’t do this but—the only way the Pepper excuse works in excusing his behavior in any way is if she’d died. Or been severely injured like Happy in IM 3. Still wouldn’t be okay, but, like Quill messing up their chance to stop Thanos because Gamora died, it would’ve been more understandable. Understandable, not excusable, and the way the MCU treats their women as manpain fodder, we’re probably legit lucky we didn’t get this.

As for him wanting to help everyone. He does in fact want that, I think. The problem is that his need to feel like he’s doing that is stronger than his rational mind, or his want to actually help in a constructive way.

Tony is too smart. He’s dumb as hell in many instances, mostly involving people and relationships, but he’s also too smart, and he’s been told for too long that he’s smart, and he’s bought into it. Ultron. Suit of armor around the world, protects the world, no more alien threats. It’s a simple concept on paper that fails in execution. So there are people with dangerous powers. Okay, we’ll make a set of laws to keep them from being dangerous, problem solved. But again, it isn’t.

Tony is not used to problems he cannot solve. He’s a genius, right? He can fix anything. He should be able to fix anything. That’s how he feels. But not everything is zeros and ones and circuits, things that can be fixed mechanically like his armors can. The people he wants to protect are not built that way. But he needs to feel like he’s doing something, because he’s terrified of what happens to the world if he doesn’t. So he creates these simple solutions to complex problems. The suit of armor, the Accords. They sound good in theory, but the problems they’re trying to solve are bigger than they are. And Tony, way back in IM 1, he sat back for years, clueless that his weapons were being used for bad things. He says it to Cap in CW. When he found out what his weapons were being used for, he went in and stopped it. Whether or not he should’ve known that already is a separate issue here. The point here is that when he found out, too late or not, he went in and did something about it.

Tony needs to do something about it. Again, go back to Cap in AoU, Tony’s nightmare sequence. Steve asks Tony why he didn’t save them. Tony’s ultimate nightmare is that he sits back and does nothing, and his inaction causes everyone to die. Which is where you get Ultron. Something he came up with because of what he saw in space in Avengers 1, then doubled down on in AoU. It’s where you get the Accords. Oops, he caused someone to die, he killed Charles Spencer. Must do something about that right now so it doesn’t happen again, and he won’t have to feel this guilt. He should be collaborating with others to come up with solutions (no Bruce in AoU doesn’t count because Bruce was dumb there), or at the very least, taking more time to think through the repercussions of the things he puts out there. But he doesn’t, because he’s got his savior complex that tells him that he alone can and must fix this, and because he’s too dumb to realize how not-smart he is in certain areas.

“We need to be put in check. Whatever form that takes, I’m game.”

Isn’t that what he says in CW, or something very close to it? Whatever form that takes. That’s the issue, right there, whatever form that takes. Realistically, yes, there should be laws regarding people with powers, the same way there are special laws pertaining to people who carry guns, or people who are licensed to fly planes. You have a thing/can do a thing that not everyone else does, so there are regulations pertaining to that thing. Laws change with the times, they always have. Some new technology comes up, eventually there will be laws that regulate it. As there should be, honestly. The issue with the Accords, Steve’s issue with the Accords, was not the basic idea. He says as much. He says that it could work, but there would have to be safeguards. Safeguards that are not in the Accords that Tony wants him to sign.

It's not a matter of oh, fuck the law, there should be no law governing these people, they’re above it. The problem is that the law as it’s presented here is unjust. There’s what, a month between Lagos and Ross coming by to tell them about the Accords? A month is not enough time to properly analyze such a big issue, Especially when you’re reacting out of fear, which is what happened with Lagos. People died because of an Enhanced person, an Avenger, in this case. Lawmakers don’t want that to happen again, they especially don’t want the political shit storm that comes with it. Damn, we look like we were asleep at the switch here, not having anything to throw at this problem earlier. Quick, let’s throw together this thing so no one can say we’re not addressing the problem.

Patriot Act of 2001, anyone? 9/11 happened, the public were rightfully terrified, the US said oh man, these are unprecedented circumstances, we’ve never had this before. Don’t worry though, we’re on this, we’re protecting you. The reality being that that bill simply gave the government too much power, most of it being used against people who were not actually threats, and it’s debatable, to say the very least, whether or not that law helped more than it hurt.

No law is perfect. No law ever will be. It’s not possible. We still have to strive for perfection though, have to aim there so that the laws we get are as close to fair as possible. Tony’s a big deal. If not for his “whatever form that takes” attitude, he might’ve been able to use his influence to pressure lawmakers into coming up with a fairer bill. Hey, I’m me, the public loves me, I will endorse this bill publicly and work on getting the rest of the team to sign, but you need to change this and this and this first, or no deal. Instead, he took the easy way out, the quickest, easiest way for him to feel like he’s atoned for his sins without actually doing anything. Whatever form that takes.

Tony’s not wrong because he backs the creation of a law that addresses these things. He’s wrong because he says himself that he does not care what that law does, specifically, so long as it exists. He’s wrong because he violates said law upteen times during the movie, while preaching to team Cap about what assholes they are for not backing it. He’s wrong because he cares more about feeling as though he’s tackled a problem than he does about taking the time to make sure that the thing he’s proposing is actually a good idea. He’s wrong because of what he does with Bucky, though that’s honestly a separate issue, for the purposes of this discussion.

Anyway, that was longer than I ever wanted it to be. Damn. Next time you see a comment about CW being the reason people stan Tony, just remember there are other people out there who stopped stanning Tony because of that movie. Everyone’s entitled to see a piece of media however they see it, and although the Tony stans are often the loudest, there are plenty of like-minded people out there who share your take on events. Block who you need to, unfollow who you need to, blacklist what you need to, and don’t let them get you down.

Hang in there, and have an awesome day :)

[h2bakugou]

May I have headcanons for Bakugo, Todoroki and Hawks with an S/O who is or wants to become an heroine yet she faces a lot of backlash because she is the daughter of a -now imprisoned- villain?

a/n: of course! i love this headcanon, thank you for the request love!!

headcanon: them with an s/o who wants to be a hero but faces backlash because of her family.

key: (y/n) - your name / (f/n) - first name / (l/n) - last name / (e/c) - eye color / (h/c) - hair color / (y/q) - your quirk

warnings: fluff, swearing, a bit of angst, mentions of murder/death and violence!

»»————-���★　————-««

katsuki bakugou

»»————-　★　————-««

Before you even start dating, Bakugou is probably really curious about you. It was all over the news, that you’d gotten into U.A.

And despite the school’s claims to keep every student safe, you still felt like an outcast. Turning down a hall caused heads to turn, kids ducked into classrooms.

You wished people could understand that you weren’t your parents. 

Two years ago your parents had been imprisoned for good, in Tartarus. Watching from a cafe tv, you learned that day that your parents were infamous villains that had killed close to hundreds, and injured more. All under your nose.

You were questioned for a while, in fact, the following six months after they got locked up you spent under a police watch. They found it hard to believe that you had absolutely nothing to do with what your parents did. And after several tests, they decided you were innocent.

News broke that you’d gotten into U.A., so much so that your parents even found out, not that you really cared what they thought, they’d lost all your trust.

Bakugou was able to see your determination though. No matter how many times you were called a villain, or some stupid name that the other kids came up with to try and make you leave, you pushed through.

What Bakugou loved the most is how calm you always looked. He knew you were hotheaded underneath it all. But you couldn’t snap at these kids, that would just prove their point.

But he saw you train and work first hand, unlike these kids. Your quirk was strong, it was no surprise you’d gotten into U.A. You were going to be a powerful hero.

When you started dating, a few things changed. Kids still made fun of you and mocked you, but not as much. Bakugou also got to see that what they said really did affect you.

You’d broke down once in front of him.

Bakugou sat on his bed, waiting for you to come join him so you could do homework. You were shuffling through your bag to find your work when you pulled out a note that had some rather nasty words written on it.

You didn’t want to cry in front of Bakugou but it just happened. Tears flooded down your cheeks as you started sobbing. Bakugou heard your cries and jumped up to comfort you.

“Hey, what the fuck is wrong?” Bakugo asked, his harsh sounding tone was more worried than anything.

“Do you think I’m going to be a villain?” You asked, your eyes red and puffy as tears streamed down your cheeks and soaked the neck of your sweater.

“What-no! What makes you think I’d think that about you?” Bakugou’s upset now too, but his eyes find the note that had been in your bag.

“Who wrote that.” Bakugou’s voice was stern, and it didn’t even sound like a question he was asking.

“I don’t know.” You sniffled.

“I’ll find out.”

“They’ll just do it again. I just wish people could understand I’m not like my parents. I want to help people.” You clung to Bakugou as you cried, his arms holding you close to him.

“They’ll see one day. I’ll make them see.” Bakugou kissed the top of your head and let you calm down in his arms.

»»————-　★　————-««

shoto todoroki

»»————-　★　————-««

Before the relationship, Todoroki knows who you are. You were all over tv when your parents were arrested for countless murders.

It was ironic. He was the son of a pro hero, and you were the daughter of two villains. Falling in love with you felt like some sort of twisted comedy.

When you got into U.A., Todoroki was unsure of your motives. You’d been labeled a villain kid, and only destined to follow in your parent’s footsteps.

But you were entirely innocent. You had no hand in what your parents had done, and you vowed to never even speak to them again.

Todoroki got close to you, at first to see if what you were saying was true. He was curious. And wanting to be a hero, he was going to stop any chance of a traitor among his classmates.

But then he got to know you. He found out you were kind, and how much you loved to help people.

You were nothing like your parents

When you started dating, he tried his best to understand what it was like to be you. He’d see kids make fun of you, and even adults when you went ou tin public.

He defended you, and people shut up real quick.

You met his dad once, and though Todoroki said it was probably going to end terribly, you insisted on meeting him.

Endeavor was a bit surprised to see you dating his son. Some of his questions for you made you a bit uncomfortable.

“Your parents are still in jail, correct?” It as so blunt, you felt like crawling under a rock.

“Father-”

“Sho, it’s fine. Uh yes, they’re still in Tartarus.” You answered his question. Endeavor could see the uneasiness on your face and decided the questionnaire could be answered later.

“You really want to be a hero-”

“Yes. I’ve always wanted to help people, helping people makes me happy.” You didn’t even let Endeavor finish his statement. Endeavor nodded and left you two alone.

Word got out that you were dating a pro heroes’ son, and well it sparked a lot of rumors. 

For once, Endeavor backed you up. He’d been a bit worried about you, but his words seemed to ease some of the pressure you’d been feeling.

“If she wishes to be a hero, then that’s what she’s going to do. Suspicion is not a means to invalidate her goals and future plans.”

Todoroki has seen you break down a few times, mostly after school when kids would call you a ‘no good villain’ or some other name.

Todoroki comforts you as best as he can, either holding you close to him, or reassuring you that what they say or think isn’t the truth. Or he’ll do both.

Todoroki hates seeing you upset. He knows how bad reputations can ruin someone, and he knows the influence your parents have on you. He’s usually only recognized as Endeavor’s son, so he knows firsthand what being related to a hero or a villain can do.

He’s going to love you no matter what, and he’s helping right alongside you to make sure people understand that you are not your parents.

»»————-　★　————-««

hawks/keigo takami

»»————-　★　————-««

He’s already a pro, and his interest in you peaks when the news of your parents getting caught spreads.

You’re a newer hero, but the backlash of your parents getting caught drags you down. You feel like you’re drowning.

But in this vision where you’re drowning, a vermillion-winged man pulls you out of the water and smiles at you.

Hawks aims to be your friend at first, he can’t lie, you’re very beautiful, but he wants to get to know you. He’s a bit sketchy himself, so if you are some sort of villain he wants to know.

He doesn’t think his comments affect you. He’s a bit oblivious, he’s not intentionally trying to hurt your feelings, but when he does, he sure as hell regrets it.

“So what’s the masterplan, Miss Devious?” The name he used was what everyone called your mother.

“What the fuck did you just call me?” You turn and look at him, your eyes full of both hurt and anger.

“How are we going to catch the bad guys, or maybe, the good guys?” He wiggles his eyebrows.

“Why would you say that to me? What the fuck is wrong with you?” You shove him away as you storm out of the room.

Hawks cocky grin is replaced by an ‘oh shit’ face. He’s really done it in now, and he’s thinking in his head that you’ll never forgive him for this one. All his other jokes seemed to fly, so why was this one so bad?

“Hey, wait up!” Hawks calls to you. He sends a few of his feathers to pin you against a wall so he can talk to you.

“Why are you so mad?” He asks, trying to examine your expression.

“Why am I mad? You just called me my fucking mom’s name. You’re making it really hard to like you. What part of ‘I don’t associate with my parents’ don’t you fucking understand?” You shout at him. Hawks’ lips form a thin line as he thinks about what he’s said.

“I’m sorry.” Hawks apologizes, figuring it’s best to at least make up for what he’s said until he can figure you out.

“Are you? Or are you just saying that so I don’t lash out?” You glare at him. Hawks looks away and sighs.

“I didn’t realize that-”

“That what? After the countless times I’ve been called a villain, that I wasn’t affected by it? Or that maybe the backlash from dozens of media sources and civilians wasn’t enough and that you feel the need to remind me that I’m the daughter of two awful villains?” You snap, tears pouring from your eyes.

“Hey, that’s not what I meant.” Hawks defended himself, his heart aching as you cried.

“I try so fucking hard. I work my ass off to prove that I’m just as good of a hero as anyone else. I fucking love helping people, it’s my job to save and help whenever I can, but it’s never enough.” You sob. Hawks’ feathers return to his wings as he lets you go.

Hawks hugs you and doesn’t let you go.

“I’ve been an asshole, and sorry won’t cut it for how I’ve acted but I want to make it up to you.” Hawks understood a bit better now. You were trying to fight the corruptness of the media. You were labeled awful things while you were just doing your job.

You’d never done an evil thing in your life, and you couldn’t hurt a fly if you tried.

“Why are you saying this now?” You ask, pushing him away.

“Because I fucking love you.” Hawks blurts out. He quickly covers his mouth, his ears turning bright red.

“Wha-”

In the spur of the moment to keep you from saying anything else, Hawks presses his lips to yours, ceasing the awkward question you were about to ask.

After this, it takes a bit of time for you to fully forgive Hawks, but you fall in love with him. He helps you prove yourself, and the two of you become practically inseparable.

Nothing can erase what your parents have done, but every day, Hawks reminds you that you aren’t your parents, and he’ll do whatever he can to make the public understand that too.

»»—��——-　★　————-««

masterlist

[candycityy]

Rivetra and 94, please! ✨

Note: I decided to do a Rivetra Hogwarts!AU for this prompt, because the idea has been killing me for a while. I hope that's OK!

Also this ended up wayyy longer than I'd planned oops—

There aren't many things in the world that scare Levi Ackerman.

Even at the age of fifteen, he knows knives and violence like most teenagers his age know about grammar and photosynthesis. Perhaps he'd once had fears, as a child, but those have long since been wrung out of him by his delightful gunslinger of an uncle.

Besides, he's not a Gryffindor for nothing, even if he is small and a bit scrawny for his age.

No, he's not easily scared. Not even upon discovering the magical world and entering Hogwarts—sure, the limits for violence are higher here, but he doesn't think the people are all that different, really. The bullies that call him Mudblood and attempt to hex him are no different from the ones who aimed punches at him in the dark of the orphanage.

His feet pound against the cold, damp stone of the castle floor. Not for the first time, he curses the labyrinthine way the stairs curve and twist into a myriad directions, without rhyme or reason. Fucking magic.

It's fifteen minutes (although it feels like an eternity) before he finally bursts through the doors of the Hospital Wing, breathless and sweaty, where Healer Lovegood looks at him with her pale, dreamy eyes, not seeming in the slightest bit surprised to see him. "Ms. Ral's over there," she says, pointing with a pale hand.

Levi gives her a quick, sharp nod, before sprinting over to the bed. His chest wrenches as he sees Petra lying in bed, looking pale and weak but—thank Merlin—without any permanent damage. Her eyes are still closed, but her breaths are deep and even.

The school healer conjures up a small wooden stool with a wordless flick of her wand, smiling quite as absentmindedly as though she'd done it by accident, and Levi mutters his thanks. He stares at her, a hint of dread still clinging to his scrambled thoughts.

Looking at her, so small and quiet...it's so unlike her. Even despite her short stature, Petra has always been larger than life, with her quick temper and sharp wit and bright eyes that always seem to smoulder, as though lit with a fire from within.

"She's going to be quite all right," Healer Lovegood says. Her voice is, as always, soft and reassuringly serene. "She got hit by a jinx or two, but the boys didn't have much spell-power, they wouldn't have properly hurt her even if she didn't cast that Shield Charm."

He snorts. "Like it did any good, anyway. We don't learn Shield Charms till sixth year." Petra sighs in her sleep, shifting slightly, and his breath catches. But she doesn't wake.

"I think she did a pretty good job, don't you think?" Healer Lovegood's eyes gleam. "Although, you're probably right...fifth-years shouldn't have this much experience with jinxes and hexes and defensive magic, either."

Levi squirms guiltily. Sure, it'd been her idea—between the two of them, the runaway Mudblood and the Ravenclaw defector, she'd said, it was only sensible to learn to defend themselves. But it'd been mostly for him, he knows.

After all, he's never been able to back down from a fight. You're more like Kenny than you thought, then, he thinks to himself bitterly.

And now—his throat closes up. He stares at her helplessly, still and silent on the hospital bed. It's all his fault, really; with his temper and pride, he's landed himself in the Hospital Wing more times than he can count. But he'd never anticipated this.

"Cowardly behaviour," the healer says, softly, from behind him, as though having read his thoughts, "attacking her behind her back. Although I hope you understand better now, Mr. Ackerman."

"Understand what?" He doesn't take his eyes off Petra.

"That your decisions don't only affect you." Her tone is light, but it cuts deep, sinking deep into his chest like a knife, or a curse.

Before he can say anything in response, however—a retort, an excuse, he doesn't know—Petra's eyelids flutter, and she moans quietly. "Levi?" she goes, her voice thick with sleep, and the single word sends a wave of relief so strong through him he can't decide if he wants to hug her or shake her. "What's going on?"

"You're in the Hospital Wing, Ms. Ral." Healer Lovegood's tone is suddenly brisk and alert, and her blue eyes look decidedly less dreamy as she points her wand at a small brown bottle, sending it careening neatly into her grasp. "Take your medicine. I'm going to check on my other patients...Mr. Ackerman, if you'd help her, if you please..." She sends him an inconspicuous wink, which he pretends not to notice.

Petra rubs her eyes blearily, still out of it. "Did they hurt you?" The words burst from him before he can stop himself, and she blinks; the small gesture is like the breaking of a dam. "You're so stupid! What made you think you could defend yourself, you should've just run for help, you could've gotten seriously hurt!"

"Don't be ridiculous." She waves an airy hand. "Their stupid jinxes were so feeble, I could barely feel them. That one kid though, MacNair, he hit me with a pretty good Body-Bind curse, that's why I got knocked out—"

"Petra..." He swallows. "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault, Levi," she tells him, softly. She reaches over to squeeze his hand tight, offering him comfort, as if he deserves it at all. "You weren't the one who jinxed me."

"I might as well have!" he cries. "I'm the target, not you—they attacked you to hurt me—"

Your decisions don't only affect you.

"Sorry," he says again. Her eyes are so kind, there isn't a hint of blame in her expression, and he can feel a hot, humiliating sting at the back of his eyelids.

Roughly, not looking at her, he shoves the bottle of medicine at her. "Here, drink this, Healer Lovegood'll kill me otherwise." She blinks at him bemusedly, but drinks, wrinkling her nose all the while.

"Ugh." She mock-gags. "Disgusting. Anyway, thanks for coming by, Levi, but shouldn't you be in class? Oh," her eyes widen in distress, "you're missing Potions, it's your favourite!"

He almost snorts. Almost.

"Don't worry about it." His voice is low, and gentler than he's ever heard it. "Get some rest. I'll go off in a bit."

She rolls her eyes at him, but already the medicine is starting to kick in and her lashes are beginning to flutter drowsily. As he looks at her, an alien emotion swells in his chest, hot and fierce—something that he thinks feels like protectiveness...or, maybe, more.

He won't put a name to it. Not for now, at least. Instead, he makes a decision.

"I won't let you get hurt," he says quietly, under his breath, when she's fallen back asleep. Her chest rises and falls evenly, a trace of her sweet smile still lingering on her lips.

"I'll protect you, Petra," he says. "I promise."

Drabble challenge!

[honey-dewey]

Pepper Spray

Pairing: Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels/Reader

Word Count: 2,181

Warnings: None

The Statesman parking lot was the only thing you hated about your job. Mostly because it was dark as the night and terrifying even when you were clutching a weapon. Of course, when the time comes to use said weapon, you may or may not have accidentally used it on the wrong person. Oops.

 You loved your job. A well paying and not too hard job at the Statesman distillery and apparently, secrecy agent service. You mostly worked with the papers, filing and sorting and re-reading. It was hell on the feet and worse on the eyes, but you knew every inch of that building and all it’s goings on. It was truly an ideal job. 

However, the one and only thing you hated about your job was the parking lot. 

It was far away from the building, shrouded in darkness that the lights never touched. You’d put pepper spray on your keychain after a month of working at Statesman, and had hesitantly asked Ginger to make you a discreet weapon after you’d used your pepper spray once on a creep at a bar. She’d given you brass knuckles that you’d thankfully never had to use, but just knowing you could protect yourself was comfort enough. Even if you weren’t on Statesman property, the feeling of being protected was one you loved. 

Fridays were, of course, always hectic. Weekly mission reports were due on Friday, and between the fact checking and the grammar checks and the sorting away, you’d spent an hour extra at work. It wasn’t a bad thing though, as you got paid overtime and the bulk of the work was sorting away the new reports. However, your late night work antics meant that by the time you left the office, the parking lot was dead dark, and you clutched your pepper spray as you made your way to your car. 

Humming to yourself, just some annoying song one of your coworkers had been playing all day, you walked past the security booth leading into the parking lot. 

A noise behind you made you spin around, heart beating overly fast. The noise sounded distinctly like the security booth door opening. Your finger itched on the pepper spray trigger, getting ready. 

You continued towards your car, now on high alert. With the security Statesman had, you were fairly certain whoever was around wasn’t a huge threat to your safety, but you had to be certain. More than likely, it was just Tom, the security guard who usually sat in the booth. He left sometimes, to grab food or take a bathroom break. You took a breath, trying desperately to convince yourself it was just Tom. 

When you finally had your car in sight, you heard footsteps behind you, falling in line with yours. They were heavy, heavier than Tom’s, and they were regular, masked slightly by the sound of your own. Whoever was behind you was trying to hide their steps. Squaring your shoulders, heart beating loudly in your ears, you whirled around and immediately sprayed your pepper spray. There was no time to assess the threat, you just prayed your aim was true. 

It, thankfully, was. Your target, however, was not who you expected. 

“Whiskey?�� 

Agent Whiskey, or Jack as he preferred around the office, was standing in front of you, his face and shirt bright orange as he attempted to process the fact that you’d just pepper sprayed him. 

“Oh my god!” You said, panicking as you realized what you’d just done. “I am so sorry!” 

Jack made a pained noise as the spray took its effect, and you immediately jumped into action. “C’mon,” you said, putting an arm around him. “I am so sorry,” you added again.

He didn’t respond. You sighed, slightly worried that this could be the end of your career. After all, you’d just pepper sprayed one of Statesman’s best agents. A mistake like that was pretty damn big. 

By the time you had him back in the building, Jack’s eyes were swollen shut and his face was soaking wet from the tears he was involuntarily crying. He couldn’t talk, so you simply busied yourself with setting him in a medical exam room and searching for what you needed. 

You’d gone through the paperwork on these rooms and their set up so many times that you knew every square inch of the space. And all the receipts for medical purchases went through you as well, meaning you also knew exactly what was stocked. 

Thankfully, Statesman had what you needed within reach, and it took you almost no time at all to find the nondescript bottle of saline solution and put it on the countertop. Along with that, you put on gloves, just to protect your hands. 

You carefully, while describing your actions so as not to send Jack into a panic, took his hat and jacket off and led him to the tiled corner of the room with the eye wash station. 

“I’m going to spray your face with this saline solution,” you said, uncapping the bottle. “It’s cold, but not super cold. It should help for when we flush the spray off your face with water.” As you explained, Jack shuffled on his feet, clearly eager to make the pain subside. 

“Three,” you said warningly, rolling the bottle back and forth in your hands, hoping you could warm the liquid a bit. 

“Two.” Jack tensed, although whether it was out of pain or anticipation, you had no idea. You could only hope it was anticipation. 

“One.” You sprayed the liquid all across Jack’s face, although it was more like splashing him with water from a cup. The saline solution dripped down his face and onto his shirt, mixing with the tears he’d shed. You put the bottle down, expertly guiding Jack over the eye wash station and turning it on. 

“Fifteen minutes,” you said, taking your gloves off and dumping them into the trash. “At least. After that, we’ll wait for your eyes to open and give you a rest period to let the burn subside, which could take a while, but should resolve itself in an hour or so.” 

Jack ended up needing a break around the eight minute mark, leaning back and taking multiple deep breaths, his eyes still shut and his throat still pretty much unusable. He rasped out a few words about his stained shirt, and you took the break in eye rinsing to help him take his shirt off and have him wash his hands. Once that was done, he went right back to the eye wash station to complete his time. 

Once Jack’s fifteen minutes were up, you helped him sit down and dry off, his eyes still swollen shut. Thankfully, his throat was starting to clear, and he was able to talk to you. 

“How in the hell?” He rasped. “I didn’t know you worked here in medical.” 

“I don’t.” You put the mostly empty saline bottle away, making a note on the whiteboard near the door that the room needed more. “I do the paperwork. I just happened to have to pull papers on an accident involving pepper spray today, and had to Google how to relieve the burn to fact check the papers. This room is familiar because I keep track of all the supplies and blueprints. Really, I just know a lot about everything that goes on in this building.” 

Jack took a breath. “Fuck.” 

You laughed. “Sure. Fuck.” 

Grabbing a few tissues, you carefully wiped away the residual tears and water off Jack’s face. His eyes blinked open, still red and swollen, but not too bad anymore. 

“Hey,” you said happily, glad to see his eyes open. “How’re you feeling?” 

“Like shit,” Jack muttered, raising a hand to rub his face, but you caught his wrist before he could. 

“Don’t rub,” you warned. “That’ll make it worse.” 

Jack nodded. “How long before the burn stops?” 

You shrugged, thinking back to the pepper spray paperwork. “An hour. But you probably won’t be fully recovered until tomorrow.” 

Sighing, Jack leaned back. “I guess we’re gonna be stuck here a while.” 

Eventually, you grabbed a washcloth and soaked it in cool water, laying it across Jack’s eyes. The swelling was, thankfully, going down, as was the redness. His eyes had finally stopped watering as well, meaning he was mostly able to see again. 

As Jack’s face got better, you two talked. Not about anything important, just simple things that could distract Jack. You learned he had a ranch, and he eagerly told you about his cow. 

“Her name is Bella,” he said, showing you a photo on his phone. You smiled. Bella was absolutely beautiful, with soft looking tan fur and big brown eyes. “She’s a highland cow, which is why she’s so fluffy.” 

“I didn’t know you had pets,” you said, sitting back and checking your watch. “Bella’s adorable.” 

Jack shrugged, putting his phone back into his pocket. “I inherited most of it from my brother,” he explained. “He died a while back, right as I joined Statesman. Mom always expected to get the ranch, but my brother said she didn’t have the heart for it. So he left it to me.” 

“Huh.” You stood, dusting yourself off. “Does your mother suck?” 

“Nah,” Jack responded. “She’s just not very motherly.” 

You laughed. “Well that explains it. We should probably get going, by the way. It’s getting late.” 

So you and Jack walked out to the parking lot, you silently fiddling with your keys. 

“Can I drive you home?” You blurted, watching Jack head off towards where the Bronco was parked. 

He stopped, turning back to you. “Pardon?” 

“I’m just worried your eyes aren’t up to scratch yet,” you elaborated, nervousness making you shuffle your feet. “And I’d feel better if I got to drive you home.” 

Jack shrugged. “Yeah. Sure.” 

As he got into your car, he looked around, impressed. “What kinda car is this?” 

“A mustang. Shelby Cobra to be specific.” 

Jack raised an eyebrow. “Is it a ‘67?” 

“Yep.” You busied yourself with backing out, the old mechanics of the car a familiar comfort to you. 

“Huh.” Jack leaned back. “Impressive.” 

You smiled, waving to Tom, who was in the security booth. “Thank you. It was my dad’s, but he gave it to me because I helped him repair it when I was young. Where’s your house?” 

Jack put his address into his phone, putting it on the dash and maxing the volume so you could hear the directions. 

“So why’d you pepper spray me?” He asked eventually, breaking the silence. 

You snorted. “Why were you sneaking up on me in the middle of the night?” 

“I had a question.” 

“Mhm,” you hummed, making a turn. “What question?” 

Jack fiddled with his jacket zipper, seemingly nervous. “Just wanted to ask about my paperwork. Ginge needed to know when my last eye exam was, and she told me to find you.” 

You laughed. “It couldn’t have waited until tomorrow?” You asked. “Also, it was three years ago.” 

“How in the fuck?” 

“Champ needed your file yesterday so he could compare your sharpshooting record to one of the other agent’s scores,” you explained. “And on my way back down to the records room, I read it over. It’s a long walk and I needed some entertainment.”

Jack shook his head in disbelief, a small smile on his lips. “You are unbelievable.” 

You grinned, turning and pulling into Jack’s ranch. “I’m fairly certain being unbelievable is my job,” you pointed out, putting the car in park. 

As Jack opened the car door, you heard excited mooing and saw a dark figure racing over. 

“Bella!” Jack said eagerly, petting the cow the same way one would pet a dog. “Hey darlin’. How’s the ranch?” 

Bella mooed again, headbutting your car. 

You got out, coming around to scratch Bella’s ears. She butted into you too, sending you back a couple of steps. 

“Be nice,” Jack scolded playfully, shaking a finger at Bella. “This is a guest!” 

Bella mooed yet again and trotted off. 

“I’m sorry about her,” Jack said, turning to you. “She’s a people cow.” 

You merely shook your head, laughing. “It’s fine. By the way, is there any way I can make tonight up to you? I did kinda pepper spray you. Can I make that right somehow?” 

Jack chuckled, leaning on a fence post. “Come ‘round here again tomorrow at six. Wear something nice.” 

“Are you asking me out?” Of all the things you expected, this was not it. 

“Yeah,” Jack said. “What’d you say? Please keep in mind I was pepper sprayed an hour ago.” 

You snorted, getting back into your car and putting the window down. “It’s a date.” 

As you backed out of Jack’s ranch, he waved at you, and you waved back. 

Once you reached your own house, you fell onto your couch and eagerly texted Ginger, telling her about your upcoming date. Within seconds, she was calling you. 

“What?” You asked, giggling and heading into your kitchen for a glass of water. 

Ginger took a deep breath. “Did you just score a date with Jack goddamn Daniels?” 

“Yeah?” You said, leaning against your counter. “I mean, I kinda pepper sprayed him first, but yeah, I got a date!” 

There was a pause. And then, 

���I’m sorry, did you say you pepper sprayed him!?”

[mazzy-moon]

A Lone Butterfly - Chapter 14

Title of Chapter: Hide Out

Word Count: 2.6k (mostly smut)

Warnings/Tags: Explicit Language, Significantly younger ofc, Smut, Foreplay, Sex

Pairing: Javier Peña (Narcos) x Isabel Cotrille (OFC)

Summary:  After Javier leaves, Isabel's anger and frustration with him grow. Later, she and Javier are forced to confront each other, finally acknowledging the tension that's been building between them.

Notes: I didn’t want to give away everything in the warnings, but this chapter contains explicit sexual content. 18+ only, please.

This ended up taking me way longer to write than I imagined...

Hope you enjoy reading this. It’s a good one. x

Read it on ao3

It doesn't take long before Javier has left and Sanz shows up. I'm furious. He knows what the cartel did to me better than anyone, yet still he's forced me here against my will. I might as well go back to Oregon. I would be put back into Witness Protection, but at least I'd be more free than I am now.

I can tell Sanz isn't exactly enthusiastic about the baby sitting job she's been assigned, but she tries to hide it somewhat out of consideration.

"You know, he's only doing this for your own good."

"Don't start."

"But he's right. If you go and get yourself tangled up in this, we'll have an even bigger mess on our hands."

"I know." Arguing with her would be useless.

_______________

The day passes agonizingly slowly as I sit with my anger, unable to do anything about it. I try thinking about what I'll say to Javier when he comes back. Maybe I won't even say anything. I've never been a violent person, but I think if Javier were here right now I would slap him for putting me in such a position of helplessness. He said he trusted me once, though it's clear that can no longer be true.

At one point I try to lure Sanz out of the room by feigning hunger. She doesn't take the bait, and instead has food brought to us. I switch on the television in an effort to distract myself.

After a while, I've stopped counting the hours as they pass. The light outside suggests night is not far off. Worry starts to trickle in. Not for the first time today I wonder what Javier's team uncovered at the location. Did they arrive only to find out Matías lied to them?  Was it a a set up? Despite my anger at him, I'm anxious to see Javier, to know he's okay. I get up from my seat on the couch, suddenly restless, and start pacing the room.

Sanz's phone rings and she steps outside to answer it. Once she's back, her calm demeanor from before is gone.

"Pack up your things.  Peña's on his way and wants you ready to go once he gets here."

"But why-"

"You're not safe here any longer, just do as he says."

Fear replaces my anger. I don't argue with her.

Soon after my things are all stuffed into the suitcase, Javier crashes through the door. He barely looks at me before hauling my luggage in one arm and tugging me out the door with the other.

"C'mon," he says, his voice rough. "We've gotta get out of here now. The cartel knows you're in Columbia."

My eyes go wide as I allow him to lead me to the waiting car. He throws my things in the back before placing me in the passenger seat. He explains the details to me as we're driving.

"Where are we going?" I ask.

"The Embassy's got a place a ways out, a hide out. You'll stay there until we get the cartel under control."

"So he was lying."

"Not entirely. When we got to the location, some of Matías's men were there. They ambushed us. Somehow, they must have found out we were coming. There's no way that's where they're keeping the girls though."

"How do they know I'm here?"

Javier's looks out the window, despondent.

"I went back to Matías's cell after the ambush, to confront him. During our... chat, he revealed that he and his gang knew the moment you arrived. Somehow, he's had eyes on you the entire time."

"Why not just send me back to Oregon?"

"We can't be sure they won't track you there also. They already have once. For whatever reason, whoever is operating this cartel is hell bent on getting to you."

I remain silent, stunned. How has the cartel been able to track my movements so closely? More importantly, why bother? They've already replaced me with at least a dozen other girls.

Javier and I drive for hours until it's well past dark. We pull up to a dirt road and drive down it for what seems like an eternity. As we near a little cottage, I notice a river bank running not far off. The car comes to a halt just in front of the house and Javier steps out to get me. The place looks like a setting for a horror movie, but I say nothing as we walk inside.

_______________

Now that the panic has settled somewhat, I remember the rage I felt from before. I remember the rough way in which he spoke to me, the way his hands dug into my arms as he tried to reason with me. And then, the door slamming behind him as he left, locking me inside. Deep down, I know he was only trying to protect me, but it still hurt. I wanted to be useful, wanted to help the women who were now in the same position I was once in. It seemed, though, I wasn't going to get that chance.

He flips the lights on and locks the door behind him. The place is surprisingly cozy.

"Are we safe here?"

"It's secure. Only a small number of people know this place even exists."

There's a tense silence between us as I consider bringing up what took place this morning. The events of the evening have made it seem less important. Before I decide, he beats me to it.

"I know you're still mad about this morning, Isabel."

I refuse to respond to him, so he continues.

"Just so you know, I wouldn't have done what I did if I didn't think it was the only way to keep you safe. If I had to, I would do it again."

My eyes meet his finally and I know he can see the defiance in them.

"I know you hate me for it. As long as I know I'm keeping my promise to look after you, you can hate me all you want."

I remain silent for a moment before responding.

"I don't hate you, Javi." I stare down at my hands, suddenly unable to keep eye contact as I make my confession. "I don't think I ever could. I just... don't like feeling like that. Helpless."

I glance back up to him, and his expression breaks me. Unable to control it, and annoyed that I can't, my eyes begin to water. I quickly look back down at my hands.

The floorboards creak as he closes the distance between us. He towers over me as he gently grabs hold of my upper arms.

"You're not helpless, Isabel. You never have been. Even when you were captured, you found a way out. It was you who took Matías's eye from him. You've always been strong. And brave. But that doesn't mean you don't deserve to be protected."

My throat closes up as his words warm me. Somehow he knew exactly what I needed to hear. I feel guilty for ever doubting him. I want to respond, but can't seem to figure out how.

He holds my face in his hands and brushes my tears off with his thumbs.

"Shh, baby, don't cry."

He pulls me into a hug. His smoky scent hits me and I feel instantly better. Clinging to him, I savor the strong feel of his arms around me. The urgency of our situation combined with our close proximity causes an overwhelming sweep of emotion to wash over me. I tilt my head, meeting my lips with the edge of exposed skin at his collar.

He groans. "Isabel."

I ignore him and go for his mouth instead. He beats me to it. His lips meet mine, gentle at first. He deepens the kiss almost instantly, and I feel his tongue sweep against mine. Not breaking contact, he backs me up until I'm flush with the wall.

As our mouths explore each other with tongue and teeth, his arms leave me to remove the leather jacket from his body. He comes back to me as soon as it hits the floor. His arms roam my stomach, back, and chest. As his hand comes up to gently grasp the base of my throat, he shoves one of his legs upwards, between both of mine. I gasp in his mouth as warmth pools to my center. His mouth leaves mine, trailing down from my cheek to my neck. At the same time, his right hand travels up to my breast, grasping it over my dress. My hips move involuntarily against his thigh. The friction causes a deep ache within me and I whimper at the sudden feeling of emptiness. Javier makes a sound that forces my hips to react again.

He places his hands on either side of them, holding me still. I open my mouth to protest, but before I can he hauls me up, forcing my legs around him. His lips meet my own once more as his tongue finds mine again. He backs away from the wall, aiming for the hallway. We don't break away from each other until we reach the bedroom and he sets me on my feet.

He leans down, moving his hands from my body up to my face.

"Isabel. If we don't stop now, I may not be able to," his eyes are closed as he utters the strained words.

"I just want you, Javi." I touch his jaw with my fingertips. "Please," I mutter, my voice breaking.

The single word that comes from him is barely a whisper.

"Fuck." He grabs my face once more and this time his mouth is gentle on mine, a stark contrast to the heated passion felt moments before. I fumble with his buttons, but his hands are quicker as he tugs off the shirt gracefully. I press my hands against his hard chest as his eyes study me. He holds me in his gaze as he removes my cardigan, leaving me in only the dress beneath it. He rubs one thin strap between two fingers.

"Is this okay?"

I nod, looking at him intently.

He pushes the strap down. The other one comes next until my sun dress falls to the wooden floor. There’s nothing under it except my panties. My arms fling to my chest in a sudden urge to cover myself up.

"Let me see you."

I allow him to guide my arms down back to my sides.

"It's not right," he mutters to himself as his eyes roam over my almost completely naked body.

I frown, suddenly insecure at his bizarre statement.

"It's not right that you're so beautiful, so sweet."

My cheeks warm at his praise.

"Lie down."

I back up until I reach the bed and allow him to push me back onto its softness. He props himself up on an elbow and continues to kiss me until I can't take it anymore. His hand lingers over my breasts- pinching, squeezing. Finally, he travels downward. He slips his hand underneath my panties, brushing over one spot in particular. When he removes his hand too soon, I softly groan in protest.

"Please," I gasp.

"I know what you want, Isabel, but you're not gonna rush me."

He moves then, leaving soft kisses down my abdomen until he's settled between my thighs. He doesn't waste time, pulling down my panties until their off and taking me into his mouth. When his tongue brushes against me the first time, my hands fly to my mouth. He breaks contact to look back up at me, and pulls my hands away.

"No," he says firmly, "I want to hear you."

He resumes his torture until the sensation becomes almost painful. His tongue moves against the sensitive area, faster then slow, bringing me closer and closer but never quite all the way. My hips writhe against him but he grabs hold of them, forcing me to stay still. The sounds that come from me are vulgar and if I were at all able, I would try and hide the moans escaping my lips. He doesn't stop until I practically beg him to.

"Javi, please. I can't- ," I manage to get out.

He lingers a few more seconds before crawling back up to me, his body hovering over my smaller frame.

He studies me, relishing my blushed and breathless state.

"I wasn't done yet, hermosa. I'll remember that later."

He kisses my mouth slowly. The obscenity of it makes our previous kisses seem ridiculously tame in comparison. As he deepens the kiss, he drops his hand once again. He brushes against the overly sensitive spot with his thumb and then eases a finger inside. As I moan into his mouth, I hear a groan escape him.

"You're so wet, Isabel."

My cheeks instantly heat as he says what is already obvious.

As he moves his finger slightly out and back in, the movements of his thumb slow, becoming even more tortuous. Once I'm nearly over the edge, he withdraws his hand and pushes off the bed, standing up.

He unfastens his pants and removes the rest of his clothing until he's completely bare. He stares down at me until my whole body is on fire.

“You’re beautiful like this, Isabel,” he says as his eyes take me in, ready and waiting for him.

His sheer manliness would terrify me if I didn't crave it so desperately. I let my eyes roam, ignoring my embarrassment. For as restrained as he's kept himself, it's clear he's been just as affected as I have.

He once again joins me on the bed, holding himself above  me.

"Tell me if you want me to stop."

I nod, but he's not satisfied.

"Promise me."

"I promise."

He shifts his body until I feel his erection right between my thighs. I part my legs as he slowly glides into me. The feeling is almost too much at first. Sensing it, he stops, but I urge him on.

"No- don't stop," I whisper breathlessly.

Once he's all the way inside I lift my hips off the bed to meet his. We set a rhythm against each other and the tension continues to build within me.  

I'm so close but can't quite seem to get there. He reaches his hand between our bodies to touch me, finally giving me the release I crave. I come undone around him, and he swallows my moans with his mouth.

Javier continues moving against me, his thrusts becoming more erratic. All at once, whatever control he had before just... snaps. He grabs hold of me, keeping me still, as he thrusts into me with unrestrained desperation. His groans become feral as he comes inside me.

He drops his head to the crook of my neck, catching his breath. Once he pieces himself back together, his hand grips the side of my face. His lips fumble around my cheeks until he kisses my mouth, then my nose.

"You okay?"

"Yeah... I think so."

He laughs softly, leaning over me and onto his side. He brushes wisps of hair back from my face with his hand.

"Stay here, I'll be right back."

Javier escapes to the bathroom and while he's gone, I pull back the covers. They feel impossibly cool against my heated skin. He returns and joins me once again on the bed. My eyelids begin to droop from exhaustion.

"I'm so sleepy," I say absent mindedly.

"Come here."

He pulls me to him, cushioning my head with one arm and draping the other around my side. The blissful aftermath of our night together lulls me to sleep almost instantly.

Just as I'm drifting off, Javier whispers something in my ear. I struggle to make out the words, but they escape along with my last thread of consciousness.

[brinkofdiscovery]

Tyler Whitman

TW: Guns, Death

Reaping was a good job. Ending the suffering of the dying, escorting their vulnerable souls to a new life--it was nice. It was easy to view it in a positive light. The actual act of taking the soul, though, that was something Tyler hadn’t gotten used to. It was the sight of it, mostly. It wasn’t messy or violent by any means, but seeing his hand phase through someone’s chest so he could pluck the soul from their body? It was just strange, and it was something he could definitely do without. Typically though, if he was lucky, his client would already be dead by the time he got there, and it'd be resting outside the body for easy picking. Unfortunately this time he’d find no such luck. And in the ungodly hours of this Wednesday morning he was wrist deep in metaphysical energy in the middle of an ice cold hospice room.

It was over quickly enough though, and soon he was on his way out, invisible to the nurse who entered just as he’d slipped out into the hallway. The door opened on its own, and Tyler stepped out into the cold morning air of the hospital parking lot. The streetlights overhead were dim, and didn’t offer enough light to hide the faint glow of the soul Tyler cradled in his hands--everything his client once was, now just a small, swirling little orb of dull red light. Tyler had never been able to grasp what made any soul glow the way it did; it was something to do with energy, something about the life it’d led. A lot of talk about guilt and clarity and light that he'd never really understood. This one was dull though, clouded with dark maroon patches that spun and twisted around the bright red that tried to shine through beneath it. He didn’t know what that meant specifically about the woman he pulled it from or the life she had led, but Life had explained it well enough that he at least knew it wasn’t a black and white binary of “good and bad.” This soul was just old, and complex, and in desperate need of cleansing. It wasn’t his place to judge, his job was just to deliver her safely. He was still watching the colors swim when the smell of hickory smoke filled the air, thick and rich and wholly unnatural in the middle of a medical complex. He looked up to see the smoke clouding the streetlights above him, and before long he could feel the heat of it’s flame against the back of his neck. He spun around on his heel, drawing his gun from his hip and taking steady aim for the plume of hellfire burning only a few feet in front of him. Tyler had never met a demon before, but as the flames eventually died down to a simmer, it wasn’t hard to recognize the man standing in the ashes for what he was. Fire licked at the heels of heavy, muddy work boots as he stepped out of the rising pillar of smoke. Golden eyes almost seemed to glow in the low morning light as they traced a line from the pistol in Tyler’s hand, down to the soul held protectively at his side, and finally back up to meet the unwavering glare of the reaper himself. The demon smiled wide, plucking his cigarette from his teeth before breaking the silence with a low whistle. “Well shit, you were ready for me, now weren’t you?” He brought his cigarette up to his lips, taking a final, slow drag before he tossed it aside all together. “Here I was thinking I was doing a good job sneaking up on you.” Tyler didn’t waver. He didn’t move. He kept his aim true, and at his side his grip tightened securely around his client’s fragile soul.

“It’s a joke.” The demon continued, stepping aside to motion to the still-smoldering circle of broken pavement and ash behind him. “See I came in real loud with the fire and the smoke and--” “What do you want?” Tyler pushed his weapon forward, frustration mingling with the tremor in his voice. He held his gaze steady. The demon blinked, staring right back at Tyler for a few quiet moments. “I’m Clay.” He offered, “Clayton, I guess. If you’re wanting to be professional about it, but nobody really calls me--” “What do you want!” Tyler pushed his pistol forward again and cocked the hammer back, his other hand tightened once more, a white knuckle grip straining against the fragile mass of energy. Clayton smiled again. He motioned to Tyler’s left hand with a subtle nod, “Careful, there.” Tyler balked at the motion, and fury rose in his chest as the demon refused to answer him. He spared a quick glance away from him, down to the soul in his hand, before he noticed the way it was straining and twisting frantically against the force of his grip. He kept his gun aimed for Clay, but he turned his attention to the soul instead as he loosened his grip and drew it closer to his chest. “God, what...” He turned the soul over gently in his hand, searching for any splintering or damage he might have done. It looked okay for the most part, but it was spinning faster now, dizzy and scared and struggling to right itself. “What do you--no.” He held a finger up to Clayton before he could open his mouth. “I know what you want. Don’t talk. I know exactly why you’re here, I just…” He trailed off, staring at the soul as its frantic twisting colors returned to a gentle, slow spiral. There was a barely visible crack along it’s surface that he could see now, and some kind of strange, irregular flashing branching out from it, just below the surface. He frowned and ran his thumb over the damage before exhaling sharply. He turned his attention back to Clay, who had leaned in to watch everything with an infuriating, self-satisfied smile. “How long you been doing this, kid?” “Seventy years.” Tyler answered. “Shit, seventy years!” He almost laughed, “That ain’t nothing. You ever lost a soul before?” Tyler’s pistol pushed closer again, the barrel was almost pressed against Clay’s forehead now. He looked more amused than threatened, as if he was considering raising a hand to ease the gun off to the side. Instead Clay just raised his hands slowly and took a step back. “Easy, now, I’m not gonna take it from you. I’m asking. I don’t think I could take you in a fight.” Tyler scoffed and rolled his eyes, clutching the soul closer to the fabric of his shirt. “Fuck off.” “Hey, I mean it! Not much of a point in trying when you could just.” He made a motion like he was reaching into his own chest and yanking something out with a closed fist. Tyler frowned at the suggestion, but he lowered his weapon just a fraction of an inch. “So you think I’m going to give it to you?” “I want it. I think you should.” “And that’s it? That’s all you’ve got? You think I’m going to compromise my job, break the fundamental laws of life and death--” Clay dropped his head back and rolled his eyes. “Damn it kid it ain’t that big of a deal, loosen up! You been doing this for seventy years now and you’re telling me you ain’t ever traded off a single soul?” “This is a person.” Tyler insisted. “Yeah it was, and she was a piece of shit.” “She gets another chance!” “Do you even know what she did?” “It doesn’t matter!” He stepped closer, raising his aim again and stopping just short of placing the barrel against Clay’s forehead. “It doesn’t matter who she was, or what she did, or how many times you fucking ask me; she gets another chance!” Clay opened his mouth to interrupt, but Tyler desperately shook the gun in his face, his blood boiling at the sight of Clay not even bothering to hide his amusement. “You’re not getting this soul,” Tyler snarled. “You can show up to bug me every time she dies for fifty more lifetimes, and the answer will be the same. It’s coming with me, it’s going to be cleansed, and renewed, and put back out into the world, and there’s nothing you can do to stop that. Do you hear me?” Clay blinked slowly, entertained, but thoroughly unimpressed. After a moment he conceded with a shrug and stepped away. He pulled a cigarette from his shirt pocket and brought his hand up to block the wind as he brought it to his lips. Hickory smoke started to fill the air again. “Give it fifty more years. You’ll change your tune.” Hellfire rose up from behind him, reaching out to embrace him again, and he stepped backwards to meet it halfway. The flames climbed higher, and with them rose that unearthly thick smoke that stung at Tyler’s eyes and choked the air. “I’ll be around, kid.” Clay called out before the flames finally swallowed him. The fire roared, impossibly tall and impossibly bright before it finally reached its peak and fell. The flames spread low across the pavement before they finally suffocated and died, and Clay was gone, leaving behind only ash and burning embers. Tyler lowered his gun, finally. He could feel the warmth of the soul against his chest, now. It was still struggling, still sending those flickering bursts of light out from the fracture he’d caused. He sighed, and holstered his gun so that he could smooth a comforting hand over its surface. “Come on,” He said softly, “Let’s get you somewhere safe.”

[knivestothroats]

New series!! I don’t have enough I’m working on!! Basically I wanted to create something with less of a plot so I could just use the OCs/setting to do prompt fills n shit. 

(update: here’s the masterlist)

CW: gunshot wounds, guns in general, knives to throats (heh), death threats, not exactly hunted for sport but a similar vibe

~

Buck put all of his determination into running. He tore through the woods, trying not to limp or stumble through pure determination, but the adrenaline could only do so much for the pain, and the wound in his leg eventually brought him down.

Managing to steer his collapse, he half-fell, half-dove behind a tree and pressed his back up against it. He put one hand over his mouth, trying to muffle his own heavy breathing, and one hand over the bullet hole in his thigh.

Buck had no idea how much ground he had covered. Existence was disorienting. He could have been running for miles, he could have made it five feet. The shooter had been a good distance away, but Buck knew. He could feel the dread like cement in his stomach. He hadn’t made it far enough. The woods weren’t thick enough. They would find him.

There was a rustling close by. Buck flinched, his heart nearly giving out from beating so hard.

A person came into view from behind some trees, still partially shrouded by the undergrowth. Not one of the ones Buck had seen – not one of the ones who had shot at him. Just a hiker, he figured, dressed in a flannel, denim jacket, and a knit cap. They were walking past, in the direction Buck had come from, but they saw his form crumpled against the tree and stopped.

“Don’t go that way,” Buck hissed, not wanting to make too much noise. He tried to push himself upright, but the pain radiated out through his body. “We need to get out of here. Can you help… me….”

He trailed off as the hiker stepped out from behind their foliage cover, his eyes flickering down to the gun in their hand, dappled sunlight glinting off the metal.

The hiker pulled a walkie talkie from their belt and spoke into it, “I found your runner.”

A slightly distorted voice replied, “Copy,” and they returned the walkie to their hip. They approached Buck.

“Yeah, I can help you,” the hiker said, lowering to one knee in front of him. They draped their forearm over their leg, displaying their gun in a faux spectacle of casualness.

Buck sagged, letting his head fall back against the tree, and closed his eyes. His hands were still clamped around his leg.

“Well, let me see,” the hiker said. They gestured ever so slightly with their gun in the direction of his injury, not quite pointing it at him.

Buck very slowly let go of this thigh and held his hands in the air, blood from his palms beginning to drip down his arms.

The hiker looked at the wound for a second, their face framed by dark hair that hadn’t been tucked under their beanie. Buck was aware that strands of his own long hair were plastered to his skin, but he didn’t dare move to brush them away as the hiker turned their gaze to his face.

“You seem like a smart guy,” they said. “I’m going to put my gun in its holster. I trust that you know better than to try to make a grab for it. It won’t end well.”

Buck clenched his jaw and nodded.

The hiker holstered their weapon and shifted closer. They reached out for Buck’s leg, examining the injury. Buck hissed in pain as they shifted his limb, feeling for the entrance wound.

“Not bad. Bullet went straight through, so that’s good for you. Really clipped you on the edge here, more or less, so I don’t think it hit anything important.”

They drew their hands away. Buck hesitantly replaced his own, trying to cap the flow of blood as much as possible. He was already starting to feel lightheaded.

“Were you facing them or running away when you got shot?” the hiker asked.

Buck licked his lips. “I was running away.”

More rustling through the trees. Careless, and getting closer. Two figures emerged - the same two Buck had seen before. He could be sure, despite the distance in the previous encounter, because one of them immediately raised their rifle and pointed it at Buck.

“Lower your fucking weapon, Dayal,” the hiker ordered. “I am right here.”

Dayal pointed his rifle at the ground. His face twisted like a kid who got scolded by a teacher.

“We need to review gun safety later,” the hiker said.

“I know my gun rules,” Dayal protested.

“Yeah?” The hiker raised an eyebrow. “Recite them.”

“Assume the gun is loaded, don’t rest your finger on the trigger, don’t point the gun at anything you’re not going to shoot…” Dayal rattled them off.

“Yeah, Dayal,” the hiker interrupted. “So why the fuck were you pointing it at us?”

“I was pointing it at him!”

“Yeah,” the hiker stood. They took two purposeful steps toward Dayal, looking down on him. “And I was right. Fucking. There.” They pointed at Buck’s leg. “That’s your marksmanship, I take it?”

“Yeah,” Dayal answered uncertainly.

“Is that where you were aiming?”

Dayal said nothing.

“Mmhm. I wouldn’t bet my life on your aim.” The hiker turned back to Buck. “Someone fill me in quickly before this poor fucker bleeds out.”

“I got it,” the woman next to Dayal muttered. She pulled a scarf from around her neck and tied it tight around Buck’s wounded leg, eliciting a groan of pain.

“He was snooping around the grounds,” Dayal said.

“I wasn’t snooping,” Buck said, shaking his head weakly. His mouth felt so dry. “I wasn’t snooping. I was just – argh – hiking.”

The hiker – or whoever they really were – eyed Buck with a cold gaze.

“Summers, check him for weapons, bugs, anything of the sort,” they ordered.

The woman knelt down next to Buck and began to pat him down. The hiker watched carefully as Summers emptied his pockets, setting his phone, wallet, keys, a compass, and a small pocket knife on the ground. When she was finished, the hiker picked up his personal items. They opened his wallet and looked at his ID, flipped briefly through the keys, examined the compass, opened and closed the blade on the pocket knife. Finally, they held up the phone in front of the others.

“This is the most dangerous thing he has on him. More than the knife, even. Can anyone tell me why?”

“He can call for backup,” Dayal suggested.

“It can be tracked,” Summers said.

“Well, that’s what I – that would bring back up,” Dayal said.

“You’re both right,” the hiker said. “It can send information, basically. His location through tracking, and anything else he knows when he calls, texts, or uploads information. Now that we have it, any information on here could be useful to us to find out more about this guy. However, us having it is also dangerous because that means our location is being tracked. So I’m going to turn it off until we’re ready to go through it.” They powered the phone down. “Under different circumstances, it may be wise to just destroy the SIM card if you know the phone is more of a danger than an asset. And, if you’re dealing with the government, turning off the phone might not be enough…” the hiker looked down at Buck. “But I think we’re okay.”

They pocketed all of Buck’s items, except the knife. Instead they opened the blade again. It was small, but it was sharp, and it could still get the job done if it needed to. They knelt down close to Buck again.

“What’s your name, friend?” the hiker asked. They already knew the answer – they had seen his ID – but starting off with easy, innocuous questions is a good way to ease people into talking.

He swallowed. “Buck.”

“Do you know who I am?” the hiker asked.

Buck blinked in confusion, eyebrows pulling together briefly.

“No,” he said.

The hiker stared at him for a beat.

“The name’s Fletcher. Nice to meet you.” They rolled the knife in their hand. “You wanna make this easy and tell us what you’re doing here?”

“I’m really – I’m really hiking,” Buck insisted breathlessly. “I don’t know… what this is. And I don’t – I don’t want to know, and I don’t, uh, want to be involved, or, or, talk to anyone, or whatever, um, the concern is. I didn’t…” he covered his eyes with his hand – the back of his hand, as to not get blood on his face. “I didn’t even see your faces.”

Fletcher laughed and pulled his arm down.

“Okay, Buck. Answer me something else then.” They rested their arm on his shoulder. “Where’d you get this knife?”

Buck swallowed. “My – my father gave it to me.”

“Did you name it?”

“Uh… no. I didn’t,” Buck said.

Fletcher made a disapproving noise. “You should always name your weapons. They’re your partners.” They trailed the blade over his collar bone, past the collar of his shirt, and slowly up his throat, resting the point under his chin. Buck tilted his head back, unable to get away. “What do you use it for?”

“Um… I… uh, not – not a lot. J-Just, um, uh, opening things, mostly,” Buck stammered. “I, um, just always bring it with me hiking, just, uh, in case. I guess. I don’t – I don’t know what… I would use it for, really….”

“Yeah, about that,” Fletcher said, pulling away. “You’re pretty deep in the woods for a hike.”

“I’m… a serious hiker…” Buck said lamely. “I always hike for miles.”

“There’s no trail out here,” Fletcher said.

“Well, I have a compass,” Buck said. “So as long as I know which direction I came from, I can make it back.”

Fletcher stared at him, saying nothing. Buck, growing increasingly nervous under their gaze, spoke up again.

“Um, I’m not from around here, so if this is s-something where, like, everyone knows not to go into the woods, uh, I just didn’t get the memo, so…”

“Oh, you’re new in town?” Fletcher raised their eyebrows. “Or just visiting?”

“New, uh, new in town,” Buck said.

“Hmm. What brought you out here?”

“Um,” Buck shook his head, trying to focus his thoughts. “Just… needed a change of scenery, honestly.”

Fletcher said nothing, just stared again. Eventually, Dayal spoke up.

“What do you think?”

Fletcher smiled, folded the knife and slipped it into their pocket, and stood.

“You know what I think?” Fletcher began, smiling down on Buck. “I think this guy’s a survivor. I bet he could walk all the way back to the house on that leg.”

Buck’s eyes widened.

“You know why?” Fletcher continued. “Because he knows the only other option is to lay down and die in the dirt. Or, you know,” they shrugged to their companions. “Try to run away. But that’s not much of an option. So, what’s it gonna be, my dear?”

Buck’s eyes flickered to each of the faces of the people standing before him. Each time he was met with a detached expectancy and nothing more. He put one hand on the tree and began to slowly, agonizingly, stand up. He kept his weight on his left leg.

“Great!” Fletcher said. “Follow me.”

The others walked slowly through the woods, allowing Buck to limp along behind them. Every step was an exertion of energy he didn’t have. His head was swimming and pain was flowing through his body in waves. And, with whoever these people were, he was mostly likely walking to his death.

Buck came to a stop, leaning against a tree for support.

Once he got to this house, would he ever come back out? There was no way he could run away; he was hobbled and at least two of these people had guns. But was it any better to prolong the inevitable? To force his bleeding leg to carry him all these useless steps?

Buck sank to the ground. Fletcher stood over him.

“Just leave me here to die,” Buck said, sweat coating his ashen face.

“I wouldn’t do that to you,” Fletcher said. “It’s not humane. I would put you out of your misery.”

Buck hung his head, breathing heavily, but raised his eyes to meet Fletcher’s gaze.

“What do you want with me?” he asked.

“I want to see if you can make it,” Fletcher said.

Buck tried to swallow, but his throat was dry. Fletcher put out their hand.

“Little help,” they said. “For free. Where would any of us be without help from others, right?”

Buck closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and then reached out and took Fletcher’s hand. Fletcher steadied him as he struggled to his feet again. They kept walking.   

The house wasn’t far, but at Buck’s speed the group took a long time to get there. Buck was stumbling frequently, leaning on passing trees for support. He could feel sweat rolling down his skin.

Fletcher opened the door for Dayal and Summers to walk inside, before turning to Buck and waiting. Buck stood frozen, gazing into the dark doorway. His heart was pounding, blood screaming in his ears. He slowly became aware Fletcher was talking to him.

“Buck. Hey. Buck,” they snapped their fingers.

Buck turned his weak gaze from the doorway to Fletcher.

“Is there a problem here?”

“Of course there is,” Buck said, his voice dry and weak.

“You could still try to run,” Fletcher said, a wry smile tugging at the corners of their mouth.

Maybe it was better to be shot now than to face whatever would happen inside that house. Buck turned, ready to try his best to run. Put a real effort forth as his last act in life, even if he only gets a few steps in. 

Fletcher bolted forward, effortlessly knocking Buck to the ground. He stared up at them from where he lay prone on his back, squinting at the sun haloing Fletcher’s head. They put a boot on Buck’s chest and drew their gun from its holster. Not aiming it at him – just holding it in their hand, finger off of the trigger.

“Think this through,” Fletcher said gravely. “If you’re alive, there’s a chance. If you’re dead, you’re dead.”

Buck said nothing. He closed his eyes against the glare of the sun and tried to breathe with the boot on his chest.

“If that’s what you want,” Fletcher said, “I can give that to you. Or you can get up and walk inside, and we can stitch those bullet holes shut.”

“And then what?” Buck wheezed.

“Who knows,” Fletcher said. “We won’t know until we get there.”

Buck took a rattling breath, and then another. He raised his arm, trembling with the effort.

With a smirk, Fletcher stepped off his chest and leaned down to help him up.

Buck was swaying in the breeze, and Fletcher took his arm and wrapped it around their shoulders, holding him up with an arm around his waist.

“Well, Buck,” Fletcher said as they crossed the threshold, “welcome to The Hunting Lodge.”

(update: here’s the masterlist)

[simsadventures]

Only Mine: Chapter 12: Time to Be a Hero

Mobster!Bucky x Reader

Summary: The ballroom is under attack. And you try to make it out alive. But not without Bucky.

Warnings: mobster AU, angst, guns, blood, fighting, swearing, death of a character, betrayal

Word Count: 2873

A/N: Some people missed the angst, so here’s some for you (yup, I’m looking at you @coffeebooksandfandom​). Anyway, did anyone miss Only Mine as much as I did? Hope you guys did, loved writing this part even though it’s of the less happy ones. Let me know what you guys thought about it all. FEEDBACK is gold, you know the drill xx

Series Masterlist ___ Masterlist

< Previous Chapter

You groaned loudly as you rolled on the ground. You tried to focus long enough to find out what the hell was happening. You knew that there was somebody, or more people firing guns in the room, most probably looking for Bucky and his men. That made you an easy target as well because you were always by Bucky’s side.

Realising this you looked around yourself frantically, knowing you didn’t fall to the ground on your own volition. It must have been Bucky pushing you down so you wouldn’t be hurt. And you were right. Bucky was next to you, but unlike you, he was already on his feet, yelling orders at his men and looking around the room to find who the shooters were.

He briefly looked at you, looking for any apparent injuries that would prevent you from getting up, and when he saw none, he quickly grabbed your upper arm and pulled you up to his side.

You hissed in pain because you felt a sharp sting in your hip, and when you looked down to your left side, there was a shard of glass sticking out of your body. If you weren’t in such frantic situation, you would probably let yourself panic over it, and you’d most probably faint. But there was no time for that now.

Bucky followed your eyes, and when he saw the glass sticking out of you, he swore under his breath. He tried to touch it, but you swatted his hand away and took a deep breath. You needed to be strong not only for yourself but also for Bucky. You knew that he didn’t need a pretty face who would scream and faint in this situation. He needed a strong woman who would listen to his commands. You would have plenty of time to have a panic attack when this was all over, you told yourself.

You quickly pulled the shard out of your skin, stifling a painful moan in your throat. So that’s where the blood around you was from, you thought to yourself, patted your hip and threw the glass on the ground.

You then gripped Bucky’s hand in yours and gave him a reassuring squeeze which he reciprocated, only to turn around and yell at Sam behind the closest pillar to where you two were currently hiding.

“Sam! You have eyes on the shooter? We can’t go blasting shots through the room. There might civilians left here. They have nothing to do with this shit,” he yelled, but Sam yelled back that it was negative. They still couldn’t find whoever was shooting.

Just as he finished yelling, there was another round of bullets fired, most of them aimed at the two of you and your little pillar, which was shaking with the strength of those shots.

You took a deep breath and tried to make yourself as small as possible, trying not to be a target.

“Imma get you out of here, doll. You’re my priority,” Bucky said between the bullets as he gripped his own gun.

Before you knew it, he was standing a meter away from you, taking a few good shots after which a silence followed. Bucky obviously killed whoever was firing at you. But you knew you shouldn’t be hopeful. There definitely wasn’t just one shooter, so nobody was safe, yet.

“I love you, James, but I’m not the only person here. Please, make your life a priority as well,” you said with a stern look and Bucky smiled at you before he caressed your cheek briefly.

“I always knew I’d die doing this job, but I won’t have it that you die here as well. Even if it was the last thing I did, you’re getting out of here safe, Y/N,” Bucky whispered against your hair. You pushed him away slightly and took the lapels of his tuxedo.

“You listen to me, James Buchanan Barnes. Stop talking like that or these shooters will be your last fucking worry, you hear me? If you want me to get out, you’re gonna have to get out as well. I’m not losing you, not so soon after I fucking found the love of my life,” you almost yelled into his face.

Bucky watched you in amazement, silent because of your little outburst. He knew that there wasn’t any other woman for him. Nobody was crazy enough to stay with him despite the shit-show his life was.

He just nodded and kissed you, letting all his emotions into the kiss for you to feel, for you to know that he would try to do everything in his power to live. For you, if not for anything else in this world.

He wanted to say something more when suddenly the room was pitch-black.

Great, now they cut the power, you thought and set your jaw. As scared as you were, you were getting pretty pissed at those fucking attackers. Did they really have to make it look like a scene from a shitty action movie? Everyone could have carried on shooting with the lights still on, but no. It wouldn’t have the effect, or whatever.

You knew your sarcastic self wasn’t helping anything at that moment, but you had to let out your fear somehow, and it was either being snarky in your own head or start crying and crumble on the floor. And you knew you couldn’t afford the second option.

You could feel Bucky pulling you down by your interlaced fingers, so you did the logical thing and crouched, although it was not the easiest thing to do in your high heels. But putting them down would only result in more shards in your feet, and so you decided to keep them on, however uncomfortable that was.

“We need to stay together, doll. You listen to everything I say when I say duck, you duck. When I say run, you fucking run, are we clear?” Bucky said intently, and you nodded.

“Yeah, very clear. I do everything you say, no talking back. You’re the boss,” you stated, and Bucky nodded, glad that you weren’t making a scene right now. Not that you were that kind of girl, but still. It was a possibility, especially in a moment like that.

You heard vibrations coming from Bucky’s pocket, and he quickly picked up his phone.

“Yes, Steve? Another two down, good. Do we know how many it actually was? You think 15? Alright, copy that. Be careful, try to kill as many motherfuckers as possible. I don’t give a shit about witnesses. I think we can be pretty sure as to who it was sending these men here. Yeah, me and Y/N are still in the main ballroom. Yup, Sam is still here, and I think Peter and Drax as well. Haven’t heard from anyone else, but hoping that they’re alright and fucking fighting. Alright,” Bucky finished his call, and then looked back at you.

“We gotta get out of here, doll. So we fight our way back, and then we’ll see. If everybody’s dead by then, we can go home, if not, you stay outside, and I’ll take care of business. We good?”

“Good,” you nodded and followed Bucky who carefully stood up, and started walking towards the exit. You knew he was doing it mostly for you, but you were still happy he didn’t send somebody else with you outside while he fought. You needed him healthy and happy, just like the rest of the gang.

You tried to tread carefully and silently, trying not to draw attention to the two of you by the clicking of your shoes. Just when you thought you outsmarted the idiots by taking the longer route outside, you saw a shadow in front of Bucky.

He was quick to let go of your hand, and thanks to your eyes already adjusting to the darkness, you could see a knife in that person’s hand, which Bucky dodged skilfully, knocking it out of the guy’s hand with one swing of his right arm, while his left arm grabbed the guy by his throat. The attacker was obviously surprised at Bucky’s swift motion, because he didn’t react at all, or very little, from what you saw.

When you heard a sickening crack, you knew Bucky broke his neck. Just like that, with his bare hands. It gave you a new respect for Bucky, and even a little fear, but you didn’t want to dwell on that. You couldn’t be afraid of your boyfriend. Not when you were sure he would never put his hand on you.

You continued on your way after that. You could hear some fighting from other parts fo the building, but you thought that you were staring to be safe more and more the closer you got to the door. And just as the thought crossed your mind, a rain of bullets hit you.

Bucky quickly pushed you in an adjacent empty room, closing the door with a thud and hiding behind one of the doors. You were surprised you were still unscratched except the one thing on your hip, and you sighed heavily, breathing out a relief.

You looked over at Bucky, wanting to tell him that you were two lucky sons of bitches when you saw his face contorted in pain.

You frantically got to your knees and scrambled closer to him to check his injuries. Surprisingly, he didn’t protest, and that’s how you knew that it was actually really bad. He must have been in a lot of pain for you to take care of him in a situation like that one.

You asses the injuries, seeing most of the blood was concentrated on his left arm. You pushed his sleeves out of the way and saw that a bullet hit him right through his shoulder, or very close to it.

The wound was bleeding like crazy, and you were afraid that at this frequency, he would bleed out in your hands. You quickly took off his jacket and pushed it against the wound. He hissed in pain, muttering insults not directly at you, but at the whole situation.

“You’re gonna be alright, baby, you just gotta stay awake for me, ok?” You murmured against Bucky’s cheek, trying to keep him awake. You rummaged through his pocket until you found his cell phone, quickly dialling Steve’s number.

“Steve? It’s me, Y/N. Bucky’s been hit, and it looks nasty. Can you come get us, or somebody? I need to get him out of here, and I don’t think I’ll be able to carry him, and he’s in no shape to walk on his own. Yeah, yeah, in that exact room. Alright. I’ll keep him awake. Hurry up, please,” you said through the speaker and ended the call to tend to Bucky.

He was watching you with a weird look in his eyes.

“Doll. You’re the best thing in my life, you know that, right?” He whispered, his voice shaking.

“Don’t,” you harshly told him, “don’t fucking say stuff like that right now. You’re not fucking dying, not on my watch, and if there’s anything on your mind, we can talk about it once we get out of here and get you to a hospital. So unless you wanna tell me something else, you only answer question I ask you, we clear? I’m the boss here now,” you said, swallowing your own emotions that were threatening to bubble up on the surface.

Bucky chuckled with evident difficulty, and you laid your hand on his chest.

“I love you, you crazy mobster. So just stay with me. So, tonight, I was pretty jealous because all those women looked like sluts. What did you think of it?” You said with a smirk, and Bucky shook his head at you.

You talked like this for a while, before you heard somebody coming in. Bucky was awfully quiet, and he tried to grab his gun, but he was too weak for that because of the blood-loss. You looked between him and whoever was coming before you leapt for the weapon. You saw the horror in Bucky’s eyes, but he still remained quiet.

You gripped the gun in your hand, the metal feeling extremely heavy in your hand, considering it was the first time you ever held anything like that. But you’ve watched enough crime series to know that all you had to do was pull the trigger since Bucky has been shooting with it already.

You aimed it at the unknown person coming into the room, praying that it was Steve who just didn’t announce himself and you wouldn’t hate to use the gun in your hand.

When the person came closer, you could see it was one of Bucky’s men. Bob, or what was he called. You were about to put the gun out of your hand when your instinct kicked in, and wouldn’t let you lower your hand. You’ve always had a weird feeling about him and Brock, and you couldn’t afford to take any chances. If he proved trustworthy, you could lower your gun later.

But from the looks of it, and his more than a sinister smile, you knew he wouldn’t give you the chance to lower it.

“Well, well, well. The boss wanted you alive, but I guess I can’t help myself, can I, Barnes? Here’s what’s gonna happen, I’m gonna shoot you some more, have fun with the pretty little thing next to you, and then I’ll kill you, how does that sound? I think it’s a pretty good plan, actually,” he mused still looking at Bucky.

You shivered knowing that if you didn’t step in, all of that would happen. You could hear he was talking some more, but you filtered it all. You aimed the gun as best as you could and steadied your hands to your best abilities before you pulled the trigger.

The noise was much louder than you expected, although mere minutes ago you were near many more guns. It was probably the weight of the situation. The gun was in your hands, and it was your very own hands that had to fire it and hurt somebody. You aimed at his chest, but when you looked at him to see if he would cause you any more trouble, you could see you hit him right between his eyes.

Weird feeling ran down your spine, and you had to keep breathing through your nose, or you’d vomit.

Instead, you looked at Bucky to check if he was still with you, but what you saw made you panic even more. His eyes were closed.

You put your hand under his nose to see if he was breathing and you could feel air coming out of his nose, however, shallow his breathing was. You were about to stand up and just drag him out of there however you could to save him when a bunch of people ran into the room.

You gripped the gun again, prepared to protect Bucky, but you realised that you knew these people. It was Steve, Sam, and Brock. You weren’t glad to see the last one, but the other two finally brought relief to your body.

“Y/N! How is he? And are you hurt?” Steve yelled, kneeling beside you, checking on Bucky’s pulse.

“He’s breathing, but it’s not good, Steve. We need to get him to hospital, now,” you yelled back, the adrenaline still very much present in your system. You were about to stand up when a hand on your shoulder stopped you.

“Wait a second. How come you have Bucky’s gun, he’s barely breathing and Bob, our friend Bob is laying here, with a bullet in his fucking brain? That’s a little suspicious, don’t you think, Y/N?” Brock asked, all serious.

You couldn’t believe your own ears.

“What are you even talking about, asshole? I was trying to protect Bucky, and your friend Bob here was obviously working for somebody else as well, from what he told us,” you answered, not believing this was actually happening.

“Oh, right, and he had his evil speech about what he is about to do and what his plan was, just like in movies, didn’t he, Y/N? Everything seems to be playing in your cards, weirdly enough,” Brock growled as he neared you.

“Enough. Our priority is to get Bucky to the hospital, and then we can figure out what the fuck happened. Y/N will go with us, and somebody will stay with her at all times, just to play it safe,” Steve said, not sparing you a look as him and Sam picked Bucky up and rushed out of the room, leaving you with Brock, who harshly tugged you by your upper arm.

This wasn’t happening, you kept repeating to yourself, but no matter what you did, you couldn’t wake up from this nightmare. Not only were you shot at, and you had to kill a person in order to protect your boyfriend, you were also accused of orchestrating the whole thing.

Brock was right in one thing, you thought. This really was like something out of a bad movie.

/Next Chapter >

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[geminimoonbeamx]

Moon lit Serenades

A/N: Dedicated to the reader, may you find happiness. I am so nervous for TROS, I saw a rumor that Poe dies and lost it. That plus the fact that there is literally no Plus Sized ReaderxPoe community? I had to remedy that. This is porn.

Warnings: This is porn. Serious smut from pretty much start to finish. Please enjoy.

Summary: Poe seeks comfort after a particularly hard mission in the only way he knows how. A Poe x Plus Sized Reader story

I am a moth, who just wants to share your light.

I’m just an insect, trying to get out of the night.

I only stick with you, because there are no other’s.

You we’re all I need.

I’m in the middle of your picture.

Lying in the reeds- Radiohead 

War had finally caught up with Poe Dameron.

Had finally taken it’s toll, and far more then it’s chunk of flesh. Battle wary and blaster shocked, it was hard to think of the resistance these days as just that- a resistance. No, this was more of a bloodbath.

War.

He’d never thought of it like that before, always held his head high, a defiant flame in his eyes. This was fuck the system- fuck the First Order. Fuck anyone who tried to tell him what to do. He was willed, motivated by the sheer rage that anyone would have to live their life in oppression. Under the thumb of Snoke or Phasma, dead and gone now- Hux and Ren hopefully to follow sooner rather than later.

And that fire to see them fall was still there...but it was dimmed.

Had been stomped on, choked out.

Watching people you love die for you, because of you on a daily basis...it wasnt something he’d wish upon anyone. Friends, family. Allies, brothers and sisters in arms. His fleet which had once flourished with dozens of pilot’s was down to a mere handful of lucky ones.

He was willing to breathe and bleed for the cause. It was in his blood- the sticky substance that matted his dark hair to his head as he climbed out of his X-wing. His parents had been the same.

Was he willing to keep watching others die for it though?

He couldn't stop form pondering the question as he and his unit arrive back to the makeshift base, in the middle of nowhere on a planet in the outer rim- the name of it he could barely pronounce. The shabby hut like quarters made the memory of D’quar and its green covered everything throb longingly in his gut.

That seemed so long ago, now.

No matter. No time for getting attached. They’d be on the move again within a fortnight, never staying any one place longer than a month at a time. Rey usually kept them one step ahead, connected to Ren through the force in a way that made Poe’s stomach churn, but that came in handy with them not getting caught.

Thinking about Kylo Ren always made him sour from the inside out. Muscles clenched in memory of the torture he’d endured at the hands of what used to be Leia’s son, but was now just a shell with his dead fathers nose and the mark of his dead uncles betrayal on his black soul.  

Poe would kill him in an instant if he got the chance. He prays to fuck that one day he does.

Clenching his fingers into fists is painful right now- the small mission had gone awry and they’d had to punch their way out of it. Literally. He’s feeling the aftermath of it all over, aching and sore.

He doesn't have it in him to attend the debrief. Can't muster the will, not right now. Maybe after a hot shower, maybe after he gets some food in his stomach and allot’s himself a moment to wallow. He forces himself to stand straight, spine elongated in a way that has his bones and muscle screaming.

Poe tries not to limp, as he scurries away to lick his wounds. He fails.

“Poe, you need to see a medic!” Finn insists, somewhere behind him. Always worried, always caring. Poe has nightmares about the night that he eventually loses him, too.

“Don't worry, I will” Finn wonders how someone who looks like they’re going to keel over at any moment- can manage to sound so cheeky.

Rey, who stands beside Finn, bruised bleeding herself wonders if he realizes that Poe is on the verge of tears. The pilot rippling and vibrating so hard she could feel it, taste it on the air.

Neither of them say anything though. The just watch him disappear into the stormy, starless night.

----

Sleep isn't something that comes easy to you as of late.

Not only did you spend your days(and most hours of your nights, too) in the Med Bay, you had never been the kind of person that could handle big changes, sharp adjustments. This hop forts every couple of weeks trend was killing you.

Your mind couldn't relax, R.E.M. State was always just out of reach.

Especially when he was gone...which also seems to be a trend these days. The missions just kept getting longer and longer- the time that he was on base shorter and farther between.

But it was raining tonight- the soft rhythmic  pitter patter of it on the roof of the hut reminding you of your home planet, you could almost pretend you were there; the smell of petrichor tricking your brain. Making it easier to curl up on the bed that was really more of a cot and cozy into the Resistance standard blanket.

For the first time in two weeks- you sleep. Hard. Like a rock. The exhaustion finally overtaking your body, and putting you out of commission. General Organa was right to send you back to your bunk, physically removing you from your post.

You feel kind of, extremely, guilty for the attitude you’d thrown at her -

“I’m fine, if I don't do my job, who’s going to?”-

aimed her way even though she didn't deserve it. She was right, of course. She tended to be most of the time. Why anyone ever doubted her, why you ever doubted her, you didn't know.

The sleep is dreamless, just the way you prefer it...you hadn't always, but nothing was better then the nightmares. Nothing is far from peace, but close to quiet. A middle ground that could be called purgatory, depending how you looked at it.

So when there's a knock at your door, the wooden one that gave you more privacy then you’d had in months, that wakes you from your much needed slumber, you can't help but feel the irritation surge through you. Your hypothetical feathers bristled as you huff and puff and pull yourself out of bed, yanking a pair of breezy sleep pants up your chubby legs and a robe over your shoulders- not wanting to answer whoever it was in the near nude.

When you pull open the door- well, it was the one person who wouldn't have minded if you had greeted him in your panties.

“Poe?” You question, because your eyes still haven't adjusted, your mind still three fourths asleep and one fourth confused.

“Yeah, it’s me, sweetheart” And oh? Sweetheart? In that gravelly voice, tired and worn and fragile...you're instantly aware of what kind of state he’s in.

When you pull him inside, flipping on the light orb, and are able to see him. Clearly now; all bloody and bruised, you inhale sharply. His eye is blackened on the same side of his face that seems to be saturated in crusted crimson.

“Stars, Poe” You whisper as you crowd him, urging him to sit on the cot that’s still warm from your body heat. Poe frowns, pretty lips pulled down as he takes it, and you in. Your hair rumpled, your robe falling off your shoulder as you gather medical supplies from what seems like all over your small “room”

The first thing you do is take out a small capsule full of neon blue liquid from a jar and hand it to him. He takes it gratefully, tossing it down the hatch before you can even offer him water. Painkillers aren't the easiest to come by since they’ve been on the move.

“I woke you up, didn't I?” He inquires, after he swallows.

“Obviously” You answer as you step back into his orbit, close enough that he can smell your skin. That his eyes can trace each of the freckles that dot across your nose, your cheeks. You put your finger under his chin and tilt his head up, and fuck, isn't that a pretty view?

“I’m sorry” He whispers, hissing between his teeth as you, gently but deftly, begin to clean his head.

“Mmm, it’s fine. I’m awake now,  Kriff Poe, you look like warmed over shit. This gash in your hairline is going to need stitches” You’re focused, wiping and dabbing as you speak.

He didn't realize, until that moment, just how much he missed your voice.

“Your bedside manner is spectacular as ever” He grins as he says it, even though it hurts to do so. His busted lip is next on your itinerary.

“Well when you show up at my bedside and not the other way around, I’m pretty sure that changes up the rules”

“Didn't you miss me...at your bedside, that is?” He pushes on, he wants you soft and sweet for him but he knows from experience it takes a bit to get there. Especially since he’s been gone so long.

“Stop distracting me” You mutter. You're only half pretending to be completely focused on the task at hand, at this point you could probably stitch a wound with your eyes closed.

“M’sorry” He’s not. It’s selfish, but he really isn't. He’s not sorry for barging in on you and waking you up, or for sitting in your bed reeking of blood and days worth of dirt. How can he be, when this feels so good? Your soft little hands working at him, healing with every touch. There’s no hurt when he’s around you- only good.

The painkiller makes the edges fuzzy, makes the fact that your repeatedly pulling a needle through his skin seem mild. It’s not like it’s his first time getting sewn up, and he highly doubts it’ll be his last.

Poe can't stop staring at you, dark eyes hooded. Hungry in a way that he doesn't care to hide. Drinking you in, gulping. It’d been almost a month and he was dying to get his fill. Your round body, nothing but curves and dips that he was itching to touch, is mostly covered, but the robe is still hanging off your shoulder. Satin skin exposed, so pretty and pristine.

It’s almost out of his control when his hand skims up our arm, skin seeking out skin. His palm sears as it settles on your upper arm. The plush flesh so soft under his calloused hands that he’s almost worried that it would give if e pressed down too hard.

In the back of his mind he knows better, though. Recalls just how much you can take.

“Poe” You warn tightly, lashes fluttering as you shoot him a look. One that makes him chuckle, because you're not fooling him.

He’ll play, mostly because he wants to, but he knows you missed him as much as he missed you.

You wonder if he can feel the way that you're trembling, already shaking for him. It’s stupid, you feel stupid, and yet you cant stop it. You have healers hands, medic’s hands- and at least you can get them to stay still as you finish with his head, then his lip.

Going insane from the simplest touch, from the way that he rubs his thumb in circles over and over on your upper arm. You remember when that would have made you uncomfortable, big arms that you wanted covered at all times used to be a big no-no.

But with Poe it was different. He wasn't there to judge. He just wanted to feel.

You don't want to pull away, but you have to. Your brain is torn, but ultimately resorts back to it’s resting state: health driven. Medically inclined.

“You need to go take a shower, wash the rest of the blood out of your hair. The hot water will help to start to bring down the swelling” you instruct, and it would be how you talked to any patient. Except for the way you cradle the side of his face, your voice breathy as you touch is thick locks that are greasy. A bit tangled.

Poe nods, he knows your right. Knows he should have done that before he even came here…

“Can I come back?” It’s hopeful, he spits it quick- desperate.

It feels like someone yanked, hard, on a loose thread inside your chest.

“Always. You know that”

--

While he showers, forced to go a few huts over to the community bathrooms, you’re a flurry of anxious thoughts and movement. Tidying up the small space and yourself the best you can. You’d showered earlier in the evening, using the last of the last of the Obsidian Lily oil that you’d carried with you. You still smelled good, pretty.

Your hair was wild, but not untamable and you end up brushing it smooth. You hadn't shaved since before he had left and curse yourself for not doing so earlier. How were you supposed to know that he was coming back tonight? Growing up on your home planet, there was a moss based soap that everyone used that minimized body hair. But still…

You wished, like you had more than once, that you could be better for him.

You're trying to swallow that horrid ugly little thought back down when your door opens, Poe not bothering to knock this time. Barges in, and he seems a bit more like himself in that moment.

His hair has gone back to his natural curls, thick and bouncing, dripping and the navy, loose materialed sleep clothes hang on him. Dont cling to him with dirt and sweat...all and all, he looks so much better.

Or so you think. Until you see him in the right light, his top falling open and revealing his chest.

“Poe!” You exclaim and his thick brows furrow, he had been drying his hair with one of your spare towels.

“What?”

“Take off your shirt” You demand and one side of his lips pull up- a smirk that doesn't meet his eyes.

“You know if you ask me nicely, sweetheart, I’ll give you whatever you want” It’s a purr, a ploy. Many a person- male, female and Wookiee had fallen for that charm of his. Your own name thrown in that pot.

But he was hurt, had to be in pain, and that thought cut through the others that that coy tone had stirred up.

“I’m serious, that bruising looks deep- why didn't you show me this earlier? You could have internal bleeding! Something could be broken”

Poe would never let it be known, would deny it to the ends of the galaxy...but he loves the way you fret over him. It makes him feel warm.

“Okay- Okay!” He sighs as you start to reach for him demandingly, knowing that you'd pull it off yourself if he didn't. There's a handful of winces as he tugs the fabric up and over his shoulders. You’re silent the whole time, and then for a long moment after.

“Oh...baby”

It’s the first time you've called him that tonight. In weeks. The first time an affectionate name has slipped from your mouth.

You can't help it, can't help the overwhelming feeling of...horror. Of shock and worry. His tanned chest and abdomen are hard, dusted with ebony hair that matches that of which grows from his scalp...and covered in bruises.

Four huge patches of yellow, and black and purple and blue...he looks like a fucking water color painting. You’d seen him in some pretty bad states over the years, and this was up there with some of the worst. The worst? Well you didn't like to think about that particular bloody day.

You reach out, fingertips tracing the purple bloom on his left ribs.

“It’s not so bad” And that’s Poe in a nutshell. Always trying to convince not only the people around him, but himself, that things were going to be okay.

“That one’s a deep tissue bruise” You point out to him, fingers gently probing, trying to detect if anything is broken “It has to hurt like a bitch, it’s going to get worse before it feels better”

“Not so bad” He loves the way you're touching him, and his hand, that big paw, goes to our waist. Holding you. Urging you to keep going “Those painkillers are something else”

You snort through your nose. He’s something else- you tell him of that fact, often.

Poe can only be so patient, can only allow you to touch him, feather light, for so long. Eventually, his impulses win out. Just like the always do.

You’re almost done, checking his bones, when he grabs your hand, envelopes it in his large one. It’s still for a moment- the air sparkling with energy. His eyes are mahogany, dark wood. Deep forests as they stare down at you.

The want in them is raw, unbridled.

“I missed you, so fucking much. Every day. Have I told you that yet?” His words, mixed with the timbre- vehement. Honest. It makes you want to squirm.

“No- you haven't” You wish your voice at that moment wasn't so anxious, weak and almost a whisper. Something about Poe had always brought this out in you. He was so bright, beaming. Everyone around him flocked to him, in hopes of just being able to taste a fraction of his light.

Sometimes, you still couldn't believe that he let you fill your cup, that he sought you out, parted the crowd for you.

You had never been a weak woman; had never let your weight or your too loud opinions or your tendencies to be overly emotional make you feel small, or less then...but being with Poe-- the level of intimacy was suffocating.

You felt burned up. Icarus who flew too close to the sun, who willing allowed himself to be burned up just to feel its warmth for a moment...you could relate.

“I did” Poe continues “I missed the way you feel, the way you taste-”

You close your eyes at that, images of the last time you’d gotten a moment alone with him, of a head of dark curls between your legs, assaulting you. Smacking you right in the face.

“-You taste so good, Y/N. Should've bent you over when you came to say goodbye. You would've let me, huh? Let me get one more taste- you have no idea how bad I want to stick my tongue inside of you. All the time. No one else gets to taste, right?”

Poe is well on his way to being rock hard, already. It had taken all of him to not jerk off in the showers.

“No one, Poe. You know that” you’d meant to tell him to fuck off, that you didn't belong to him. That he couldn't just have you whenever he wanted you. That came out instead.

“I need you” He tells you, roughly “feel how bad I need you, Y/N, fuck” he still has your hand in his grasp, againts his chest. When he begins to slide it downward, you know where its destination will be.

That doesn't stop the thrill, the flip flop of our tummy that comes with Poe pressing your hand to his crotch, hard and hot. The thin pants the only layer between your palm and his erection.

“You’re the only one who gets me like this, I need you to make it better, Y/N”

The switch is flipped then. Hard.

You’re surging forward, and he's meeting you halfway, your mouths slotting together. Lips and tongue, so much tongue. He talks all about how you taste, but stars, the way he tastes is intoxicating. Want to suck the taste of him off his tongue, off his cock.

Its blurry and ferocious. Hands everywhere. Touching, grabbing. While you are gentle with him and his tattered body, he doesn't extend that same sentiment. He’s groping, fingertips bidding into flesh. Groaning into your mouth as he clutches your thick, dimpled thighs. Reaches around to squeeze our ample ass.

Best ass in the galaxy, he'd write fucking sonnets about it, if he was good at anything but flying.

Clothes are shed, way too fast you worn Poe who doesn't listen. Because he never does- and he ends up hissing in pain, and relenting, sitting on the cot and letting you take off his pants. Slowly. You make it up to him by standing over him, grabbing his hands and guiding them to strip you. Slow drags of fabric over supple skin.

You’re so fucking sexy, and he tells you so as he urges you into his lap, you stay on your shins to mind his middle. Poe worships with his words. His fingers and lips do their fair share of praying next.

“Fuck I missed these the most” your breasts are large, heavy globes. Puffy sweet nipples are pebbled and just begging to be sucked on. He licks them messy, wet before he does just that; sucks them into the hot cavern of his mouth.

“Oh, oh, ugh” Your hands are twined in his hair, dripping down onto his thighs already, when Poe feels the wetness drip on him, his fingers go searching, hand pressed in between your thighs. Fingers slipping through sopping, heated flesh. You grasp, a high sound as he presses up and circles your clit, firm and pointed.

It’s so good, pleasure shoots down your legs, all the way to the tips of your toes.

It’s not enough. For either of you.

“Poe, fuck. Please” He’s injured, and you know it hurts him to do, and you should scold him for it, but when he manhandles you, flips you easily onto your back to that he can climb on top and situates himself between your thighs-

It’s just as hot as it always is. You know you have to be dripping down onto the cot, can feel your slick covering your thighs, slipping down your crack.

Kiss, Kiss and Kiss and Kiss and Kiss and…

You get lost in it, caught up in the way his stubble burns. His fingers slide back inside you and he watches your face as he crooks them, pumps them fast. Finger fucks you until you’re sobbing, letting out animal sounds.

“Do you still have the implant” he pants, head swimming. He gets like this when you let him make you feel good- wants to go down on you, but wants to be inside you even more.

“No, I took it out in the last few weeks” You’re cheeky, even with his fingers burried inside you. He loves that about you, “Of course I do, Poe”

You’d be damned before you ever brought a child into this world.

Poe holds your thighs wide, staring between them, your pussy wet and clenching around nothing. You’re so vulnerable for him, it makes you dizzy. He lines himself up, clock head dipping into your slit, resting against your hole, when thrusts inside of you it’s in one fluid movement.

You mewl, so full it’s hard to breathe and Poe makes a punched out sound. Like he’d been shot by a blaster in the chest and his hips start undulating, needing to be deeper. It feels so right inside of you. Feels safe. He wants to tear into your softness, rip you open and nestle inside. Settle himself in your bones.

You let him take what he needs, how ever he needs it. On your back, on your hands and knees. You bounce on his cock when he gets to achy,letting him run his hands all over your tummy, sides, breasts.

He can have it all.

After, the two of you lay spent, cuddled tight to one and other in the small cot. Standard issue thrown over your naked bodies, the sound of the rain starting up again mixed with Poes breathing is a lullaby you hadn't known you needed.

This...thing between you might have started as a way for both of you to numb the pain. To seek support. But it was more now. You were so in love with him that it made your eyes sting if you thought about it for too long.

“You’ll always come back to me, right?” Its so, so timid that he almost doesn't catch it and you almost hope he’d miss it.

Poe does what he always does; tries to convince you both that it’s going to be okay.

“Always”

You let yourself believe him.

Well I wasn't expecting this to turn into pure porn, but here we are lmfao. I loved writing for Poe and there will definitely be more of him coming soon! If you are able- listening to All I Need by Radiohead and the Hot Like Fire cover by the XX really sets the tone for this. I actually dropped a line from hot like fire in this- who can point it out?lol

As usual, I'm going to ask that if you can please give me some feedback. I truly love interacting with my readers and would love to hear your thoughts and opinions.

[medea10]

My Review of Zombieland Saga REVENGE

Yes, Franchouchou has come back after a two and a half year hiatus.

HISTORY: Zombieland Saga is an idol show.

I have already cut my readership in half with that one sentence alone. But this is no ordinary idol show! A maniacal necromancer named Kotarou Tatsumi brings seven girls back from the dead. A former idol from the 1980’s (Junko), a former idol from the 2010’s (Ai), a child star from the 2010’s (Lily), a girl with idol aspirations from 2008 (Sakura), a former biker gang chick from 1997 (Saki), a courtesan from the 19th century (Yugiri), and Yamada Tae! There’s no describing what exactly Yamada Tae is but we don’t question it as she’s best girl.

Kotarou brought these seven girls back to life in order to save the Saga area and revitalize it. Throughout the first 12 episodes, we watch these girls get the hang of being alive again after so long and become an idol group. With Kotarou’s make-up skills, he’s able to fool nearly everybody that these girls are living, breathing idols. Almost everybody! At the end of the series, we get one guy who caught on about Lily, Ai, and Junko. But enough about that! Let’s see how successful Franchouchou has gotten since we last left the series.

REVENGE: So this sequel begins with the girls doing odd-jobs trying to earn as much money as they possibly can. Normally, the girls would do odd gigs that Kotarou was able to conjure up and that’s been good publicity for their group Franchouchou. However, they came into some money problems when they gambled and lost. It’s no doubt that their performance in the 12th episode was a banger and gave Franchouchou a boost in the idol scene. However, they aimed too high by renting out a big amphitheater to have a concert and only 1.6% capacity was filled. So the performance that night was a crash and burn type of thing. The after-effect put the girls in the hole (money wise) and Kotarou spends his days getting drunk at bars.

Seriously, look at this guy! He looks like a drunk, fourth season Eren Yeager. Kinda hard watching Kotarou looking so sad, pathetic, and drunk! It wasn’t until the girls had to perform at a metal concert arena that Kotarou got a kick in the pants. The fool arrives to the performance hella late, screaming for an encore when the audience is totally not vibing for one. And the girls end up singing while the audience goes in (for a lack of a better term) a Blues Brothers style rumble. The important thing is that Kotarou is feeling better and is ready to send his little zombie songbirds out to save the Saga prefecture.

Throughout the season, we follow the girls of Franchouchou as they regain some popularity they obtained last season. Will they do it? In the first 4 episodes, the group gained their own radio show and Ai’s old group (before she died) Iron Frill considered them as rivals. I think they’ll be okay!

BUT WAIT…: What about that photographer fella we saw all last season? He was quickly catching onto Ai, Junko, and Lily looking a little too close in resemblance to the girls that died years ago. Slowly throughout the series, we see him get closer to the truth.

NEW IDOL?: Oh God, did Kotarou commit taboo once again by bringing another girl back from the dead?

No…It was sadly much worse.

While at a public bathhouse, a girl (not wearing her prescription glasses) entered the men’s side, slipped on some soap, and was knocked unconscious. Thinking she died, Kotarou brings her body back to the girls (who aren’t wearing their makeup) saying this girl will be #7 in Franchouchou. And just like I said, she is not dead and now she knows that the idol group she loves are dancing zombies.

Kotarou is truly fucking up royally this season.

Anyways, this is Maimai! She’s a fan of Franchouchou and ends up becoming a temporary member of the group as #7 (for the episode). And, she’s voiced by Kana Hanazawa! If you don’t know who she is by now, blow me. It’s a little scary knowing that there’s one person out there that knows about the secret. But Maimai is much too loyal a fan to ruin something for everyone and is totally chill about her favorite idol group really being zombies.

THE TWO UNSOLVED MYSTERIES: As much as many of us loved the first season to Zombieland Saga, there were two characters we wished got more play and we knew a little more about. Yugiri and Yamada Tae! Tae-chan has been the enigmatic idol from day one. And due to her possible mental disability, we might never know. However, in one episode we do see her stopping off at a cemetary and I do believe that was her own grave.

As for Yugiri, even the detective can’t dig up info on her. She was around in the late 1800s or the Meiji era and there’s only one known photo in existence of Yugiri before her death. This season, we got a two-episode saga to bring us the good word on Saga and its importance. We got a bit of a history lesson about the Saga prefecture during the Meiji era and even what it was like before then. And yes, we did learn how Yugiri died and her connection to Saga. It was quite sad, but definitely one of the best episodes of the series.

BEST SONG: Didn’t think I’d have one for this franchise.

Saga Jihen from episode 9.

Nuff said.

ENDING: Well, we learned some extra details on what happened during the fall and rise of Franchouchou. This mostly has to do with Kotarou’s gamble with booking a huge arena for the girls to perform in. First of all, this arena was the place of Ai’s death. You member! When she was electrocuted right there on stage! Second of all, they didn’t sell the tickets until the day of the concert. What was that end result again? 1.6% capacity filled! Even in Covid-19 times, that’s fucking small. Granted, the audience was full of those memorable fans from season one including Saki’s friend’s daughter, Lily’s father, and the two metal jackasses. But still, not a good! The girls hit a brick wall and felt embarrassed. This was the worst moment for these girls (aside from dying once). After the disasterous event, they were millions of yen in debt, they’re running out of essentials for the house, and Kotarou has gone on a two-month drinking binge. It was then that they decided to do makeup themselves and go out in the world to earn a living and eventually pay off the debt.

Thankfully, they were able to get out of debt and regained their popularity throughout Saga and further. Saki has managed to get a radio show. Iron Frill (Ai’s old group) sees Franchouchou as a worthy rival. Lily gained a lot of fame in a televised competition. So what’s next? Kotarou apologized to Franchouchou for his big mistake the previous year and him spiraling out of control. Seconds later, he announces that their revenge will be to perform at the very same arena that fucked up their career the year prior.

Boy, you do NOT learn your lesson, do you?!

More trouble is on the rise as that reporter who caught on about the girls being zombies has confronted Kotarou. We finally circled back to the final scene from season one. This guy has caught on to the fact that the girls of Franchouchou resemble girls that died. The only one that he couldn’t dig up dirt on was Yugiri. Possibly because the only known evidence for existence is a photo at the bar! What’s more, he has a sneaking suspicion that the girls of Franchouchou are all zombies. In a prior episode, the reporter snapped a picture at the right time exposing Yamada Tae’s head rolling around on the ground. Dude is ready to go public with the story of the girls of Franchouchou being zombies resurrected from the dead unless Kotarou pulls the plug on everything. Kotarou simply said that the girls will get their revenge and will perform at the arena.

And then…a storm hit Saga!

There was a lot of damage around town. And worst off was Kotarou’s place, as it was ripped from its foundation, thrown into the sea, and crumbled into nothing after coming ashore. Worst of all, the special makeup the girls use to hide their zombie state was in that wreckage. Meanwhile, Kotarou spent several days trapped in a bar with the bar owner and nearly drowned. The girls ended up in a safety shelter with nearly the entire Saga prefecture. The good thing is because they’re town celebrities that they were given a top floor to themselves for privacy. The bad thing is that they’ve been here for days and their makeup is starting to come off, exposing zombies. And to make matters worse, that nosy reporter who knows the girls are zombies is also staying at the shelter (though the girls don’t know he knows). The girls decided to use Junko’s doll-crafting paintset to make masks to hide behind. That lasted only five seconds while trying to entertain the children of the shelter.

This is it. The girls are exposed as zombies.

Actually, the kids and parents thought this was part of the act and thought Franchouchou was lifting up the spirits of the arena. And in comes Kotarou just in time! Man, right under the wire. Now we’re like a few days from this planned concert and Saga is still recovering from the huge storm. Morale is quite low and it’s starting to look like a worse outcome for Franchouchou’s revenge than what happened one year ago. Saki used her platform on the radio to reach all of her viewers to see if they could try to come to the arena for their concert that is now a charity concert. So will this concert be a big success or a bigger flop than last year?

Actually, the arena was packed with people. Fans we’ve met in season one and new characters we met this season were even in attendance. Lily’s father ended up clearing away a lot of the debris so that concert goers could get through. Even Iron Frill (Ai’s old group) came in attendance! The concert was a huge success! And can I say that I’m really enjoying Yamada Tae’s Freddie Mercury impression on stage.

Don’t think you’re that clever, Zombieland Saga. We all know!

Yes, the concert was perfect! A great revenge! They even made Kotarou (a grown-ass man) cry. Even the reporter is willing to keep his trap shut (for now) about the girls being zombies. And best of all, NO ONE CAUGHT COVID-19! Yeah, I have to bring that up. The date of the concert was March 8th, 2020. Ahem. March. 2020. But yeah, everything went great. Perfect ending for Zombieland Saga Reven…

AND THEN AN ALIEN MOTHERSHIP COMES IN AND ZAPS THE AREA!

Huh?!

Who wrote that in the script? Some jerkass from Gainax?!

The last 15 seconds of Zombieland Saga leaves us with some sort of unidentified flying object zapping the area. Only Zombieland Saga can get away with this shit. Well folks, let’s see what’s in store for season three, Zombieland Saga: Zombies in Space or Sagapendence Day Zomb-Trek: Deep Space Seven.

Yeah, I know nothing has been greenlit or announced yet, but you know Studio Mappa has something up their sleeves with that ending. Once again, I enjoyed Zombieland Saga’s charm. I didn’t know if there was much more they could offer us after the first season’s stories, like learning how the girls died, Sakura’s past, and especially Lily’s backstory. This season, I wish there was more Yamada Tae. Come on guys, we still don’t know how she died or anything about her past! And what’s up with Yamada Tae being buried next to Sakura? Did they know each other before passing away? I want some answers! But I was blown away when it came to Yugiri’s saga and the tale of Saga itself. We got a literal history lesson about what Saga was once, what it became after a long struggle, the pain some folks went to in order to keep Saga thriving, and all leading up to where we are now.

This was a fun season. I had a lot more fun with the music this season than the previous one. Yeah, believe it or not I liked the songs Franchouchou sang this season than last season. Never a dull moment, especially with Kotarou! Yeah, his crazy-ass was totally there making absolutely no fucka sense. Take that competition Lily entered.

What the fuck was Kotarou doing? That was an epic fail on so many levels.

Well folks, whenever season three or whatever sequel may come, I’m hoping for more information involving Yamada Tae. And you know what else was severely missing from this season, Kotarou’s past with Sakura. I didn’t forget that flashback from season one and those couple of seconds this season aren’t enough to satisfy my hunger. Those are the two things I would like to know more about in whatever comes of the franchise. Otherwise, great time had by all!

Once more, if you are not a fan of idol shows, this is the only one I would highly recommend Zombieland Saga. Crunchyroll has both seasons available for streaming. FUNimation is now dubbing the second season as we speak.

[purplecatghostposts]

Jumbled AU Character Information Time!

What’s the Jumbled AU? Another Roleswap except it’s less swap between two characters and more... Jumbled! Created for fun of course!

I ended up tweaking it all up a bit and I’m pretty happy with it now!

Meet The Crew:

FORZEN-

“No, I’m right there with you. Black Mesa is the worst.”

- Takes Gordon’s role as Team Leader

- Graduated from MIT and was recently hired by Black Mesa. He’s been there less than a year and he’s already regretting it.

- Gets stuck in a HEV Suit and would very much like out of it, thank you very much.

- Originally wanted time be a streamer but his mother talked him into going into Science like everyone else in the family did. Forzen and his family have a rocky relationship and this is one of the reasons why.

- Hates his job and is miserable but he does it anyways because he’s good at it and it makes him money.

- A lot smarter than he looks or acts.

- Very protective over his team and is quite the shot. Prides himself a little on his good aim.

- Carries around a ‘Lucky Bayblade’ wherever he goes. Insists it’s kept him safe as a kid and as long as he has it, he will make it through alright.

- Is a single father as his partner left as soon as the kid was born. Forzen is determined to be a good father because of this. His kid’s full name is Scythe Kronos (Yes, that’s all their first name) but Forzen also calls them Scye for short. Forzen will do anything to make it back to his kid. He doesn’t want them to end up orphaned.

- Loses his right eye in the betrayal. Without his depth perception, his aim is worse than ever and he struggles to protect his team.

- Gets a robotic eye from the Cybernetics Department later that gives him better aim than before.

TOMMY-

“Get- get out of my way or I’ll make you.”

- Takes the place of Benrey as inhuman antagonist.

- Is a Shapeshifting alien who takes the shape of a human to blend in for his mission. Has a lot of power but never got to properly learn how to use it as he was separated from his father when he was young.

- Sunkist is his alien pet who takes the shape of a golden retriever to do the same. She fights alongside him.

- Initially takes on Earthly Interests such as Beyblades, soda, and certain TV shows as a way to blend in but actually starts to like them.

- Takes on a job at Black Mesa as a security guard so that he can search for his dad. Doesn’t actually find him until the Resonance Cascade.

- Tampers with the experiment and causes the Resonance Cascade in order to lower Black Mesa’s defenses so he and his dad can make their escape.

- Makes a deal with the military that if he sells Forzen out, they’ll leave everyone else alone. However, the military double crosses Tommy once they realize that his dad is a valuable experiment to Black Mesa. Tommy is not happy about this.

- Eventually comes to the conclusion that his dad will never be safe as long as Black Mesa is around. Goes to Xen with the others, keeps his cover the entire time, and once they reach Xen’s power source, Tommy takes it for himself and tries to destroy Black Mesa and everyone in it.

- It’s all for family. Step aside or you’ll just get hurt.

GORDON-

“There’s absolutely no way that’s up to code... You guys seeing this?”

- Takes the place of Tommy as Main Support.

- Has worked for Black Mesa for a while now but isn’t entirely fond of it. He’s aware it’s morally gray at best (And that’s sugar coating it) but he can’t quit because he’s bound by contract to stay there for a certain amount of years. At least it pays well, right?

- Lost his arm in a lab accident a few years ago. Luckily, cybernetics fitted him with a robotic prosthetic. The one who made him the arm also outfitted him with a gun-arm he can put on. Gordon didn’t understand why he would need it but after the Resonance Cascade happened, he’s glad he has it.

- One hell of a shot, especially when he’s freaking out a bit (“Gordon going ham!” @ himself).

- Has been a bit obsessed with safety regulations since he lost his arm (But honestly who wouldn’t be?) and is constantly baffled by Black Mesa’s OSHA Violations.

- Has a son back home, Joshua, who he would very much like to make it back to. Forzen and Gordon swap telling stories about their kids sometimes.

- Helps Forzen out after he’s lost his eye and tells him that he can get help from Cybernetics given Gordon knows a guy from the department.

- Is pretty good friends with Tommy and while he does try to stop him from destroying Black Mesa- he hates the place too but there’s a lot of scientists there who are bound by contract just like he is- Tommy spares him from his attacks.

- Seems to be fairly good friends with the mysterious being who keeps popping up, Bubby. Apparently Gordon has helped hide him away more than a few times when he gets stuck so he owes him.

DARNOLD-

“Uh oh... That might be one of my evil clones...”

- Takes the role of Dr. Coomer as the enhanced scientist with clones.

- Has biological enhancements such as built in rocket boots and extendo arms but they were all given to him when Darnold tested his own potions. He mostly uses these to get the group out of trouble.

- In the same situation as Gordon when it comes to being bound by contract. Neither are very thrilled about it but at least Darnold has been in Black Mesa long enough that he can influence change.

- Head of the Mixology Department but took interest in Xen for a while and oversaw the experiment that caused the Resonance Cascade.

- Signed onto the cloning experiment and now has a lot of clones that help around Black Mesa. Darnold is pretty friendly with them and tries to help some escape when the Resonance Cascade. Unfortunately a lot of them die, which gets to Darnold.

- A few clones drank his Evil Powerade and went rogue a while ago. Fortunately, they’re version of ‘Evil’ is essentially a cartoon mad scientist/supervillain. Unfortunately, they’re still a bit of a nuisance and the gang has to look out for tripwire traps and a few of their minions.

- Carries around a lot of potions to help. Has a strength potion that is particularly helpful in a pinch. Also has a special Forbidden Potion that he uses in the final battle.

- One of the few people that treated G-Man like a person rather than an experiment and thus, has his favor.

- Introduces Tommy to Earthly things and customs. Doesn’t piece it together that he’s an alien until later.

- Tried to help in the betrayal but Tommy held him back, saying it was for the best. Runs as soon as he realizes he’s in danger and hides away from the rest of the team. Actively avoids Forzen and Gordon for a while out of stress but eventually has to step in when one of his Evil Clones captures them.

G-MAN-

“Oh believe me, I am just as... Eager to get out of Black Mesa as the rest of you.”

- Takes the role of Bubby as Black Mesa’s favorite experiment

- If Bubby is like Shadow the Hedgehog, then G-Man is like Mewtwo.

- Is an alien that has been alive much longer than Black Mesa itself. A powerful one at that.

- Black Mesa started hunting him down as soon as they learned of his existence. G-Man had just created Tommy not too long ago and was weak when they came. Managed to protect Tommy but was captured as a result and imprisioned in Black Mesa.

- Nicknamed Project Goodman as Black Mesa wished to one day use his powers for their own benefit. The nickname ‘G-Man’ came later and stuck.

- Has a lot of powers relating to the mind (I.E. Levitation, telekinesis, telepathy, etc.) but Black Mesa keeps power dampeners on him so he can’t escape, no matter how much he may try. G-Man and Tommy search for a way to get these off of him, but little do they know that Black Mesa has other ways of ensuring he can’t go rogue...

- Started acting polite and professional a while back and keeps up the facade as it keeps him out of trouble and gets him more freedom. He now works as a scientist to ‘Help’ Black Mesa but is just biding his time until he can make his escape.

- Absolutely despises being in his tube and tends to get aggressive when in small spaces because of this.

- Has very few scientists he actually likes. Darnold is on this short list as he is kind to him.

- Finally reunited with his son after so long and wants nothing more than to escape together.

- They were so close...

BENREY-

“Oh yo, what happened to your eye, dude? Psh, no worries, I got a cybernetic eye for ya that’s gonna look sick as fuck!”

- Takes the role of Darnold as the guy who has a solution to a certain missing body part.

- Is one of the best in the Cybernetics Department and was the one who made Gordon his arm and gun-arm when he lost it in the accident.

- Became weird friends with Gordon after he helped him out. Benrey may or may not send cryptic messages and cat photos at 4AM to Gordon, who is very concerned for his health.

- The Cybernetics Department was originally supposed to be laid off due to budget cuts and the Mixology Department was going to expand and take over the lab but Benrey refused to leave his lab like everyone else and hacked the doors so nobody could get in. They would’ve dealt with it but soon after, the Resonance Cascade happened and Black Mesa has bigger worries than a rogue cybernetics scientist so Benrey just kinda. Stayed. He’s the only remaining member of the Cybernetics Team.

- A good mechanic and a master hacker. He ends up hacking into the security cameras and the VOX to watch the team as they go. He speaks via the VOX- and never tells them who he is- but as soon as they reach his lab, Benrey greets them like old friends.

- While he does like to mess with the team a little, he’s pretty helpful for the most part. He opens up a few locked doors and gives a few heads up every once in a while.

- “ROCKET. LAUNCH. GOOD.” Yeah that was Benrey. Gordon actually hits himself once he realizes it’s Benrey because everything suddenly makes sense.

- Gives Forzen a cybernetic eye that actually gives him better aim than before. Said eye also “May or may not have other sick features.”

- Benrey refuses to elaborate on this.

COOMER-

“OH HO HO HO, BAD MOVE! TIME FOR ME TO GO IN FOR THE KILL!”

- Takes the role of Forzen as minor antagonist.

- Joined the military because of his Ex-Wife’s pressuring to do so. They’re both still in the military but they don’t talk anymore.

- Volunteered to test out a new serum that would genetically enhance him to be an one man army due to his love for Science. He didn’t expect for it to work like it did.

- The serum gave him superhuman abilities such as strength, high leaping power, endurance, regeneration, and other such. However, there was a side effect to the serum as it also gave him a bit of a bloodlust. “I crave violence” is very literal now.

- Very powerful but unfortunately a bit of a loose cannon. They only send him in if they’re getting desperate since he causes a lot of collateral damage.

- Can calm down and have regular conversations but it takes a lot of effort. The serum screwed with his head a lot.

- Is sent to take down the Science Team. 90% of the time, they have to run from him and shake him off their trail other than fight him as he’s a lot stronger than the rest of them.

- Kidnaps Gordon rather than Sunkist at one point and holds him hostage. The Science Team has to work together to take him back.

- Saved Bubby’s life once and now whenever Coomer gets into real danger, Bubby teleports him away. Bubby is one of the few people who can calm Coomer down for long periods of time and Coomer is very fond of Bubby.

BUBBY-

“Who I am is none of your goddamn business.”

- Takes the role of G-Man as a powerful being who keeps showing up.

- Originally was created by Black Mesa and worked for them but in an experiment gone horribly wrong, Bubby abruptly disappeared with no trace.

- The accident gave Bubby dimensional powers over Time and Space but unfortunately, Bubby struggles to figure them out and they’re rather unstable at first.

- Because of their instability, Bubby sometimes randomly will teleport and get stuck in places he doesn’t want to be in. This happens far too frequently in Black Mesa but luckily, Gordon knows him and starts hiding him from Black Mesa whenever he gets stuck.

- This also happened once when Bubby ended up in the middle of an active battlefield and nearly got killed had Coomer not saw him get teleported in and rescued him.

- Bubby has taken a certain fondness for both of them and watches over them from the shadows as his own way of saying ‘Thank You’.

- Black Mesa is vaguely aware that Bubby is still out there but he’s become a bit of a cryptid to them. There’s some security footage of him teleporting in but all security footage gets really staticy and stops working after he appears in it.

- Bubby absolutely despises Black Mesa.

- If he wants something changed, he will change it, by force if necessary.

- Starts watching the team closely after the Resonance Cascade. At first thinks that some of them are aligned with Black Mesa and actively tries to stop them until he figures out that they’ve all fallen victim to it as well and becomes somewhat of an ally.

Anddd that’s the team!

That took a LONG time to type out but hopefully it’s interesting! I’m having a lot of thoughts about this AU currently so if you’re curious at all, send me an ask and I can talk about it more!

[severetimetravelnerd]

Hatred and Love (ft.G Dragon) Mafia AU

Part 10 

You make a tough decision.

(I don’t own any of the images used. All credit goes to the original owners.)

Taglist:

@unabashedturkeytreeslime​

@happiestgirlontheeastcoast​

@kwonnansi​

@aarfyie​

@suhappysuho​

If there is anyone else who would like to be tagged, you can comment or leave me a message :))

I only write on this blog on tumblr, so if you see my work on any other platform, please let me know immediately.

Okay, so here, the war against EXO intensifies even more. It has appearances from Daesung, Taeyang, TOP, Mino, Hanbin and EXO (mostly Kai). This continues with the EXO storyline, but again, I have nothing against EXO :)) I love them, but I had to use someone for the plot.

I just hit 100 followers guys!!!! Thank you so much for all your support!!! I’ll try my level best to keep writing :))) Please do keep supporting me and I’m always open to feedback :))))

Warnings: Violence, Death(not main character), Injury, Blood, Eventual smut, Abduction, Guns and Knives, language, emotional breakdown. Slight symptoms of PTSD(nightmares), one mention of the word rape.

————————————————————————–

Jiyong’s mind started racing. There were so many things that could have gone wrong with your plan. How long ago did you leave? Could you even shoot properly? What if they kept both you and Hanbin? What if they tortured you? Oh god. What if those were his last words to you? He shook his head. His voice hoarse and weak, he called for Youngbae. Youngbae walked in a few minutes later, wondering why Jiyong would want him there in the middle of trying to make up with his girlfriend, but the moment he say Jiyong sitting on the edge on the bed, his eyes red and his head in his hands, he knew you had left. For the first time in his life, Jiyong’s voice sounded shaky. 

“Youngbae, she left to go get Hanbin back. She left because of what I said.” 

Youngbae leaned against the wall, thinking. He couldn’t lie to Jiyong. What he said probably did make you leave, but he didn’t know how to comfort Jiyong for that. This was the lowest he had ever seen Jiyong. Jiyong was always calm and collected, with a plan, but the man who sat in front of him was a shaking mess, unable to wrap his head around what happened.  Youngbae sighed. 

“Jiyong, get ready. We’re going to go get them back here in one piece so that your sorry ass can apologise to your girlfriend.”

Jiyong blindly obeyed Youngbae, taking orders like that for the first time in his life. Youngbae had called Seunghyun, Daesung and Mino. They were also getting ready. Youngbae was just coordinating some details for the plan, so Jiyong walked out. He wasn’t thinking straight. He needed some fresh air. He walked out of the house and stared at the sky, laughing at how no matter what was happening on the earth below, the skies always remained aloof and uninterested. He had just taken out a cigarette when he froze, hearing footsteps. Out of reflex, he took out his gun and aimed with one hand and shone the torch in the direction of the footsteps with the other. He was about to shoot when he realised it was Hanbin, with someone with him. He didn’t notice that EXO’S Jongin was in their headquarters. He just noticed that Hanbin was carrying an unconscious you.

 Jongin and Hanbin had gotten you out of his house alright, Hanbin carrying you and Jongin focussing on defence. Jongin had to shoot a few more of Joonmyeon’s men in their feet, but overall, there wasn’t too much damage. Jongin drove following Hanbin’s instructions to get to the headquarters. Jongin was terrified. Jiyong was the enemy after all, but he knew that at the same time, he was his best bet. They reached the house, Hanbin getting out of the car and running while carrying you, wanting to get you to a bed and a doctor. He also paused when he was stopped by the flashing of a torch in his face and the sound of a gun being pulled out. When the suddenness of the light faded away, he looked up and realised it was Jiyong.

Jiyong slowly put down the gun. For the first time in his life, he sounded broken. 

“Hanbin, wh-what happened to her? Why is she unconscious?”

 Hanbin ignored his question. 

“Hyung, I’m taking her up to her room. Jongin is with us. He helped us a lot. We have to offer him protection for a while.”

 Jiyong just nodded, staring weakly at your limp body in Hanbin’s arms and wanting nothing more than to just kill himself for putting you in a situation like that. Hanbin moved past Jiyong and ran up the stairs, not bothering to look back. Jongin still had his gun out, and was about to follow Hanbin, but he stopped and stared at Jiyong for a while. Jiyong was just frozen, looking absolutely desolate and broken beyond measure. Jongin felt some pity for him. He softly said, 

“Why are you standing here? Follow Hanbin.” 

Jiyong blankly looked at Jongin and nodded. He should be there with you. He needed to be there with you.

 Jiyong numbly walked up the stairs and into his room. Hanbin had laid you down on the bed and was checking your temperature.

 “Hyung, she’s burning up. Call Hyorin noona. We need a doctor here.”

 Jiyong nodded and opened his phone, but his vision was getting hazy. He wasn’t able to think straight. Jongin took one look at him and sighed.

 “Hanbin, he isn’t going to be able to call anyone right now. He’s in shock. Find Youngbae.”

 Hanbin nodded, his eyes never leaving you. He called Youngbae hyung, grateful that he answered his phone on the first ring. 

“Hanbin? Where are you? How are you calling me right now? What happened to Y/N? How’d you escape from Jongin?”

 Hanbin cut him off. 

“Hyung, I’ll explain later, but call Hyorin noona. We need a doctor here for Y/N. Jongin, Jiyong hyung, Y/N and I are in hyung’s room.” 

Hanbin jumped up, turning around and glaring at Jiyong. His voice dangerously low and angry, he said,

 “Hyung, what did you say to her? Why the fuck would you send her alone? What would you have done is something had happened to her?”

 Jiyong was still numb. He couldn’t take his eyes off your unconscious body. He turned to Hanbin, still numb, and in a disconcerted voice, said, 

“I told her that she was the reason we lost you and that I don’t know why we aren’t giving in to EXO’s demands.” 

Hanbin stared at him in shock.

 “Hyung, you told her you didn’t know why you weren’t giving her up to EXO?” 

Jiyong nodded, looking paler by the second. Jongin just scoffed. 

“Wow, good job of keeping her happy and safe.”

 Jiyong couldn’t even defend himself.

 “Jiyong hyung, you know she came with a high fever, right? That didn’t go down because I couldn’t get the medicine to her? Yeah. You should also know she collapsed from shock today, after killing someone for the first time.”

 Hanbin took a step closer. 

“You said you’d keep her safe. You said you’d never be the mafia boss around her. What happened to that, huh? God, hyung.” 

Hanbin could barely even look at him. 

“You disgust me.”

 It was at that moment that Youngbae and Hyorin walked in. Raising an eyebrow at what happened, Youngbae walked between Jiyong and Hanbin and held Hanbin’s shoulder, his voice soft but firm when he said,

 “Hanbin, that’s enough. You can’t talk to your boss that way.” 

Hanbin stepped back and looked away, fuming. Hyorin stepped closer to you and began checking your condition. Jiyong turned numb to everything around him, just waiting, praying, internally begging Hyorin to say that you were fine.

 Hyorin took some time checking up on you. She slowly stood up straight and turned around. She decided to address Hanbin.

 “Hanbin, she’s got a fever of 103. It might progress into a heat stroke if it doesn’t go down by tomorrow. Someone will have to stay with her all night and try and bring her body temperature down.”

 Hanbin jumped up, nodding tensely.

 “I’ll do it.” 

He was just about to walk over to you when suddenly he swayed and fell to the ground, world around him spinning. Jongin pulled him up, sighing.

 “Hanbin, you haven’t slept or eaten in a while. You can’t stay up looking after her in this condition.” 

Hanbin wanted to protest, but he didn’t have the energy to. Hyorin nodded at Jongin.

 “He’s right Hanbin. Go home and rest for a while.” 

For the first time in a while, Jiyong spoke. His voice was weak when he opened his mouth to say, 

“I’ll stay with her.”

 Everyone turned to stare at him, each assessing him in their own way. Hanbin was about to scoff at him, but Jongin gripped his arm, silently shaking his head. Youngbae tried to smooth things over. 

“Okay, guys, then we’ll all get going? Jongin, you’ll need a room, right? Here, come with me. There’s a spare-” 

Hanbin cut Youngbae off, glaring at him no matter how weak he was.

 “Hyung, I know you’re basically just going to keep Jongin prisoner if you take him with you. No way. He helped us escape. He’s a friend. He’s coming with me. He can stay with me.”

After they all left, Jiyong went and got a bowl of cold water. He soaked a cloth in it and folded it neatly, putting it on your forehead, gently brushing your hair back. He stared at you, flushed and asleep, desperately trying to convey how sorry he was. He wanted to just hold you in his arms, but you needed your body temperature to go down. He went and got out a light slip from your cupboard, gently holding you up with one hand and changed you out of the uncomfortable clothes you were wearing. He sighed when he saw the knife strapped to your thigh and he gently slipped it off, folding it away, his eyes pained because he hated that you had to use it. He stroked your hair, leaning down and burying his face in it. His body slowly started to shake with sobs. Your hair became damp. 

“Y/N, I’m so sorry. I am so so sorry. You don’t deserve this. I allowed this to happen. I should have kept my promise. I’m so fucking sorry.” 

He mumbled this into your hair, sobs getting harsher by the word. He got up, replaced the cloth and sat back down, eyes still red. Hands weak, he held your hand and took your pinky finger. He knew how important pinky promises were to you. He wrapped his own pinky finger around it and said, 

“Y/N, I promise I will keep you safe. Never again.”

 He leaned down to kiss your forehead. 

“I love you. I always will.”

 Joonmyeon was holding Jiyong at knifepoint. You were in a cold sweat. You knew Joonmyeon would kill him without any hesitation, but you had to do something. You rushed forward to try and pull Jiyong away when Joonmyeon pulled the knife. You could just see the start of the blood when you opened your eyes, panting. It was a dream. Thank god. Everything was still hazy. You weren’t thinking straight and you head hurt, but most of all, you were scared because of what you dreamt. Forgetting everything that Jiyong had said and done, you just wanted him to be safe. You turned to your left, surprised to find Jiyong sitting there, dozing off, hand still holding yours. You smiled and kissed his hand.

 “I love you Jiyong.” 

You wanted to kiss him, but you were too tired, and you fell asleep again.

 Jiyong looked up wearily when he heard Hanbin and Jongin enter the next morning. He was exhausted. He hadn’t slept properly in days and he was stressed, but he wouldn’t sleep until you were fine. He cracked a half-hearted smile at them. 

“Her fever’s gone down. She’s better now.”

 Hanbin ignored him, simply going and sitting next to you to check on you himself. Jongin nodded at Jiyong, feeling bad for him. Hanbin slowly ran his fingers through your hair, watching you carefully. You started tossing around, Jiyong instantly getting more attentive to you, worried. You started trembling, crying in your sleep. Jiyong looked shocked beyond measure. His eyebrows shot up. Why were you crying in your sleep? He got out his phone to call Hyorin, terrified that something had happened to you, when Hanbin just glared at him and made him put his phone away.

 “Hyung, how do you not know that Y/N gets nightmares?”

 He scoffed and turned towards you, gently pulling you closer and hugging you, patting your back to calm you down. Jiyong looked shocked.

 “Why does she have nightmares?” 

Hanbin looked at him like he was dumb.

 “Hyung, we abducted her. We tortured her. Joongi nearly raped her. You shot her. And then, to top it all off, she killed someone yesterday. Why wouldn’t she have nightmares?” 

Jiyong went numb. How did he not know these things about you? Hanbin glared at him and muttered,

 “You would have realised had you spent more time with her.”

 Jiyong’s head fell. God, he barely spent any time with you, and now, he didn’t know how much time he had left with you. You deserved better than him. So much better than him. But he was selfish. He wanted to keep you by his side. He wanted to be with you. Always. Looking at your pale face flinching in your sleep, he realised that maybe he shouldn’t have been that selfish. You needed a safer, better life.

You blinked a little when you woke up a few hours later, trying to get used to the harsh light. You slowly adjusted and looked around at the people sitting there with you. You saw Hanbin holding your hand and Jongin standing around there, but you didn’t see Jiyong. Your heart fell. You looked around again, still not able to see him. You were about to give up when you heard his voice, softly saying, 

“Don’t move around too much, my love. You’re still a little weak.” 

You looked up. You realised that what you thought was your pillow was his lap. He was looking down at you lovingly, hands gently detangling your hair. You took one last moment to memorise everything about him. his beautiful eyes, his adorable smile, that damn tattoo and his soft hair. You took a deep breath and you got up, moving away from him. The way his face fell broke your heart, but it still didn’t hurt as much as you having to make the decision of moving away from him when you wanted nothing more to be there with him, in his arms. Hanbin and Jongin immediately jumped up, wanting to check if you were okay, but one look at your face and they knew to stay where they were. You cleared your throat. Your voice was weak when you spoke.

 “Jiyong, I need this to end. I can’t live like this anymore. I need to get away from all of this. From you. I can’t live being treated as a tradable good between the two gangs. I don’t want to be your excuse to fight anymore. I never asked for this and it’s not fair that I have to be punished for it. I just want life to go back to normal.”

 You paused, hating yourself for making him, the infamous Kwon Jiyong, look like a kicked puppy. You hated it. You wanted him to stop you. You wanted him to say something asking you to stay. You didn’t want to leave him. You just wanted to stop being treated the way you were. As much as you didn’t want to admit it, you needed him too. But your heart broke even more when you saw him nodding along to what you were saying, not trying to stop you, although you could see in his eyes that he wanted to. You continued. 

“I can’t stay here anymore, but I’m not stupid. I’ll go back to my normal life when things go back to normal.”

 You turned to Hanbin. 

“Hanbin, can I stay with you for now?”

 Hanbin looked between you and Jiyong, not knowing whether this would help you or just make things worse. He finally decided to just give in to you. 

“Of course Y/N.”

[for-a-muse-of-fire]

chivalry fell on its sword

the wench and the witcher

“chivalry fell on its sword”

Fandom: The Witcher (2019)

Paring: Geralt of Rivia x Fem!POC Reader

Summary: Geralt witnesses one of the many perils involved in your profession. It rattles him enough to try and do something about it.

Warnings: Mentions of blood and violence. Geralt and reader continue to be foul-mouthed little darlings.

A/N: Holy crap, guys, I wrote something that wasn’t smut. “You know what that is? Growth.” Full disclosure, there is no real, actual plan for where I’m going with this series, thing. I’m just here to write shit.

@coconutxraikage​ ; @pantrashtic​ ; @kingniazx​ ; @onyour-right​

“Geralt, is this really necessary?”

“Yes.”

You eye the dirk in your hand. “I cook with these, I don’t fight with them - I’ll fucking stab myself.”

“And that’s why we’re here – so I can show you how not to fucking stab yourself.”

You glare at him. ‘Here’ happens to be the courtyard behind your tavern. The witcher has been with you for three days, warming your bed and keeping you company – even your regulars have started to get used to him. Well, mostly. At the very least, they’ve graduated from ‘outright hostility’ to ‘passive distrust’.

Baby steps.

Your only problem with Geralt’s extended visitation is the fact that he’s become annoyingly protective. He mostly keeps out of the way, doesn’t expect you to change anything about your daily routine to suit him, but having a very large, somewhat menacing companion at your back takes some getting used to. No, you’re not exactly what most people would term as ‘threatening’, but you’ve managed the damn place for near-on five years. Belligerent drunks are simply a hazard of the job. You have a very particular way of managing people when they get out of hand at your establishment, and while it does work – most of the time, kind of – the previous evening was a wholly different story.

_-_-_-_-_-_

“I think you need to leave, friend!“

How the bastard had managed to get this drunk on your watch was beyond you. You were going to have a talk with the staff about over-serving. Right now, you’re more about getting the sod’s hands off the barmaid – he’s ignoring you in favor of trying to drag the poor girl into his lap. “Hey,” you bark again. “I’m talking to you – “

Your hand grabs his shoulder and yanks. The girl he’s pawing manages to worm free as the drunk reels about with a shout of indignation, “Get yer fuckin’ hands off me, daft bitch!”

You have to laugh at that, “I may be a daft bitch, but I’m the one who’s name is on the lease here. You’re harassing my waitstaff, now get the fuck out.”

The bastard scoffs at you and has the unmitigated gall to turn his back on you; you see red. Somewhere behind you, you here the rumble of your name – Geralt, trying to tell you to stand down. You ignore him, obviously, because who’s going to take you seriously if you can’t deal with one drunken shithead? With an irritated growl, you grab said shithead by the back of the collar.

“That’s it – “

“Get off, you fucking slut!”

CRACK. Your vision flashes white for a second, like a firecracker has gone off next to your face. The impact of the back of the drunk’s hand sends you stumbling into the nearest table, bell thoroughly rung. You manage to catch the end of the table before you go spinning to the floor.

Geralt shouts your name. Behind you, your assailant gloats, “Come on, girlie. More where that came from.”

There’s blood in your mouth. You spit, grimace, and grab the nearest heavy object you can find; one of your solid clay pitchers.

It’s makes a satisfying “thunk” when it cracks the drunk across the face.

“Fuck you, prick,” you gasp.

_-_-_-_-_-_

 You’d woken up this morning with an impressive shiner, but that son of a bitch had been dragged off with a shattered jaw, according to the gossip. By your standards, everything had been taken care of, but Geralt didn’t seem to be of the same mind. He’d grumbled something about men and fragile egos - ‘reprisals’, blah blah blah- then hurried you through breakfast, and promptly dragged you out of doors.

So, here you were. Staring at a knife. “Geralt, come on – “

“No, you need to be able to protect yourself – “

“ – I’ve managed just fine for most of my life, thank you very much – “

“You have a black eye – “

“ – and I caved that other guy’s face in!”

“That was a lucky shot and you know it!”

You startle so violently that you almost drop the blade on your foot; you don’t think Geralt’s every actually shouted at you before. He’s glaring at you while a muscle in his jaw ticks and you feel you’re your own temper start to bubble – he can’t just yell at you, and you’ve a mind to rip him a new asshole, because fuck him your goddamn face hurts and you don’t have time for this, but then he’s marching up to you and you give a small grunt of surprise when he grabs you by the shoulders.

“You can’t…” He growls, obviously frustrated, before he continues. “You can’t just hope for the best, sweetheart. You’re tough, and smart, I’ll give you that much, but if someone bigger comes along and decides you’ve got something they want…”

He trails off, lets you go, and paces away. You open your mouth to argue, but then he turns and pins you with those pretty golden eyes – oh.

Oh.

He’s worried.

It’s… unexpected? Yes, that’s the word.

But not unwelcome.

You drop Geralt’s gaze and look at the thin blade in your hand. It’s quite nice, actually – small and light enough to palm against your wrist. Hell, you could probably slide it down the front of your dress, if you ever needed to.

“… So I don’t just jab them with the pointy end?” you finally ask with a weak smile.

The witcher blinks, narrows his eyes, and finally exhales on a chuckle. You tamp down on your smile and do your best to keep your sarcasm in check with he begins instruction. He helps you find the balance point on the dirk, shows you how to hold it underhand, then overhand, followed by a breakdown of how to easily switch your grip.

Next is vital points on human anatomy. You learn that the fastest way to drop a man is to stab him through the neck and let him bleed to death. Stabbing for the heart his more difficult; if your blade glances off a rib, it can get stuck. Same thing with the kidneys in the back – hard to get to, but effective if you can manage it. Geralt shows you on his own torso. You stand in front of him while he guides your hand, keeping the sharp point of the dagger tucked to your wrist and away from his vital parts.

“Aim for the middle, if worse comes to worse,” Geralt tells you. “Stab the bastard and get the fuck out of there – he’s not going to be moving very quickly with a blade in his gut.”

With that, he draws a small-ish knife from his boot and moves to stand beside you. He slowly walks you through defensive stances, watching you like a hawk to correct anything he sees as a potential opening. Each movement is numbered and he has you drill through each one, first in order, and then in random patterns of his choosing. You only realize how long you’ve been at it when your arms start to ache. Tending bar can be hard work, but this is a different sort of practice – you’re a little winded, and a little sweaty, but you grin and shake your head when Geralt asks if you want to stop.

“No,” you tell him. “No, I think I’m getting it. Give me more.”

There’s a fierce kind of pride behind his eyes when he nods. Flipping the grip on his blade, he turns to face you and raises an eyebrow. He attacks with slow, even movements and you counter just as slowly. It’s like dancing. When you stumble or misstep, he stops, and the dance begins again.

You only make it through two sequences, at first, but then it’s three.

Then four.

Then five.

And then you realize that Geralt hasn’t stopped to correct your form in some time. He’s gained speed, as well, and you’re able to keep up. You find yourself watching not just the glint of his blade in the sunlight, but the tension and flexion of his arm, or the way he twists at the waist – all of it gives you a clue as to where he might go next. The dance flows back and forth over the cobblestone courtyard, accompanied by the whispering of your blades when then slide together and deflect. Geralt’s smooth, flowing steps push you back towards a wall, but you find an opening, spinning under his arm and back to the center of the courtyard. The witcher is hot on your heels, sweeping a wide arch that you duck under.

Then Geralt missteps. You swipe forward without thinking and leave a thin line of blood on his forearm. He swears and hops back.

Shit – you drop your blade immediately, let it clatter onto the stones below. “Geralt,” you gasp. “Fuck it, I’m sor – hmph!”

Geralt sweeps you up, careful of his unsheathed weapon, and kisses you quite thoroughly. You’re startled for a moment, but it doesn’t take long for you to relax; you melt into his touch and wind an arm around his neck. When he finally draws back, you’re more than a little breathless, and it’s not just from the training.

“Good,” he murmurs. Honey-gold eyes stare down at you, and he lifts one hand to gently push your sweaty curls away from your face. “You did good, sweetheart.”

You’re only a little sorry when he lets you go and picks up your knife, holding it handle-out for you to take. “Find a place to keep that,” he says lowly. “Your bodice, your boot, your garter – doesn’t matter, long you can reach it without fumbling. Understood?”

You smirk. “Understood,” you confirm.

Geralt gives you one of his almost-smiles, offers you one more brief kiss, and turns back for the tavern. “Just think how good you’ll get when we have you working at this every day,” he calls over his shoulder.

You blanche. Every…

Shit. “Son of a bitch,” you mutter as you follow the witcher inside.

[chelsfic]

Just for this moment - Protective!Donald Pierce x Tracker!Reader - Logan/X-Men fanfic

Reading order (this is part of a series of one-shots that can all be read on their own if you want) :

Hunted [prequel]

Words, Spoken and Unspoken [1]

Just for this moment [2]

Loving Mourners Be (one shot) [3]

Magic Words[4]

A/N: All my fics come from show tunes apparently. I just wanted to write something about how the physical/romantic relationship between Donnie and his tracker first gets started.

Summary: How things start between Donnie and his tracker mutant. (Protective!Donnie!!)

Warnings: Stockholm Syndrome, sexual assault, angst, questionable everything

---

The SUV kicks up a cloud of dust as Donald flies into the parking lot, squealing to a halt in front of the abandoned, rusted out gas station with a triumphant grin on his face. 

“This is a new record, baby. You’re gonna be out on live missions before you know it,” his proud tone warms your bones even as the implication of his words sends a spike of fear through your heart. They’re making you into a mutant hunter. Just like him.

You chase away that thought with a sarcastic comment, “You know...you could have just told me where they were hiding. Would’ve saved me the headache.”

Donald smirks and leans over the center console, taking your face in his hands and conking your foreheads together affectionately. Your tension and stress fade away at his touch. 

“I won’t always know the answers, darlin’,” he whispers, his breath ghosting over your lips. “Some day soon it’ll be more than just practice. And you’ll be expected to be a help, not a hindrance. Can you do that, baby? Are you gonna be my good girl when we’re out in the field together?”

The internal conflict is written clearly on your face. You don’t want to hunt down other mutants, capturing them and subjecting them to the same medical torture and dehumanization that you’ve endured. But when Donald’s impossible blue eyes bore into yours, when his voice rumbles deep in his chest and his fingers touch your skin...you’ll do anything for him.

You nod your head. It’s been about a month since your capture. And in that time the only break from pain and isolation has been your training sessions with Donald. When he enters your cell with that macho swagger and smug grin, you feel relief. A day of training with him is a day you don’t have to go into the exam rooms and be tested, sampled and studied. It’s a day you get to feel fresh air on your skin and the sun’s warmth. And Donald. You get to be with Donald. He’s like a splash of paint on an empty canvas.

He heads inside the gas station to check in with the handler and mutant subject hidden inside. He leaves you behind with barely a second thought, simply locking eyes with you as he gets out of the vehicle and sternly saying, “Be good.”

You watch in disbelief as he strides away, his tall frame and broad shoulders sending a stupid thrill through your body. You’ve got to stop being attracted to him. Once he’s inside the building you look down to your lap as if to confirm what you already know to be true: no manacles. He’s left you here unbound and free to run. Your hand goes to the door handle automatically, just resting there as your mind races. You can’t deny that Donald has forged a strange bond with you in the time you’ve trained with him. You feel tied to him, compelled to please him and craving his approval. But is he so confident in his own power to think that you won’t seize the chance at freedom?

Your fingers are just flexing to pull on the handle when you see him emerge from the building, arching an elegant eyebrow at you as he crosses in front of the vehicle. He climbs inside, glancing over at you and looking pointedly at the door handle. Your hand falls away guiltily and you duck your head to avoid his gaze.

“That’s my girl,” he smiles with a hint of meanness. He likes that he’s got you trained. He likes that heady mix of attraction and fear in your eyes when you think he can’t see you watching him. His smugness fills the car like bad cologne and you want to cry. You’re disappointed with yourself. But mostly...mostly you just can’t stomach the thought of going back inside those cruel, sterile walls. Especially not tonight.

As you get nearer and nearer to the facility Donald senses your tension. Your heart is racing, your palms are sweaty and you feel dizzy. It’s Wednesday, Nurse Parker’s night shift. He’ll come to your cell again. He’ll hurt you, hold the syringe to your neck while he forces you to your knees. You can’t do it again. Not after this bitter, half-taste of freedom.

“What is it, baby?” Donald asks, catching your eye for a second before turning back to the road. 

You swallow, shaking your head and feeling tears finally slip free, “I can’t go back, Donnie. Don’t take me back...I don’t want to…”

It’s the first time you’ve called him Donnie and he finds himself unexpectedly pleased. He wants you to be familiar with him. He wants you to be...his. The thought sends him reeling. In all of his years working for Transigen he’s never...sullied himself with the mutant prisoners. They’re beneath him. Dirty. Wrong. But you…

He shakes his head, dismissing the thoughts and letting out an aggravated sigh at your words, “Darlin’, I’m disappointed. You think you’re the first mutie who’s tried to appeal to me to let them go? It’s never worked, baby. I thought you knew better.”

You seal your lips shut, shifting your body away from him and staring out the window, watching other cars go by and imagining that you’re one of those people. Out for a drive. Free. Not being taken to your doom.

By the time he pulls into a parking space in the underground garage you’re hugging yourself and trembling. He turns off the ignition and watches you for a long moment, a muscle jumping in his jaw. This assignment...actually working with a mutant...it’s messing with his mind. He doesn’t care about you. You’re less than dirt to him, like every other mutie in this place. He should not care that there are tear stains on your cheeks or that you won’t meet his eyes. But he thinks about the way you seem to melt into his touch when he praises you after a job well done...about the way your eyes linger on him sometimes...how you’ve even started to greet him with a smile when he retrieves you from your cell. He tells himself it’s only proof of his convictions: that you’re lesser and eager to serve your superiors. But… all he really wants is to make you smile again. He wants to make you feel safe.

“Is someone hurting you?” his voice is a dangerous growl, startling you into looking up at him. His eyes bore into yours, intense and terrifying. A stray lock of hair hangs over his forehead and he licks his dry lips as he waits for your reply.

You shake your head. Not denying it. Not lying to him--you can’t lie to Donald, can you? But simply refusing to answer. Nurse Parker’s words come back to you, If you tell anyone there’ll be a little accident. Mutants are put down every day in this place. No one would question it…

Donnie cups your cheek in his warm hand. His touch is gentle even if his words are reinforced with steel, “Answer me, little girl.”

You shut your eyes, fat tears escaping and running down your cheeks as you reply, “Everyone, Donald. You’re all hurting me.”

He lets a sigh escape him and turns away, ignoring the foreign stab of guilt in his gut.

---

Something doesn’t feel right. Donald stalks through the quiet corridors of Transigen that night. He should have left by now but he keeps feeling the tug of conscience keeping him from doing so. He sees your face, tear stained and hopeless, telling him that he’s hurting you. But you weren’t telling him everything. He opens the security feeds on his phone, telling himself he’s only checking to ensure the continued usefulness of his asset. Nothing more.

But he can’t deny the panic that grips his heart when he opens your cell’s feed to find it turned off. He punches in his security clearance, manually overriding the camera and watching in fury as the image resolves on his screen. 

---

The door to your cell slams open and Nurse Parker rips away from you, leaving you kneeling on the floor and gasping for air between sobs as he turns to face the intruder. The nurse’s eyes widen in fear and he drops the syringe from his hand, the one he’s used to threaten you into compliance. 

“Hey, man…” he stutters, backing up into a wall as Donald stalks forward with murder in his eyes, “This-this one’s taken.”

That was the wrong thing to say. Donald grabs the man by the throat, lifting him off the floor and throttling him into the cinder block wall. He gets up close, spitting in the man’s face as he hisses, “Yeah, she is.”

Nurse Parker is choking for air and thrashing his limbs uselessly against his attacker. Donnie drops him to his feet long enough to aim a vicious punch to the side of his head that sends him crashing to the floor.

You tuck yourself into a corner by your bed to avoid being caught in the violence. The movement catches the nurse’s eyes and he glares at you with disgust as he spits blood.

“FUCK!” he moans, looking up at Donald, “She’s just a fuckin’ mutant!”

Donald’s body goes still. You can see every muscle in his back standing out against the tight t-shirt he’s wearing. He crouches down over his victim. His voice goes soft and menacing and you recall the mind-numbing fear he can instill with just that voice.

“She’s. My. Fucking. Mutant.”

He turns to you then, a gentle smile on his lips as if he’s trying to sooth a wounded animal, “Why don’t you wait for me out in the hallway, baby. I won’t be a minute.”

---

Donald finds you crouched on the floor looking utterly gutted. Your face is stained with tear tracks and your lip is split and bruised from where Nurse Parker had forced you to…

He suppresses a wild growl and leans down to help you stand.

“You’re okay, baby,” he whispers as he escorts you down the hall and away from the blood spattered cell. “You’re okay now.”

He takes you to his apartment. Donald’s not allowing himself to think anything through right now, he just acts on instinct. He won’t leave you alone tonight. He logs it like he does any other training session and simply walks out with you. If you could think past the lingering fear and trauma then you’d marvel at how easy it could be. He could just take you away. If he wanted.

Donald lives forty minutes away in a high-rise. The apartment is massive with a wide open living area and kitchen, big windows looking out to the night sky and a bedroom and bath tucked away in the back. He takes you into the bedroom, sitting you down on the edge of his king-sized bed before walking into the bathroom. You hear the tap running as you cast your eyes around the room, taking in the simple luxury of his living space with awe. Your fingers sink into the plush down comforter on his bed and you honestly might cry from the decadence compared to your pitiful mattress.

He emerges from the bathroom with a glass of water and pushes it toward you.

“Drink somethin’, baby. You’re pale,” his voice is quieter than you’ve ever heard it. You look up at him. Really looking for the first time since he stormed into your cell. He has dark circles under his eyes and blood smeared over his face. He holds himself without any of his usual cocky self-assurance. You take the glass from him and sip from it. 

“Thank you,” you whisper, your voice is broken and ragged from stress. “This is...where you live?”

The answer is obvious but the real question behind your words--why did you bring me here?--can’t be asked.

“Mmhmm,” Donnie hums in response, turning to his nightstand and casually twisting the robotic hand on the end of his arm until the entire prosthetic comes off. He lets it clunk onto the table as you watch with fascination. 

Then he’s sitting beside you on the bed, taking the empty glass from your hands and setting it down next to the prosthetic. His fingers brush over yours as he does so and you feel the familiar shiver that comes whenever he touches you. Donnie sees it, too. He knows how you respond to him. Most days it fills him with a sense of righteous pleasure to know his little mutant enjoys his touch. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he questions you. The anger in his voice causes you to draw back instinctively. He doesn’t let you go far, though, grasping your hand and holding it between you on the bed. “Answer me.”

“He said he would kill me,” you reply, not meeting his eyes, “if I told anyone.”

Donald’s fingers tighten around yours and you finally look up at him, sinking into his intense gaze. Something inside those eyes flickers as he answers you with a deep rumble, “No one but I can kill you, baby.”

He keeps eye contact with you as he says the words, leaning closer and ducking down so he can press his forehead against yours like he always does. There’s something about the gesture that feels intimate and... special. You can’t look away from him and you feel your body gravitating closer even as you huff a bemused laugh at his words.

“Is that supposed to comfort me?”

But...strangely...it does. He may be your captor...your jailer...but he won’t let anyone else hurt you. And after seeing the ferocity of his violence tonight...you believe him.

Donnie doesn’t answer you with his words. His mind is buzzing with accusations and warnings, but he ignores them all. He pushes back against the memory of that fucking nurse’s voice scoffing, She’s just a mutant. Instead he leans forward, bridging the final gap between you and pressing his soft, full lips against yours. His lips are impossibly soft but the kiss is all urgency and yearning. He cups his hand around the back of your neck, holding you in place as he ravages your mouth. Not that you want to pull away. No, you’re pressing yourself up against his chest, your hands running through his hair and trailing down to his shoulders as he deepens the kiss. It feels like every touch, every word exchanged over the last month has been leading you both to this place. 

The kiss goes on and on. It’s savage and gentle and sad and urgent all at once. You’re both reluctant to pull away for even one second because if you do then the spell will be broken and you’ll have to go back to being captor and captive. So you don’t pull away. You don’t end it. You sink into Donnie’s warm body and let him engulf your tiny form. You let him claim you and capture you all over again. You cling to this moment with all your strength. Because already--already you’re grieving it. You’re grieving the moment it ends and he takes you back to that place. And Donnie must feel it too because he growls into your lips and his fingers tighten on the back of your neck as if he’s raging against the reality that won’t ever let the two of you go from its grip.

Afterwards you’re both breathless and flushed. He lies beside you on the bed, running his fingers through your hair and humming soothing words to you as your eyes flutter shut. 

“I got you, baby,” he whispers, “You’re alright.”

And, for now, you are.

Tags:

@nothing-but-a-comedy @ionlyjoinedforboydholbrook @theplumsoldier @meri47 @lackofhonor