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mugeesworld · 1 year

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Ukai with a chubby partner head cannons♥︎

I've been having so much ukai with a chubby partner brain rot recently and I need to tell someone or I'll explode?!

Female y/n

NSFW

Reminder I add to head cannons randomly whenever they pop into my head so it can change daily!

If you like this go check out my luffy and franky ones! ♥︎♥︎

Now hear me out. I get Major "chubby chaser" vibes from this guy. Not in a fetish way but a way that sees your plush figure as soft and elegant. Something he can't take his eyes off of. Breath taking.

Ukai has always been drawn more to chubby women I think. The bigger the figure the more he can love. And LET ME TELL YOU. He can't keep his hands away.

Every chance this man gets he's groping you. Whether it's your ass, breasts, thighs, or stomach. He's always touching something. Even when he doesn't realize he will place a hand on your leg and lightly squeeze. He's like a magnet to your body.

He loves the way your soft body feels pressed against his and how he can feel heat radiating off you on to him almost immediately. He loves your hugs. The way you wrap your arms around his back with your tits pressed against his chest so he can get a eye full.

He has to look away to keep himself from full on digging his face into your soft chest. If he could he would stay there forever. That's heaven for him.

That being said he loves cuddling you. He loves nothing more then to come home everyday to see his beautiful girlfriend laying on their bed playing on her phone. Quickly discarding of his work clothes and hoping into the warm bed with you and savoring every inch of your body.

Letting his hands explore your curves and dips as if they were unexplored areas hoping to find some treasure. And trust me. He did everytime. He never gets tired of rubbing his hands up and down your sides. Softly sliding one up your shirt while the other reaches down to grab your waist and ass to pull you closer to him.

Every tiny bit of space between y'all he sees as wasted potential so he always pulls you closer to him. Their is nothing that's stopping this man from feeling ever inch of you. And he's gonna no matter what it takes.

Watching your every move. Any time you would shift as a reaction his hands tracing your body he would pick up on it. No matter how many times he seen your body he is always blown away by the beauty. Like those sculptures in museums he sees every detail on your body as important. Your art. A goddess. He is literally flabbergasted on how you are in his grasp.

And he will never let go.

Yes ukai had that "bad guy" look going for him. Always having that smug look on his face that he knows both pisses you off and turns you on. But with you he has a big soft side.

Even though he tends to act different around you then other people knowing he can truly relax and trust you he still acts cocky sometimes.

Ukai loves and I mean LOVES to tease you. Anywhere. Anytime. He doesn't care. He will take any chance to make you flustered/embarrassed cause he knows it makes you crazy.

If you work in the store with him you best believe ALL DAY he is doing some smug shit. Giving you sexual looks from across the room. Looking you up and down.

Going up behind you and placing his crotch just close enough to your ass so you can feel it when you're bent over restocking the shelfs. With nothing more then a simple "Need help with that?" coming from his lips. Sometimes whispering it in your ear.

Or when passing by you in a tight space making sure to over drastically rub himself against you when passing. Only saying excuse me and walking away like he ain't do shit.

If you're the type to get nervous with eye contact he takes that to full advantage. You could be walking out of the storage room when ukai starts walking slowly towards you. Looking you up and down and staring you lustfully in the eyes taking a drag of his cig. Before blowing out the smoke and licking his lips as you just stand there to nervous to move since his gaze is so intimidating.

Giving you one more look up and down and going on with his business like nothing happened once again letting you finally be able to breathe.

Oh but the other way around..... You teasing him is a whole different story. And everytime you try it. It's never the out come you thought it would be.

One day you decide to get your revenge on your boyfriend. Not in a mean way but something close. You told ukai he could go ahead to the store that you just had to fix your hair. It was nothing knew so he brushes it off and makes his way to the store that's close to yalls house.

You put on his favorite sun dress. One that's perfect for summer time but also hot. It goes up mid thigh and reveals a good bit of cleavage. He loved this dress. It made you look both elegant and sexy and every time you wore it in the past it ended up on the floor of your apartment along with his clothes ;)

You fix your hair cutely and put on your shoes and socks before making your way to the store. No one was there yet since he just flipped the sign on the door to open so it was just you and him.

You enter the store fairly quiet and make your way to the storage room to get a apron to tie your look all together. Ukai was currently looking at the newspaper at the counter waiting for a customer. Not paying attention to you at the moment.

You grab your apron that still shows your chest. You pull the strings and tie them around your back. Doing ukais next favorite thing you wear. He loves to see you in a apron. How it hugs your body and outlines your figure.

You walk out of the storage room and head over to ukai to see what all needs to be done. "What's on the schedule today?" you ask making his head turn up to face you. To his surprise he has this extra beautiful sight in front of him. Making his cheeks turn a light tint of red.

"Wow.... You do this all for me?" he asks smugly. Standing up, crossing his arms and making his way over to you. You act dumb and give him a confused look. "Do what?"

Ukai chuckles and inches closer but you swiftly dodge him and grab the clip board on his desk of everything that needed to be done. He widdens his eyes at your sudden movement but brushes it off.

"I'll start restocking the drinks in the fridge if you want to do the cans!" you say before quickly walking off before he could get a chance to respond. You head to go grab the drinks.

Ukai stands there for a moment. Confused about why you're acting like this but let's it go eventually thinking it's just you joking or something.

You make your way back out with the drinks and start to put them on the few middle shelfs. Ukai makes his way to the back grabbing the cans and walking to the isle that needs to be restocked.

He watches as you bend over to grab bottles and put them on the bottom shelf. Revealing your plush thighs and a tiny bit of your ass to him. He feels his pants tighten up at the sight, his cheeks once again turning red. He shakes his head and tries to stay focused on his task.

As he is stacking the cans on the shelf he hears a noise coming from you and turns his head. You desperately try to reach the top shelf of the tall fridge but can't reach (I'm 5'7 just go along with it💀)

You stretch and stretch trying to reach on your tippy toes but fail. You fall back on your heels with a sigh. Suddenly ukai appears behind you and grabs a few bottles reaching over you and putting them on the shelf. You smile to yourself knowing your plan worked.

You "innocently" move back a bit grinding your ass on his crotch making him grunt. You start to feel more confident now that it's working and take it a step further. "Oh here let me grab these down here for you!" you say.

"Oh no that's ok! I can~ ah" he tries to say before you bend over to grab the remaining bottles ruting back on him harder then before. You take your time grabbing the bottles before handing them to ukai.

"Here! Thank you!" you say slightly moving to face him grabbing his arm and hugging. Making sure to squeeze your boobs together.

At this point ukai has caught on and he is a mess. He hates being teased. Just as y'all finish the drinks customers start to walk in. You quickly prance off to greet the customers and see if they need help leaving ukai there sexually frustrated.

For the next hour ukai sits at the counter watching you and trying to hide the buldge growing in his pants. Once all the customers left you went back to the isle ukai was stacking the cans on and start to put them away.

Ukai puts out his cigarette walks over to the door and flips the sign to closed. You don't notice since you are currently bent over to put away the remaining cans.

As you were about to finish you feel ukai walk up behind you doing what he does as usual and rub against you as you are bending over but this time..... He didn't walk away.

You listen to him sigh as he drags his hands across your waist. "I've caught on to your little tricks sweetheart.... And I got to say. I'm not a fan. Not one bit."

Your breath shutters as you feel his hands start to roam up your dress. "Two can play that game. And I won't loose y/n." he squeezes your ass.

..... Let's just say the store remained closed for a good hour or two.

Ukai loves to see you in his shirts. Especially if they are tight on you a bit. It makes him crazy. He would prefer his shirt and a pair of short shorts over a dress any day.

He's definitely the type to keep one of your hair bows around his wrist. He loves to play with it. He says he keeps It with him cause he doesn't want to hear you complain about your hair being in the way but he would honestly be sad if you actually needed it. He would steal another.

This man would love to lay on your thighs. He wants to be crushed. Suffocated. He would die a happy man.

His favorite position is cow girl and reverse cow girl. He loves the view. Being able to grab your breasts or your ass and thighs as you ride him makes him insane.

When y'all are done and rearrange to cuddle ukai loves to cock warm you. Leaving himself inside you while y'all drift to sleep. Either a lewd dream waking him up feeling you or him start to move or his morning wood getting hard while still in you and being ready to go right when y'all wake up.

He loves sleepy morning sex. Also waking you up with sex. Watching your eyes flutter open as he slowly starts to thrust in you. Hearing you moan in your sleepy voice makes him weak. And imagine his sleepy voice too as he rails you. Damn😍

If you're tired and don't feel like riding ukai will HAPPILY do missionary or doggy style instead. He loves the way your ass bounces on him. Holding your hips and pushing as far as he can into you.

Ukai would definitely be a kinky guy. Possibly choking, hair pulling!!! (He loves when you grab his hair when he is in between your legs) maybe something to do with smoke. Like taking a hit then kissing you transfering the smoke into your mouth. Or possibly even spitting in your mouth if you're into that.

He loves your little outfits you throw on for bed. He especially loves garters. He likes pushing his fingers under them and going around rubbing your thighs. Or if they are a little tight and noticeably squishy your thighs. That shut makes him crazy.

Now hear me out. Tongue piercing. He would totally get one. And use one of those vibranting ones for your nipples and clit.

That being said. Brother could eat you out for hours. He going in that shit like he hasn't ate in days and he coming out with you all over his chin. He wants it all. He loves having your thighs squish his as he overstimulatrd you for the 3rd time that night not wanting to leave in between your legs. He'll most of the times let you but if you do it do much you're getting your legs pushed back so he can go deeper.

Also you tugging his hair to pull him closer?..... LORDDDDD! LET ME TELL YOU SOMETHING it makes him insane. Like phyco he loves that shit. To the point he is moaning while eating you as you pull on his gorgeous locks. It makes him crazy. H loves having you play with his hair. Even outside of the bed room. You make fun of him sometimes saying he acts like a cat wanting to constantly be pet. He always gets embarrassed and denies it but sure enough not even 5 minutes later he's asking for you to do it again.

Not only that but face sitting? He gets weak in the knees just thinking about. And it took a lot of convincing for you to finally try it cause you we're scared to hurt him. But he wanted you on him. Sat. He will pull your legs down if you try to half ass that shit. He loves seeing you ride and grind on his face.

He told you he would tap your legs if it was ever to much. But he lied. He rather die then leave that glorious place. "GLORY GLORY WHAT A HELL OF A WAY TO DIE!" he definitely salutes before he starts.

#ukai keishin #ukai x reader #ukai x chubby!reader #ukai x chubby reader #haikyuu ukai #ukai fluff #haikyuu ukai keishin #hq ukai #haiykuu #haikyu smut #karasuno #heeheemugee #♥︎#chubby y/n #chubby!reader #chubbyreader #keishin x chubby!reader #chubby

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researchercase · 6 days

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Thought I should post this here. I recorded it a while ago but i guess it'd be useful for others to hear it?

(OOC: ignore logic for this and imagine that somehow the tape recording can be posted on tumblr)

[CLICK]

CASEY Honestly not sure why I'm doing this, but if it worked for Erika, I guess it'll work for me.

Statement of Casey Ross, regarding my time in the Coffin, an Artefact of the Buried. Statement given directly from subject, 16th May, 2024.

Statement begins I guess.

[Pause]

[Sigh]

CASEY [Statement] I don't even know why I'm trying this, I'm not like the Archivist, not like Styx. I can't even go down to the Archives anymore without freezing up when I reach the elevator, I had to get someone else to get this tape recorder for me.

Feels like an ironic joke. 'Oh the Workaholic claustrophobe got buried alive and now can't even go down to a basement in their own workplace'.

[Another Pause]

I don't even know how it happened, how I got in. Well, I do but… it just happened so fast. It was January 5th, a Friday, end of the week. I was supposed to get dropped off at my flat by Kieran but he was sick that day and since no one else could give me a ride I decided to walk home. I don't live far from the Institute, just a 30 minute walk on a good day.

It was around 6pm I recall, since it was January it got darker earlier in the day, and I'd been walking for 10 minutes at that point, posting on my blog and about the cross the pavement when a van parked in front.

I was a bit peeved that day so this was just another inconvenience to annoy me, I guess my brain didn't catch up when I saw the name on the side of the Van, 'Breekon & Hope'. I moved to walk past it, along the door when suddenly, it opened. I had to back up in time as it did so, more pissed off at the Drivers who almost hit me with the door.

Then, I saw it. A coffin with chains on it. I didn't need to see what was etched on it to know what it was. It was too late for me anyways.

The coffin opened, and I went in. Other statements talked about the compelling aspect that lures victims into the coffin, and that's what happened to me. The thing is, the whole time my mind was there, it was just my body that moved without me doing anything. I remember the anxiety and fear I felt as I went down and down into it, before the lid closed.

It's difficult to remember exactly what happened for the month I spent in there, just constant anxiety attacks as I was crushed more and more by the earth, yet kept alive. I will say it certainly felt longer than a month, at a point you just loose count of the days, especially when you can't keep count on anything in there, or see the sun rise and fall.

I suppose when the Coffin was put into the Institute is when I felt something different. Like a tug of a string that I couldn't find, but it was there and I could feel it. Apparently a way to get out of the coffin is with a tether, a connection to something or someone, a strong one at that. Just can't believe that tether was my workplace.

It certainly wasn't strong enough to pull me out itself so I decided to dig. Digging is was got me out of a Buried manifestation when I was younger so it was worth a shot to try.

It did work. The closer I got to the lid, the more that tether tugged.

I was physically weak at the point I reached the entrance but I managed to lift it open and climb out. A few minutes later, I was found by one of the workers in Artefact Storage and an ambulance was called. Got my phone back though, since Kieran found it and it was kept at Lost and Found.

I was in hospital for around a week and a half, and went to physical therapy for a few weeks after, just to make sure I could move properly after having not been able to for a month.

After that is just me getting back to work, catching up with Kieran, finding out what happened while I was gone, and so on. Only lingering effect the coffin left was extreme claustrophobia and occasional pain in my legs and joints, which is why I have a cane now and a emotional support animal, Goose, who's my dog.

I guess it doesn't help that a Buried avatar is now working at the Institute as a researcher but it surprisingly doesn't bother me that much? I actually kind of like the rain.

CASEY [Exhale]

Uh.. statement ends I guess.

[Pause]

I need some rest.

[CLICK]

#magnus institute research department #tma rp #oc rp #tma oc #oc rp blog #tma rp blog #researcher casey

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the-right-thyme · 3 months

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Four Seasons of Anne Sallow- Chapter 2

https://archiveofourown.org/works/50048131/chapters/126373558#workskin

Characters: Anne Sallow, Ominis Gaunt, Sebastian Sallow

Relationship: Anne Sallow / Ominis Gaunt

Warnings: One sided attraction

Summary: Ominis is blind on more than one way.

Chapter Two: Spring 1889

It’s all Sebastian’s fault.

Generally, all ideas that end in detention, injury or some form of humiliation, usually at his expense Ominis would like to one day point out, are of Sebastian’s particular brand, hare-brained and half-cooked in their nature. If Sebastian opens his mouth and the words that follow are ‘I have an idea!’ Ominis really thinks he should practice his hundred meter dash in the opposite direction, lest he end up knees deep in the greenhouse fertiliser pile again. He’s sure the smell of fermenting hippogriff dung still follows him around to this day.

But today’s misadventures have seen them falling through the unstable floor of a decrepit, long-forgotten room, tucked away in one of the seemingly endless secret and tucked-away corners of the castle, into what he can only assume, is a storage basement, scarcely made to accommodate a barrel or two, let alone three snooping students. Well, two snooping and one put-upon tag-a-long, he thinks as Sebastian’s knee collides painfully with his brow as they lie in a heap of limbs at the bottom.

‘I can’t see a thing.’

‘Imagine that.’ Ominis huffs.

‘Oh Salazar’s sideburns, I can’t feel my arm!’

‘That’s my arm you’re poking, you dolt.’ Anne wheezes as she speaks, he guesses she may have been the soft landing that broke his fall, the poor girl.

‘Lumos.'

‘Careful where you stick that, you nearly took my eye out.’ Sebastian’s voice is very high and mighty for someone who’d just led his sister and his best friend to their doom.

‘Why did you even bring me?’ He whines, thinking of how he could be sat in front of the common room fire, curled up on his favourite seat closest to the heat, a cup of tea in his hand.

‘You’re our voice of reason.’

‘Well the voice of reason says let’s go back to bed.’

‘I hear the voice of reason, and I ignore it.’ He didn’t even have the audacity to sound apologetic at all. The absolute cretin, Ominis thinks darkly.

‘Ah-hah! What’s this here… a lever?’

‘That’s my other arm.’

‘Oh. Ow-Stop bloody squirming Ominis, Merlin’s beard your elbows are bony and digging right in my-’

‘I have literally no concept of what’s who right now, don’t test me.’ He snaps, receiving another knee to the face.

‘I’m going to kill Garreth, he said this was a tunnel that lead to the kitchens.

‘Why did you believe-’

‘-Anne, your hair is up my nose.’ Sebastian snuffles. There’s a distinct wet noise he feels on his face.

‘Did you just sneeze in my ear?’ Ominis hopes for Sebastian’s sake he didn’t because that might be the final straw in tonights escapades.

‘Her hair is getting everywhere. Puh-argh, now it’s in my mouth, Anne, you get up first.’

‘Well stop eating it then!’ There’s more shuffling, Ominis regains use of his legs and he manages to finally stand, firmly wedged against whatever it is that’s next to him.

He lets out an almost silent -oh- as he realises. Anne. The space they’re in is clearly cramped, and as such, he’s now pressed flush against her, chest to chest, if his senses aren’t deceiving him. Which they are.

Side effect of the head concussion he’s most likely brewing he thinks desperately.

The skin under his collar is prickling and suddenly he feels hot, stifled despite the relatively cool night. He’d pull at it, loosen his tie, if his arms weren’t wedged to his sides. Sebastian is still complaining, his voice coming from behind him, scrabbling for an exit.

‘This is rather cosy.’ Anne murmurs, her voice low, and he can hear the smile on her lips. But before he has a chance to think of a suitable, sophisticated reply, Sebastian lets out an -aha- followed by a sort of triumphant trumpet noise, and a gust of air indicates something above them has been cleared. More scrabbling and the weight behind him disappears.

Their bodies part.

Anne is pulled, or climbs, out next, then Sebastian’s hands are on his outstretched ones, assisting him up, dusting his shoulders as he stands on gloriously solid ground once more. Breathless and unsure why. There’s a pause. He can sense Sebastian still hovering in front of him.

‘Ominis, you’re aware blushing is visible, right?’

He considers pushing Sebastian back down.

#Four Seasons of Anne Sallow #Hogwarts Legacy fic #Ominis Gaunt x Anne Sallow

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hotwings0203 · 3 years

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Bully!Dabi pt. 3

Tags: @shikamaruscumrag @pinkiy13l @an-ambivalent @luno614 @sukunasleftkneecap

Tw:dubcon, noncon, bullying, manipulation, Russian roulette

“Doll? Come on out and I won’t hurt you too bad.”

You wait with bated breath as he walks right past your hiding place behind some crates, blue fire licking up the sides of his body and held in the palms of his scarred hands.

He’s mad, you know he is. He’s teasing you, of course he is, why else wouldn’t he just turn on the lights and pounce?

No, this is another punishment of sorts. A punishment for escaping your previous punishment from being locked in your room.

Another lash of burning cobalt strikes against a wall about 10 feet away from you, and you curse yourself internally. If only you had just stayed in bed a couple days more, if only you hadn’t snuck out when he left, if only, if only…

“Baaaabbyyyyy”

It sounds so wrong and uncharacteristic coming out from his gravely voice.

You huddle your limbs even closer to yourself, paying no mind to the cramping in your knees from being squished for so long.

It’s been about 25 minutes or so from what you can remember. It’s hard to remember anything that happened this bland morning anyways when the climax of your life was seemingly taking place here, after you entered the wrong room.

You had honestly just wanted a peek outside of Dabi’s room and maybe a drink of water, nothing more.

Or so you tell yourself.

But can you really be blamed? Who else wouldn’t have run out the moment they got a chance after spending almost two weeks in the same shitty room, being used as fuckmeat and only given bread scraps and salty cum as meals.

It didn’t matter how close he held you at night, how his strokes seemed to brush up against all the right places, how he tried catching your eye every time he wanted to talk about anything (which you would never really indulge in, only giving him a soft grunt or a nod). He was a monster, a demon in disguise that was keeping you against your will in his clutches.

A loud crash closer than before hits your ears, and you stifle an impending whimper. You can tell he’s roamed closer than before, finding nothing from his earlier place in the front of the storage room.

“I’m getting pretty fucking tired of repeating myself doll. You must be even more of a masochist than I thought since it’s like you want me to fuck you up even worse than I did before.”

His words are quiet but they do enough to cause a loud beating in your already-pacing heart, so loud in fact that you fear he can hear it racing a mile a minute.

You wonder if anyone is nearby, if they even remember you’ve been missing for a while now.

“Y/N”

“Come out, pretty girl. You know I miss you”

But you don’t miss him.

What you do miss, however, is not being chased into an empty storage room and hounded like a fucking dog. You miss joking with Twice, painting your nails with Toga, making Shigaraki chuckle.

All of a sudden, the crate next to you is covered with hellfire. The flames that are thrust from Dabi’s hands are so wild that they seat through your shirt and prick your skin.

You scream and scrabble backwards, the light of his fire illuminating his face leering up above you in the dark like a ghoul from a children’s book.

You clap your hands over your mouth, ignoring your bubbling skin as fear overrides premonition, but the damage has already been done.

It’s eerily quiet for a minute. Then, he whispers,

“Found you”

Even in the pitch black room you can practically see him lunging towards you, and you scuttle backwards on your hands and feet in terror. His hands miss your bare feet by a few inches, and he snarls before making another swipe.

“Fucking bitch, this is the thanks I get for taking care of you, bathing you, feeding and fucking you?”

You yelp as he lights up the floor on both sides of your trembling body, and you see his figure once more as the blue fire shows the sick grin twisted up on his face.

“Leave me alone,” you sob, clambering up on your feet and running backwards as he advances on you. The smoke from his quirk is filling the room, and you erupt in hoarse coughs as it’s filtered through your aching lungs.

Everything about him is toxic.

“Nah. That’s not how this works sweetheart. You see, I take care of you, and in return, you do whatever the fuck I say when I say it.”

He raises his palms to you and you flinch, covering your head and colliding with the wall behind you. You’re too scared and tired to evade him again as you feel his body cover you and brush against yours as you shake in place, your arms still above your face.

He cooes at you. “There there, my stupid little bitch. You were scared daddy was gonna hurt you, right?”

His stitched palm caresses your bitten bottom lip and trails up to your tear-stained cheek.

After a moment of you saying nothing, he slaps the side of your face, hard, and you gasp in pain. Now it wasn’t just your stomach that felt on fire.

“I asked you a question, you brain dead whore. Are you scared daddy’s gonna burn you? ‘You scared he’s gonna beat you black you blue? ‘Scared he’s gonna cut a gaping hole in your burnt tummy and fuck the gash?” He leans in and lets his raspy words settle over your ears as he tenderly brushes your hair away from it. He softly kisses the shell of you ear, and when you sob quietly he wraps his arms around your middle and hugs you close, paying no heed to how you uncomfortably squirm when your raw torso burns from the contact.

You squeeze your eyes shut and try not to inhale too much, lest the smoke embedded all over his body gets too close for comfort in your system.

“Y-yes daddy. Please don’t hurt me, I was…a bad girl.” You cringe when the words are wobbled out, but you know it’s what he wants.

To humiliate you, to hurt you. Who was he kidding when he said he loved you?

Dabi, however, feels butterflies in his own stomach.

See, this is what you need. To answer to Daddy, to submit to him so that he can take care of you. That’s why you stayed so long in his room, right? It’s cause you knew it would make him happy if you listened to him. You let him make love to you, and treat you like his little girl because deep down, you know this is where you belong.

So why are you fighting him? You never raised a complaint for a week and a half, you only stayed quiet and kept your eyes shut when he asked if you were okay. That means you liked it, right? No real opposition, after all.

Except for now.

Dani is honestly disappointed in you right now, you were doing so well…so why’d you have to go and ruin it?

He might’ve softened from the way your body shakes and your sobs are muffled by his smoke-scorched jacket as you press against him for comfort, but the image of you turning around and running away when you saw him earlier hurts him too much.

It angers him.

Why the fuck were you so scared? Hasnt he shown you enough that he loved you? What, does he need to fucking spell it out for you?

Why were your eyes filled with such terror when he caught you? Did you turn away from him and run because you thought he was going to make you look like him, all burnt up and hideous?

Honestly, he would never, but if you’re so hellbent on making him the bad guy, then fine, he’ll play the bad guy.

Anything for his precious little girl.

And so he tightens his arms around you and chuckles cruelly when you whine at the lack of air.

“Well, you were right. I am pretty pissed, I mean I told you to come out and you didn’t listen right?”

“S-sorry,” you weakly choke out.

He laughs even more crazed now, crushing your ribs so tight he could actually hear your breath wheezing out of you, could feel your weak little punches against his back.

“Sorry isn’t going to cut it. No no, I want you to beg for your fucking life now.”

Your eyes widen as his arms begin to warm up and become unbearably hot.

“Dabi, no, no please!”

You writhe in pain as he cackles above you, savoring the choked breaths that emit from your wetted lips.

As soon as you begin to see spots, he releases you, and flings you against the corner of the room.

You go flying and bang your head against the concrete wall, his voice muted and swimming around in your ears as you fight for consciousness.

He saunters towards you in all his flaming glory, hands in his pockets as if he were walking out for some fresh air. He crouches in front of you and lifts your head with the pads of his fingers.

“Awww, my poor little girl. That had to have hurt, huh? You’re bleeding,” he cooes and blows a strand of hair away from your eyes.

He’s not lying, you can feel hot blood trickle down the side of your head as your vision sways.

“Stop this,” you pant. “I get it, I’m sorry- you were right and I was wrong, I shouldn’t have ran. I’ll listen to you from now on-“

“-But you said that last time, didn’t you?” He cocks his head and with the light of his turquoise fire against the shadows of the room, he looks like a being from hell itself.

“Remember? When you sucked me off like the dirty whore you are? Remember that you stupid cunt?” His grin becomes more reminiscent of a wolf baring its fangs, and you’re rendered silent in complete terror.

He takes your silence as an encouraging factor to continue his fun.

“You ever played Russian Roulette, Y/N?”

You have enough sense to quickly shake your head, a sinking feeling in your stomach forming at his implication.

“Me neither. But I kinda wanna try it right now. So, back against the wall. Stand up straight and spread your legs.”

You look at him incredulously. “You can’t be serious Dabi.”

He raises an eyebrow and a fire grows in the palm of his hand. “Wanna find out? Oh wait, you already are- now do what I said otherwise you’ll have one less leg.”

You don’t need more motivation to act on his orders.

Taking a deep breath, you hesitantly spread your legs and place your palms flat against the wall.

“Spread ‘em more. That shouldn’t be anything new to you.”

You wince at his dig but continue to widen the stance between your legs.

He smiles at your compliance.

“Good. This should be fairly easy, I mean the room is already dark enough to count as having a blindfold. Whatever you do, just don’t move.”

You wouldn’t know it, but he’s sincerely saying it for your sake. He’s glad for the safety of the dark, because he doesn’t want you to see the way he hastily wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans as he prepares himself for his next move.

The room goes dark, his fire has been put out.

You inhale softly, blood pounding in your heart as your hands shake in anticipation.

Then all of a sudden, a fireball comes barreling right towards you, in between your parted legs.

You shriek and jerk, but luckily you’re saved from being singed.

“I told you not to move, babe.” He clicks his tongue and rubs his erection absentmindedly.

A second, then third bolt of fire comes at the side of your head, singing your hair and then dangerously close to your already burnt stomach.

At each one you sob and do your best not to move, not to take in Dabi’s utterly emotionless face as you wail for mercy.

The last one comes so powerful that as it strikes the wall next to you, flecks of ash sting your cheeks and lips.

Your knees are jelly, your mouth is aching from begging for your life as he wanted.

But you know he’s done when he lets out a loud yawn and groan as he stretches his arm and flexes his fingers.

“A-are we done?” You sniffle.

He says nothing at first. You just hear him ask a couple steps towards you, his boots echoing in the room. You assume he stops in front of you because you can feel his body in front of your kneeling figure.

His hand descends and feels around until he reaches the top of your head. Stroking softly, he twirls locks through his fingers and gently shushes you until your hiccups subside, and you lean your forehead against his thigh.

“‘You happy it’s done? You did so well for me, sweetheart.”

“Yes Dabi. Thank you,” you utter softly, knowing it’s what he wants to hear.

“Yeah? How thankful are you?”

You still at that.

He starts to unbuckle his belt.

You pull your head back, and he pulls his pants down.

“Dabi-“

“Shhh, don’t ruin this. Just keep your mouth shut and let your body do the talking. Show me how grateful you are that I spared your fucking life.”

The gentle way he handled you clashed with his harsh words, and you have a moment of whiplash.

He kneels down in front of you and lets his hands wander in the dark until he meets your torso.

You hiss at the sensitive flesh, but he doesn’t stop. He just moves his hand under your shirt and higher, pushing your bra up until your tits spill from the bottom of it.

He bites his lip as you whimper from his touch, his thumbs swirling around your nipples and prodding the squishy flesh.

Dabi gets more eager when you throw your head back at one particularly rough squeeze and shuffles even closer, his pants and underwear at his knees, member bouncing out in the open air.

“Take your panties off,” he rasps, furiously stroking his cock.

You surrender and slowly pull your sweats off, and then your panties as you hear him lightly panting in eagerness.

The second he hears them drop to the floor he lunges for your feet and yanks your forward, catching you in his lap as you yelp.

It’s pitch black, but he can feel you clear as day.

The tickle of your hair hanging in his face, your sweet smell clouding his rationale, the melodious sounds of fear and pleasure mixed with pain make his prick stand painfully at attention, weeping at the slit for your pussy.

He doesn’t even bother taking your shirt off in impatience, he simply barks at you to hold the hem up so he can feel your breasts bouncing against his face when he motorboats them.

You, however, shakily hold his hand at your waist when he pulls you forward until your bare hole presses against his length, coating it with light juices.

“Oh fuck, doll, your pussy’s practically begging me to fuck it. ‘You like having your life in danger? No wonder you keep fucking up,” he groans as he moved beneath you, letting his hips rock back and forth to gain friction from under you.

“Wait, go slowly-“

“No the fuck I won’t,” he interrupts. You have enough sense to bite back any retorts from the subtle growl in his words.

He lifts you up from underneath your ass, and you raise your hips in compliance as he grabs his dick, circling it around your swollen nub and then pressing it against your entrance.

You breath shakily and run your hands through his hair, not so much in a loving gesture but tightly in futile hopes to deter him in any possible way.

He takes it either way as you wanting him equally, and without further ado he slams your hips down on his whole length.

You howl in pain as he begins bouncing you, pressing down on your shoulders and forcing your poor cunt to envelope him fully at each stroke.

The room is filled with the lewd sounds of your ass clapping on his dick, the mixed fluids from both of your bodies and the harmonies of his low grunts and your high pitched whines.

You can feel his dick twitch violently inside of you as he nears his climax. He flips you over on your back and starts pounding into you, laughing cruelly in your face as you cry out from the intensity of his strokes.

“D-Dabi! Pull out, I’m not on birth control!”

“Good.”

You open your eyes to stare at him in horror, barely making out the marred features of his face.

“I’m gonna fill you up with my babies. You’re gonna be plugged with my cum from now on, ‘s the only way you’ll stop running.”

“Get the fuck off me, this isn’t funny-!”

He grabs your rising fists and pins them back against the floor, crushing your wrists in the process.

“Who said I’m laughing?” And he isn’t laughing anymore, no, on the contrary he looks the most serious that he’s ever been, and that terrifies you the most.

The upper half of his body is suspended in midair above you as his pelvis smashes against your clit in a steady rhythm.

“‘Bet you’d like that, bet you’d like having all your holes stuffed with my kids. They’re gonna grow up and know how slutty their mommy was, they’re gonna watch and learn how Daddy earned his name. You think they’ll cry when they hear you scream for me?”

You want to rip out your ears from the filth pouring from his mouth, but unfortunately your hands are trapped under his grasp.

All you can do is chant “no, no, no,” under your breath as he’s pushed over the edge.

“Or maybe I’ll tie your legs against the barstools outside and let every man out there have his way with you. You missed them, right? I’m sure they missed you too, I’m sure they missed the way you’d fuck them the second they made you laugh,” bitterness seeps into his voice as ropes of cum shoot out.

He moans loudly in your ear and collapses against your body, sweat intermingling in the cervices of your entangled limbs.

It takes around three minutes for you both to catch your breaths, and for him to shakily raise himself on his elbows to peer down into your ruddy face.

“Clean yourself up. You’re going back to my room. And this time, if you try to run we’ll repeat this entire process again, but I’ll actually let everyone have their way with you. It’ll be like an orgy version of Russian Roulette, well all place bets on whose kid it is.”

You don’t miss the rest of the League, anymore

#tw:noncon #tw:misogyny #tw: bullying #Dabi smut #mha dabi #yandere dabi x reader #yandere Dabi #Dabi mha #dabi oneshot #dabi imagine #bnha dabi #bnha yandere #bnha smut

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helliontherapscallion · 3 years

Text

(Y/n) and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Week: Wednesday

Monday Tuesday Thursday (Part 1) Thursday (Part 2) Friday Saturday Sunday

Spotify Playlist (collaborative)

Warnings: panic attacks, swearing, getting outed, f slur and d slur, homophobia, puking, toxic friends

Word count: 5,160

(A/N): woah, thank you all so much for all the positive feedback, that really makes my day!

The room was quiet with the exception of the clacking of the keyboard and the soft chirping of crickets outside your open window. The stars twinkled in the sky as the night droned on and on. There was a loud rustling outside your window, but your sleep deprived mind didn’t think anything of it. It wasn’t important at the moment, the only important thing right now was finishing your work.

Throughout the night, you worked endlessly on your friend’s work. The essays were relatively easy because Adrian and Annie had luckily chosen topics that you’re somewhat interested in, so at least finding the sources was enjoyable. You had gotten your essay completely written and proofread, Annie’s outline finished, and Adrian’s sources analyzed. You would start on Sammy’s presentation after you finished Adrian’s outline. Hours upon hours passed by you as you worked, yet you didn’t notice the time once. You worked uninterrupted with no breaks. Well, one break to talk to your dad about how you weren’t hungry, but you got back to work right after he left your room. You couldn’t waste any more time than you already have.

Your eyes felt heavy as you typed on your keyboard, working on putting Adrian’s sources together cohesively so that the writing would flow seamlessly. You paused your typing to rub at your tired eyes so you could keep working, you couldn’t afford to fall asleep. You had to get these done as soon as possible if you wanted their forgiveness.

The blaring of your alarm startled you out of your focus, making you fall backwards out of your chair with a yelp. Landing painfully on your back, you laid on the floor trying to calm your racing heartbeat. You looked out your window. Hints of pinks and yellows were starting to make a gradient with the lightening dawn sky. Shit, you were so focused on getting your work done that you didn’t take account of the time. You just knew today was gonna be long. At least after school volleyball practice was shortened because of finals tomorrow.

You groaned as you pulled your tired form off from the ground. You made your way downstairs and plopped yourself down at your usual place at the table, burying your face into the crook of your arm. You felt yourself drift off into a blissful sleep, the wood of the table suddenly seemed very comfortable at the moment. Not long after, you were jolted out of your peaceful sleep by a loud crash. Jumping up and looking around with wide eyes, you saw Tubbo looking at you apologetically. There was broken glass in front of his feet on the floor.

“Sorry, (y/n).”

You just stared at him blankly as you slowly blinked. Philza didn’t spare you a glance as he whisked the short boy away from the glass. “(Y/n), can you please go get the broom and sweep this up?”

You nodded, hauling yourself to your feet and walked over to the storage closet, pulling out the broom and dust pan. You mindlessly sweeped up the glass, your limbs feeling heavy. After throwing the glass away, you rummaged in the cupboard and pulled out a mug. The bitter smell beckoned you welcomingly, working its way through your nostrils and digging itself deep into your brain. Just as you were about to pour yourself a cup, a hand snatched the coffee pot away from you.

“You shouldn’t be drinking this.”

“You let Techno and Wil drink it, so why can’t I?”

“(Y/n), you’re a full year younger than them and you haven’t eaten anything since breakfast yesterday.”

You felt your eye twitch, “I’m only a year younger than them! There’s literally no-”

“(Y/n),” his warning tone cut you off, putting the pot back into the coffee maker, “you aren’t going to drink this. That’s final. Get a glass of water.”

You huffed and pushed past him to the sink to fill your coffee mug with water. You’ve been drinking coffee for a while behind his back, so you were used to its effects on your body. You supposed that you’d just beg Wilbur to take you to the cafe so you could get your sustenance. He always relented for you.

You heard him chuckle, “you’ll thank me when you’re older.”

“Mhm.”

You plopped down next to Tubbo nursing your mug of water, trying to make small talk with him. One by one, your brothers made their way to the table. Tommy was talking and gesturing wildly to Tubbo like he normally did, Wilbur looked as dead inside as you felt, and Techno made it a point to ignore you. When someone pissed him off, he can hold a grudge better than he could hold onto his knowledge of Greek mythology, and that’s saying something. Man is obsessed with Greek mythology.

Breakfast went by in a daze with you struggling to keep your eyes open. At one point, you almost fell asleep sitting up, only to be woken up by Tubbo shaking your shoulder to get your attention. When breakfast was almost done, you had only eaten about half your breakfast.

Drifting off again, you were startled awake by the screeching of the chairs against the wooden floor and loud shouts coming from your brothers. You didn’t have the energy to race them to the bathroom like you usually did, you’d just freshen up after they were done. You tried to stand up to go to your room to get dressed, but you were stopped by a hand on your shoulder forcing you to sit back down. Looking up, you were met with the concerned, yet stern eyes of your father.

“You’re not leaving this table until you’ve eaten at least a few more bites and tell me why you’re so tired.”

“I just stayed up later than I normally do finishing up some homework, it won’t happen again.”

“It better not or else I will make you stay home next time. When’d you go to bed last night?”

You avoided his eyes, “around one thirty or two.” You couldn’t tell him that you didn’t actually go to sleep last night, he’d flip.

“You know, you’re a terrible liar.” Shit.

Looking him in the eye, you spoke more confidently. “Three in the morning.”

“(Y/n)-”

You felt a sudden rage start to twist inside you as he started to lecture you about taking better care of yourself. He was treating you like a child and you were not having it.

“-young kids like you need to- are you even listening?”

You set your jaw and willed yourself not to explode at him. “Dad, I’m not a child. I know how to take care of myself.”

You saw him narrow his eyes and purse his lips in frustration, “well, obviously you don’t if you’re not eating or sleeping well,” his eyes softened. “I’m starting to worry about you.”

“Well, you shouldn’t because I’m fine,” you snapped at him. “I’m going to get ready.”

You stalked out of the room and stomped upstairs. Passing a shocked Tommy and Tubbo, you made your way into the bathroom to get ready. The person that stared back at you in the mirror looked pale and had dark eye bags accentuating her tired eyes. She had red pimples dotting her face more than she usually did. She was ugly, revolting. The girl you remembered her being was confident in her appearance and walked with an air of importance. Now, she was a decrepit thing that was run down and scared of her own shadow. You couldn’t recognize the girl that stared back at you anymore. You should’ve been able to; after all, she was you and you were her.

You rushed through your morning routine in the bathroom avoiding looking at yourself in the mirror. You opened the bathroom door only to be met with Wilbur’s chest, his hand poised in the air in a closed fist ready to knock on the door. He stepped back.

“We’re gonna be late if you don’t hurry up.”

You glanced at the clock on the wall. “Wil, we still have twenty minutes before school starts. We don’t have to leave for another ten minutes.”

He gave you a smirk, “well, you want coffee, don’t you? You look dead.”

“Oh thank god. I feel dead, I didn’t sleep at all last night.”

“When’d you go to bed?”

“I didn’t.”

“Christ, (y/n) I knew you were a dumbass, but not that much of a dumbass.”

You rolled your eyes, walking around him and into your room. You felt a stab of hurt in your heart. “Fuck you.”

Before you could close the door, he shouted out a cheeky “love ya too (y/n)!”

You took off all your clothes slowly and stood in front of your open closet deciding on what you should wear today. You figured that since you felt like absolute shit, you should probably put a little bit more effort into your appearance. Picking out your favorite flannel shirt and favorite pair of pants. Smiling at yourself in the mirror in your room, you felt slightly more confident in your appearance. You felt like you could walk around the hallways at school without as many peering eyes trying to figure out your every secret. But maybe that was just the sleep deprivation talking. You tend to be more impulsive and emotional when you’re sleep deprived.

You slung the backpack onto your back with less difficulty than in the previous days. Your back was healing faster than you thought it would. Now, it barely hurt and the swelling completely went away.

You went downstairs and slunk past the kitchen where Philza was talking to Tommy and Tubbo. You didn’t want them to notice you, you felt somewhat guilty for snapping at your dad. You slipped through the front door and hopped into the passenger seat next to Wilbur. You three usually rotated seats counterclockwise and took turns driving each day. Now, you were just waiting for Techno.

“Well, you look less homeless today.”

“Thanks Wilbur, I just felt like looking a little nicer than usual.”

“Who’re ya dressing up for? Is it Adrian?” He asked with slight disgust. He hated Adrian almost as much as he hated Annie and Sammy. He thought he was nothing more than a fuckboy looking to get into your pants. Little did he know you were secretly a raging lesbian so deep in the closet that you’re froliking with Aslan through the flowerfields of Narnia.

“Wilbur, I’m gay why would I-” you froze, cursing your sleep deprived self for lacking a filter. Your breath caught in your throat and you felt anxiety start to seep into your veins and pump around your body, filling every single nook and cranny with dread. You could feel tears welling in your eyes as you stared at your shaking hands horrified at yourself. How could you just… just out yourself like that? How could you be so careless? So stupid?

You barely felt it when Wilbur reached over to press a gentle hand on your arm. “(Y/n), are yo-”

“I-tha-that was a joke, I’m not gay, I’m straight.” Your words came out in frantic jumbles, desperately trying to fix your slip up. Oh god, you really fucked up this time.

“(Y/n), brea-”

“I swear I’m not gay, I like men, I do. I-”

“(Y/n), breathe with me.” Wilbur’s firm, yet gentle voice demanded. He placed your hand on his chest and took in a deep breath, held it, and released it slowly. You tried your best to follow him, but after about ten minutes, you were slowly but surely calming down. It was a lot faster calming down from a panic attack when you had someone helping you breathe. You’ve never gotten help with a panic attack before, it was nice. Becoming more aware of your surroundings, you took notice of the soft fabric of Wilbur’s sweater, the gentle thumping of his heart, and his worried expression. You also became aware of the extra hand rubbing small circles into your shoulder from behind your seat. It was Techno.

Taking in a shaky breath, you took your hand out of Wilbur’s grip and clasped your hands tightly in front of you, shrugging Techno’s hand off from your shoulder.

“...Can we please leave? I don’t want Dad or Tubbo and Tommy seeing me like this.”

Wordlessly, Wilbur started up the car and pulled out of the driveway. At the intersection, he turned in the opposite direction of the school. “Wilbur, where are we going? The school’s the other way.”

“We’re going to the cafe for some coffee, my treat.”

“But school starts in five minutes, we’re gonna be late if we go to the cafe.”

“Actually,” Techno’s deep voice chimed in, “school started ten minutes ago. If we’re already late, there’s no harm in skipping first block.”

“Tech, I literally have no idea what’s going on in stats.”

“I’ll give you my notes.”

“Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to bother you.”

Wilbur pulled into the cafe’s parking lot, “don’t be stupid, (y/n). You can never bother us.”

You didn’t say anything as you left the car and headed into the cafe. You could think of plenty of ways you could bother your older brothers. You bothered everybody just by being in their presence. You just had that effect.

Your brothers followed you into the cafe, glancing at each other worriedly. You three quickly got your orders and sat in the secluded back of the cafe. Soft jazz music drifted throughout the quiet cafe.

“(Y/n), we need to talk about what happened. Was this your first panic attack?” Wilbur asked you gently.

“...No, I’ve had them before.”

“Were they always this intense? You’re still shaking.”

“That one was nowhere near as intense as the ones I usually have.’

“Usually? Do you have them often?” Tecno asked.

“Yeah, usually a couple of them a week since the middle of freshman year. Nothing I can’t manage.”

“So you’ve been doing this on your own for three years? You could’ve gotten us to help you.”

You sighed, looking down at your steaming cup. “...I couldn’t’ve. Don’t get me wrong, I know you guys could help me, but I-I just couldn’t. No one was supposed to find out.”

“Promise us that you’ll come to one of us when you have an attack. We care about you, (y/n).”

“I… I’ll think about it. Thank you.”

The table fell into a comfortable silence as you all sipped at your drinks, the comforting taste of the bitter coffee dancing across your tongue.

“Ya know, we don’t care that you’re gay. A lesbian called me ‘actually pretty funny’ once and I’m still riding the high.”

“Yeah, you’re still you. Nothing changes the fact that you’re our little sister.”

You smiled as you felt warm inside. You knew your brothers loved you, but you didn’t know that they loved you for being you. You didn’t think anybody loved you unconditionally like that, and that made you feel genuinely happy.

“Thank you guys, for everything. I-I can’t put into words how much that means to me, I love you guys so much!”

“We love you too,” Wilbur smiled before he dropped it into a stern frown. “But if any girl hurts you, we’ll have a stern talking to her.”

“Yeah, we can’t beat up girls. We’ll put her in her place alright.” You snorted into your coffee, almost spilling it on yourself. Quickly setting it down before you could baptize yourself with the scalding liquid (though, you did consider coffee to be holy), you wiped at your teary eyes.

“And that’s why I love you guys.”

“We’re serious, she’ll be wishing she got beat up after we’re done scolding her.” Wilbur said seriously before he broke into a grin and started laughing.

The conversation carried on about your sexuality, how you found out, when you found out, if you’ve told anyone yet (they were honored that they were the first people you’ve told, even if you did it accidentally mid-panic attack). Eventually you had to go back to the school before your second block started. You three split ways to your separate classrooms.

Annie and Adrian were locked onto you as soon as you walked through the door. They looked angry at you. What’d you do this time to piss them off?

“Where the fuck were you this morning? We were looking everywhere for you,” Annie seethed.

“Yeah, you wasted so much of our time looking for your sorry ass. You ditch us again?”

Oh, that. “Look, I didn’t mean to skip out on you guys again. It was a rough morning.”

“That’s funny because we also had rough mornings, yet we still hung out with each other. You aren’t special.” Adrian rolled his eyes at you.

“It’s gonna take more to apologize. We don’t let things like the little stunts you pull go off scott free.”

“Oh, Annie I have the best idea,” Adrian squealed, bouncing on the balls of his feet excitedly.

“What is it Dri?” Annie’s eyes shone.

“Our little (y/n) can set you up with one of her brothers and she can go on a date with me on a double date! It’s foolproof, not even someone as dumb as (y/n) could fuck it up.”

“I don’t think that’s a good id-”

“It’s perfect Dri! Can it be with Wilbur? He’s literally so hot! Oh, the way his fingers can work that guitar…” Ew. The thought of Wilbur and Annie together made you scrunch up your nose with disgust.

“I’m sorry, but Wilbur’s actually dating Sally Fishmin right now. They’re actually really cute together-”

“God, how could someone as hot as Wilbur go for Sally Fishmin? She’s disgusting, always smells like fish,” Annie gagged, then gasped. “Wait (y/n) do you actually think that she’s more deserving to be with him than I am?”

“No, I nev-”

“Really? Cuz you just did. Glad to see you care about me, (y/n).”

“Annie, you’re literally so beautiful. I never said that you don’t deserve him. You deserve the world. I can’t split them up, but I can do more homework for you.” She perked up immediately, “awe, thanks love! That’s what happens when you actually put effort into how you look.”

“Speaking of, did you get that shirt out of the trash? It’s really not a look.” Adrian snickered to himself. There goes what little confidence you had. You actually thought you looked decent today. You felt grateful for your friends, they always told you the truth about how you looked when everybody else lied to you.

Before you could respond, the bell rang and everybody took their seats. Luckily, Mr. Todd assigned today as a work day for your final research essays. You had finished Annie’s and got Adrian’s thesis done before the bell rang. While you were working on their essays, they were mindlessly scrolling on their phones and texting someone.

You, Adrian, and Annie met up with Sammy and went into the lunch room. You tried to line up in the lunch line with them, but they laughed and told you that you’re fat enough and you needed to lose weight. What did you do to deserve such considerate friends? You really owed them one for always looking out for and putting up with you.

While you were waiting for them, you pulled out your phone. To your surprise, Haley texted you a screenshot of her conversation with Unknown. You felt a chill run down your spine. All four pictures were of you. You rubbing your eyes as the light of your computer provided the only light in the room. Your bare back facing the camera as you stood in front of your closet this morning. You sleeping a day ago (you felt sick as you realized that whoever took the picture was standing directly over your bed). Lastly, you and Haley holding each other’s hand under the moonlight last night. Attached to the pictures, Unknown had typed “you have one more day or else sleeping ugly gets it. Do not tempt us.”

Hales : )

(Y/n), how the hell did they get these pictures of you

Did you seriously leave your window open???

Why wouldn’t you close your curtains

Oh god, do you think they saw us in your driveway????

(Y/n)

Haley calm down

Hales : )

I know you’re not telling me to calm down right now

You have a stalker

One that can GET INSIDE YOUR ROOM

(Y/n)

We’ll get to the bottom of this

Like I said, I don’t care if my pictures get leaked

I care about your pictures

Until we figure out who’s doing this, we need to lay low

Hales : )

Hanging out last night was a mistake

I shouldn’t have gave you a ride

I shouldn’t have tried to kiss you

I’m straight

And you are too

You said it yourself

We can’t talk anymore (y/n)

(Y/n)

I’m not straight Hales

I’m gay

And I like you

Like you like you

Hales : )

I’m sorry (y/n)

But I’m straight

We can’t talk anymore

Goodbye.

With each text she sent you, you felt your heart drop deeper and deeper into your stomach until you felt your heart shatter in your chest, the pieces lodging themselves deep within you and ripping you open from inside out. How could you be so stupid to think that soemone as perfect as Haley Andrews, arguably the prettiest girl in the senior year, go out with (y/n) Minecraft, a known trainwreck. Annie’s shrill gasp sounded right next to your ear, making you gasp and drop your phone onto the table with a loud bang.

“OH MY GOD (Y/N) YOU’RE A FAGGOT? WERE YOU HITTING ON ME EARLIER? YOU FUCKING PERVERT.”

The entire cafeteria fell into silence as they listened to Annie’s shrieking. Whispers started to meld together.

“(Y/n)’s gay?”

“How gross”

“Damn, I was gonna hit it”

“We have a dyke going to this school?”

You felt like you were suffocating as the whispers and Annie’s yelling jumbled together in a disorienting cacophony. Adrian and Sammy both glared at you from behind Annie with a hatred that you didn’t know they had for you. You tried stuttering an apology, but you were quickly shut up by Annie harshly slapping you across the face.

“I don’t wanna hear it, fag. You’re going to finish our essays and you’re never gonna talk to us again. Do you understand me?” When you didn’t respond, she slapped you again. “I asked you, do you understand me?”

You frantically nodded your head, grabbed your backpack, and sprinted out the door without any real destination in mind. You sprinted before you found the bathroom that nobody used. Ducking into a stall and slamming the door, you felt yourself start to hyperventilate. You couldn’t feel anything except for the tightness of your chest. You couldn’t see anything. You couldn’t hear anything. You faintly tasted bile rising up in your throat as you bent over to empty your stomach. You threw up everything in your stomach until you were left sitting on the dirty floor painfully dry heaving.

You sobbed on that floor for what felt like hours. Everybody knows your secret now. Your dirty, dirty secret. God, you were a pervert weren’t you? You made people around you comfortable by just being you. Faintly, you felt your phone start to buzz in your pocket, your shaky hands scrambling to fish it out. They were all texts from your brothers.

Wilby

(Y/n) I heard what happened

Are you okay????

Please answer me

Where are you

Technology Sword

I’m gonna kill them

I swear to god they’re dead

Blood for the blood god

(Y/n)

Pls dont do anything or hurt anyone

I’m fine

I’ll see you two after practice

Wilby

Tell us where you are

(Y/n)

I’m fine

I’ll see you two after practice

You silenced your phone and put it back into your pocket, once again feeling yourself start to dry heave again. Your sobs and gags echoed throughout the bathroom. This is by far the worst panic attack you’ve had yet, and it doesn’t seem like it’s gonna stop anytime soon. You heard the final bell ring and students start to rush to their lockers to get home, so you tried to muffle your shaking sobs the best you could. You had at least an hour before you had to go to volleyball practice. Until then, you would stay in the bathroom trying to ground yourself.

Luckily, you managed to calm down to the point where you stopped crying and dry heaving. You were only shaking slightly. You felt numb and completely drained from your panic attack, practice today was going to be a struggle. You cautiously walked through the empty hallways jumping at every little noise. When you finally reached the locker room, you made a beeline past Zara and Jazzy to your locker. You pulled out your uniform and changed in one of the bathroom stalls.

Practice went by with the girls on the team giving you sympathetic looks and Haley ignoring you. Not that you noticed, you were ignoring everyone and putting all of your focus on the ball. The entire practice, you felt light headed and drained. Fortunately, practice ended right as you felt like you were going to pass out.

You changed as fast as you could and pulled out your phone.

Dadza

Come outside, I’m here to pick you up

You felt a dread pool in your stomach as you stared at the text. Did he find out? Was he going to kick you out for being gay? Wilbur and Techno wouldn’t let him do that to you, right? Reluctantly, you left the sanctuary of the bathroom stall and rushed out of the locker room and out of the school. Sure enough, your dad’s car was parked in the parking lot. You glanced over to where Haley’s car was parked last night and saw glimpses of you and her chasing each other and laughing into the night sky without a care in the world before you ripped your gaze away to stare at your walking feet.

You reached your dad’s car and sat in the passenger seat. Your dad grinned at you. “Hey hun, how was practice?”

You merely shrugged your shoulders at him. You didn’t have the energy to talk to anyone at the moment. You felt extremely drained.

“What’s wrong, did something happen? You can talk to me.”

“...I’m just sad that the season’s over tomorrow.”

“Don’t be sad kid,” a gruff voice coming from behind you made you jump. “That’s pussy shit.”

You yelped and whipped your head around to look at whoever said that. Your uncle’s cocky grin greeted you. You felt yourself grin back at him.

“Uncle Schlatt!”

“The one and only.”

“How was your business trip? You’re home early.”

He rolled his eyes, “boring as hell. I’m so fucking glad I got out early, I woulda blew my brains out if I had to stay there any longer.”

“Schlatt!” Philza reprimanded him, glancing at him through the rearview mirror.

“What? I’m just telling the truth. I woulda!” He defended himself.

Your dad gripped the steering wheel. “You didn’t have to say it in front of (y/n).”

Schlatt scoffed, “please, she’s heard me say worse.”

As they bickered, you felt yourself zone out as you looked out the window. Houses and street signs passed by in a blur as the car moved down the road and pulled into your driveway. You got out as quickly as you could and made your way into the house alongside your uncle and dad. As soon as your uncle walked through the door, Tubbo barrelled into him and pulled him into a tight hug. Schlatt laughed loudly and bent over to pick him up into a hug. You smiled at the father and son as Philza gestured for you to follow him into the kitchen. He opened the oven to check on something cooking inside of it and turned to face you, leaning against the counter.

“So what’s really wrong?”

“I already told you, I’m sad the season’s almost over.”

“It’s something more than that,” as you opened your mouth he quickly added, “and you can’t say that it’s because you’re tired. I wasn’t born yesterday.”

You sighed and mimicked his actions. “...It’s just been a long day. I really don’t wanna talk about it.”

Without warning, he pulled you into a warm hug, your face being shoved into his shoulder and him rubbing circles into your back. “That’s okay, just talk to me when you’re ready. I won’t push you.”

That broke you. Throwing your arms around him, you started to sob into his shoulder. He started to rock you back and forth whispering reassurances into your ear.

“That’s good, let it all out.”

“I love you so much.”

“I’m here for you.”

With each sentence to fall out of his mouth, you felt more at ease and safe. Your dad always did a great job at making people feel safe, that was just his natural talent. After a while, you pulled away from him.

“Do you feel better?”

You smiled tiredly at him, “Yeah, I really needed a hug.”

He turned around to check on dinner, “I bet, you look like you’ve been to hell and back. You don’t have to tell me what happened, but just know that I’m always here for you and I love you.”

The rest of the family flooded the kitchen after a while of you two talking. Dinner went by with Schlatt laughing loudly and telling stories about the people he met on his business trip. Every now and then, Wilbur and Techno would glance at you, but you ignored them. You just wanted dinner to end so you could pass out in your bed. Once dinner was over, you helped your dad gather everybody’s plate and put them into the sink. The rest of your little family went to the living room to start a game of Monopoly. The last time you all played that ended in fresh bruises and shed tears.

“I think I’m gonna go to bed, I have to get some rest for finals tomorrow.”

“But (y/n), it’s Monopoly! You love Monopoly,” Tommy exclaimed.

“That’s alright, you look dead on your feet kid. Go get some sleep.”

“Thanks Uncle Schlatt. Goodnight everyone, love ya.”

A flurry of goodnights and love you’s follow you as you leave the room and drug yourself up the stairs. Without a second thought, you closed your curtains and plopped face first onto your bed. You passed out without even making sure you were fully on your bed.

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cloud9in · 3 years

Text

Promises (Poppy x MC) Part (2/?)

Read Part ONE (summary for fic is there)

ITS BEEN A MINUTE. @iamsimpforpoppy I hope you’re still around to read :P I love this story lol. Hope you guys do too!!!

Word Count (2.8k)

Bea and Poppy’s relationship became official a month after their initial meeting. One would say they moved quickly, too quickly. But every love story is different. This one in particular seemed to have little to none flaws, if you ignored the fact that Bea was promoted to Carter’s right hand woman in the Southside Spades.

They did end up having that conversation after all.

“…Are you sure Carter? I mean this is a huge deal and a special role-“

“If I didn’t think you were capable you wouldn’t be here right now Goldilocks.”

Carter winked and clinked his half empty beer bottle against Bea’s, who surprisingly had a nearly full bottle. He took note of the abnormality.

The blonde instinctively rolled her eyes at the nickname, “Okay but that name has to go. We need codenames……ooooh how about bimbo and himbo.”

“I’m guessing…..no, hoping I’m the himbo?!” Carter comments as he promptly tries to stop the laugh escaping from his lips.

“Mmmmmmm, I’ll get back to you on that.”

They share a laugh and Bea feels Carter’s gaze latch onto her in her peripherals. She could sense the shift of energy in the space between them, it almost felt uncomfortable, and that was something she never felt with Carter. “I never asked you if you were okay with such a role. If you aren't, I understand completely, I just want the best for you.”

The blonde eyes soften at his comment and she looks at him, “never doubted that, where is this going though because you never express your feelings like a normal human being.”

He pulls on the strings of her hoodie until it completely caves around her face, burying her whole.

“Hey asshole!”

“That’s for talking too much.”

Bea yanks her hoodie open and sticks her tongue out in a mock expression. “Oh boohoo. Poppy literally says the same thing, I don’t get it. I talk, it’s a problem. I don’t talk, it’s an even BIGGER problem. Damn a girl can’t ever exist in peace.”

Carter places his bottle flat on the table and studies the blonde’s face.

She kept rambling on about her new girlfriend and the gang leader didn’t know it was possible to feel happy yet anxious at the same time. He was aware of when they entered the talking stage, went on their first date, and finally became official, because Bea told him everything. As much as the experience of being in a real relationship was new to her, Bea looked up to him and somehow she knew Carter would give her the best guidance possible.

It didn’t stop him from worrying. Like an older brother would. He feared the two would mix, and everyone knows that love and crime will eventually combust. He is no stranger to it.

“Bea.”

“Did you know she stole one of my hoodies and actually won’t give it back?? What am I supposed to do, just take it? No she’d murder me.”

“Jackson.”

Her voice slowly dies down after sensing the seriousness in his tone. She takes a sip of her beer to ease the silence that sat in the air, and Carter responds shortly after.

“You know I trust you with my life right? You’re very important to me, kid.”

“I know.”

Guilt was a feeling he chose to lock away in an unbreakable box and bury six feet deep. There couldn’t be guilt in a lifestyle like this. But Bea was his only exception. And she was slowly bringing that box back up to the surface.

“I need you to promise me that you won’t let these two worlds collide.”

“Carter….”

“One of you will get hurt. And I won’t forgive myself if it’s you.”

He leaves Bea at the table, the remnants of his comment still replaying in her head. She pulls out her phone and sees a text from Poppy on her lockscreen.

Other Half 💗❤️‍🔥- Can’t wait to see you tomorrow 😘

The blonde smiles unconsciously and opens the message to respond.

I’m missing you like crazy. I have a special surprise for you.

Other Half 💗❤️‍🔥- You know I highly dislike surprises, just tell me.

And ruin the surprise? You must be crazier than I thought.

Other Half 💗❤️‍🔥- Jackson.

Patience babe…tomorrow it is.

Bea clicks her phone shut and slips it back into her pocket before downing the rest of the beer.

***

“You know your hand on my ass only makes them stare even more Jackson?”

Bea bites her lips and gropes the blonde’s plump backside shamelessly while slowly whispering into her ear.

“That’s the point, princess.”

Poppy shivers almost instantly at the boldness. “Is this the surprise you were talking about?” Bea doesn’t answer, instead trailing her hand up Poppy’s skirt. This was definitely not the time and place for such behavior but she was clearly still learning everything about her girlfriend.

And it definitely felt good to call her that.

“Since when did you get so brazen? You know you’re exactly the type of person my daddy told me to stay away from.”

Bea laughs at that statement and wraps her arm around the blonde’s waist, “yeah? And why’s that?”

“Well I can’t ask him now, he might rough you up and that’s my job.”

Poppy could feel the stares of everyone burning into them, but she could only focus on the blonde cuddled up against her. The shorter girl wouldn’t call herself an attention whore, but she sure loved the PDA that Bea projected without a care. It felt nice to be genuinely admired in public rather than putting on a mask everyday.

But it’s safe to say that Poppy preferred all the handsy stuff to happen in private.

“Do you want to grab dinner with me tonight Pops?”

“Am I picking the place?”

“…Yes.”

“Then yes.”

Bea rolls her eyes at the blonde’s downright shady self but smiles nevertheless.

“Now don’t cancel on me out of the blue. I will not be thrilled about it.”

“Shouldn’t I be telling you this? Your dad always has something going on in his business that somehow has to involve you too.”

Poppy sighs and glances over at Bea, “well you know I’ll have to take over eventually. Especially since I’m legally allowed to handle deals now.”

“I hate that word. Legal. Ugh.”

The shorter girl scoffs and plants her hands on her hips, “yeah I bet you do.”

***

Bea dragged open her closet in search of clothes for dinner tonight but the dinging noise of a text distracts her.

C-Dog🖤- Need you tonight. Something came up, meet us at the garage.

Bea wanted to thank the gods up above that she didn’t promise Poppy that she’d show up for dinner. But that wasn’t going to save her from the fury of the blonde. Good thing it can’t get worse than that, right….?

Only it was. And Poppy will probably beat her up herself, if she wasn’t dead by the next day.

Bea’s mind and heart races as she digs her brain for a proper excuse to tell her girlfriend, but is very unsuccessful. She’s good at drug dealing though.

Going with the good ole truth never really hurt right?

Baby I’m so sorry I won’t be able to make it tonight. Got held up with the gang. I know I’m an asshole, I’ll keep in touch I swear.

Other Half 💗❤️‍🔥- What else could I expect from my gang banger girlfriend 🙄 please stay safe..

You know I always do.

Other Half 💗❤️‍🔥- Do I? We need to talk about this tomorrow.

Of course Pops.

Other Half 💗❤️‍🔥- Call me every chance you get or I swear I’ll track you and trust me you do not want me to do that.

Yeah she definitely doesn’t. Especially since Carter sounded frantic over the phone. The last thing Bea needed was a paranoid girlfriend, so she played it cool like always.

Just simple stuff baby girl, talk soon.

***

“…What do you mean it’s gone?! So where is it? Do you know what this means Carter??”

The gang leader sighs frustratingly, rubbing his eyes in efforts to gain some stability. “The product was here, and now it is not. Which can only mean it was stolen. And when I find out which son of a bitch did it, they’re dead.”

“In the meantime, we are dead”, Bea emphasizes wildly. “This is the Red Raven gang we’re talking about. If they get any inclination that we lost their drugs, they’ll kill and replace us. No mercy. None.”

The blonde paces back and forth trying not to think about buying a plane ticket to Timbuktu.

Carter approaches Bea and plants his hands on her shoulder, “breathe Jackson. You are my partner. The leader of this gang. So get it out of your system and start being rational.”

The blonde lets her shoulders sag as she inhales and exhales in place for a while. The minute she’s grounded she catches Carter’s gaze and her eyes light up. “List. I need a list of whoever went in the room with all of the product. We need to narrow it down.”

***

“Jackson you’re a fucking genius.”

“It’s called having common sense but I’ll take the praise. It’s the only one I’m getting from you anyways.”

Carter resisted the urge to pick a fight with the younger girl, because finding stolen drugs and not getting killed seemed like a much better idea.

Bea figured out that Henry, one of the newly recruited members of SS was a thief, or maybe just a crackhead. Same thing. He was the last to be in that room so all eyes were on him, and guns.

“Heyyy buddy. Henry right?”

The shorter man trembled at the sight of a gun lodged right into his mouth. “Mmmm!”

“Oh I’m sorry, did you want to say something? Here let me just”, Bea clicks the gun which only causes the thief to panic even more. It was almost pitiful.

“Alright lay off the poor sucker.”

Bea pulls the gun out of his mouth and sits down on a stool in front of Henry with a grin. “So…where is the stash darling?”

He points almost immediately to a built in storage locker with a shaky finger.

“Ohhh well that was so easy Henry! Glad you could comply. You should tell your friends to be more like you. But…between me and you, they might already be dead”, Bea whispers that last part slowly, smirking when Henry’s lip quivers violently.

“Please just do it already! Why are you guys waiting?”

Bea raised an eyebrow in surprise and glanced over at Carter who scanned the man’s face intensely. “I guess he wants to die? Talk about kinks I mean come on”

“No.”

Carter reaches his arm out towards Bea but never takes his eyes off Henry. The blonde watches in confusion until she realizes the thief is looking behind her, and so is Carter.

“It’s a setup Bea, duck!”

She dived for the ground quicker than lightning as a bullet flies through the air, leaving a trail of dust behind. Carter ducks for cover as well and starts firing rounds towards the men who snuck up on them. He managed to hit three of them but one grabs Bea by the leg and drags her against the rough concrete.

“Son of a- get your dirty hands off of my Dr. Martens. My girlfriend bought me these!”

A swift kick to the face shut the blonde up real quick but she manages to recoil and send the man sprawling backwards into a row of barrels.

Carter guns him down and Bea finds her footing, pistol in hand and a thirst for revenge. But they never stopped coming.

Her and Carter were left battered and bruised, but alive. Their product was gone again though. But atleast they were alive. Carter told her that it was a theft mission primarily and neither of them were meant to die. But it only made Bea wonder who those people were.

And why were they kept alive?

***

“Beatriz Naomi Jackson what the actual fuck?!”

“Oh not the middle name…”

Bea tries to avoid Poppy’s killer gaze as she surveys the damage that had been done to her girlfriend’s torso, legs, and face.

The strawberry blonde could barely mutter a word. Her mouth opened and closed in brief shock before collapsing next to the injured girl.

Bea could see the tears flowing down her rosy cheeks, which contrasted her porcelain skin. “Poppy…are you crying? I..please don’t..”

“What do you expect me to do Bea? It kills me to see you hurt like this. Who did it? Tell me!” The blonde chokes on her own words as her hands hovers cautiously over Bea’s wounds, afraid to make her feel pain.

“No I can’t tell you. I mean…I didn’t expect this to happen. It was a setup and we were outnumbered-“

“We need to get you to a hospital Bea oh my god.”

The blonde knew that she couldn’t go there. Not with the cops on the scene of the shootout, and actively looking for the people involved. Aka her and Carter. He told her to lay low and heal up, but she didn’t expect Poppy to be sitting on her bed waiting for her when she got home. The initial look on her face made Bea regret ever choosing this life.

She regrets it ever since being with Poppy. But it’s like a drug, once you start it’s hard to stop.

“I’ll call my father, he has the best doctors available and we’re gonna get your the right treatment and-“

Poppy immediately cuts off, her eyebrows scrunching up until she realizes something. “Wait…what do you mean you were outnumbered Bea?”

Bea swallows heavily, praying that this conversation couldn’t escalate further, but that isn’t the case.

“Bea, answer me”

“It..it was just me and Carter. We didn’t think there would be an ambush. We had just gone there to get goods we lost.”

“And where is Carter? Does he know you’re like this right now? Did he leave you, I swear to god Bea if he left you…” Poppy’s voice cracks as her whole body shivers in violent waves.

Bea pulls her girlfriend in for a hug even though it causes every inch of her body to sting harshly. It was the comfort that she needed though. Watching Poppy breakdown over the sight of her was too much, and she began to contemplate everything.

“Pops listen to me, I cannot go to the hospital right now. There are cops looking for us.” The strawberry blonde stares at her until she understands the velocity of Bea’s words.

“Fine. But there will be a doctor that will come to treat you at my house. And you’re coming, I don’t want to hear it.”

Bea knew not to protest that. It was quite obvious this whole incident has left both parties distraught and she didn’t want to try and tell Poppy how to feel.

“Just tell me something. Are you in immediate danger? Is someone trying to harm you right now.”

The blonde chose her words carefully. Because even after coming home beaten to a pulp, she still couldn’t tell the love of her life the full truth.

“No Poppy, they just wanted the drugs. They got what they wanted. I’m not in danger.”

For now.

“I will be okay.”

I hope.

“Don’t lie to me Jackson. I can’t do this if you lie. You promised me you wouldn’t get to the point where you’d have to choose between me and the gang.”

“I know Poppy…I-“

“You promised.”

“And I’m going to keep that promise-“

“Yeah the hell you are. And you’re going to promise me that you won’t ever come home like this again. You’re going to get yourself killed before we even start our life together. Our future.”

Bea sucks in a breath which punctures her chest. She couldn’t tell if the injuries or Poppy’s words had caused that terrible ache. “Our…Wait I..”

“I love you Jackson. I…don’t care if you think it’s too early to say that. I don’t care if I sound too cheesy for a mean girl. I love kissing you and feeling the laughter run through your body when we hug. I love being the reason you smile. I love you. And you don’t have to say it back. I just..I needed you to know-“

“I love you too. Probably maybe from the moment I met you.”

Poppy’s eyes seemed to glisten once again and this time there was no sadness etched into the shape. She smiled a pure smile and wrapped her arms around Bea in a tight hug.

She captures her lips in a searing kiss that leads to a trail of kisses down the strawberry blonde’s neck, dip of her collarbone, and chest. Bea kisses her until her chest gives out from exhaustion and pain.

“Then you have to promise that this won’t happen again.”

“I promise.”

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NOTES: They’re gonna be fineeeee, right guys??? Graduation next chapter woooo.

Tags: @samanthadalton @somewillwin @clowneryme @baexpoppy @poppysmc @doey-eyes8 @veenast @straightlikewetspaghetti @phoennixxsblog

#i came up with that middle name on the spot lmaooo #no bug motivation this time just pepsi #poppy min sinclair #queen b #playchoices #mc x poppy

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murderousginger · 3 years

Text

Gentle Giant

Arthur Shelby x reader

Word count: 1,708

Warnings: Adultery. Sex. They're criminals guys, they do bad things.

Requested by @caelys for this song.

You tried not to stare, but you failed every service. You resolved yourself to sitting opposite them in the circle of foldable chairs instead. Easier not to be seen breaking your neck over a married man, rising suspicions and idle gossip among the chickens.

The meetings were held in secret in the pastor's business. Quaker service was simple and pure. You all read the Bible together and discussed passages as the pastor mediated the flock if discussions got heated. Those of you with the urge could sing whatever the lord influenced you to. Or, you all sat in silence if no one felt compelled to talk.

You sang quite often.

It soothed you and seemed to soothe others, so you were regularly called to sing at the beginning of the meeting.

You liked making others feel at ease and were often called on to welcome new members or talk to those that felt the need to talk to someone.

As a widow, you often helped after service to put the chairs up or see to the children while their parents did the rounds of greeting others. You weren't there for the gossip or the social hierarchy that so many used these meetings for. You just liked being around similar minded people.

And then Linda brought her husband around.

They were dating at first. Arthur, following Linda around like a lost puppy with his hat wrung in his hands, was hard to ignore. His face was haggard in that same way most men that returned from the war was, but his eyes were soft. He kept his voice soft around everyone and often looked to the floor, but there was a sense of power hidden in his rough hands, his brow, his tense back. It was as if he was a lion hiding as a lamb in fear of being cast out.

Linda never particularly liked you; she never particularly liked anyone that she couldn't control or otherwise bend to her whims. She was a strong woman with a strong voice and the opinion it needed to be heard. You both stayed cordial but otherwise away from each other, but you couldn't help but be interested in him.

There were whispers. A Shelby, they said. Dangerous.

But he didn't seem dangerous. He seemed lost. All too eager to follow Linda to whatever she dragged him into if it meant she continued smiling at him.

He became a regular member, following Linda on her constant reach for more. You found yourself talking to him more than once as she made her rounds, and that's when you realized you cared about the quiet, strong man that was being overshadowed by his ambitious wife.

Today, the smell of gunpowder and whiskey was stained on his clothes from the night before. His eyes still floated along as if he was half drunk. Linda held his arm in a vice grip as she dragged him along to make the rounds of greetings after service. Her smile was tight and never met her eyes. The honeymoon phase was well over.

"Y/N, so nice to see you!" Linda's voice raised in fake cheer.

"And you, sister of the lord!" you answered back with equally fake cheer. "How are you both this morning? Late start?"

"Good!" Linda sung. "We are good. Nothing slips past you! Our resident songbird also has eagle eyes."

Your mouth fought to grimace at the dig, but you kept your smile plastered on.

"And you, Arthur?" you asked softly, ignoring Linda. "How did you find the service?"

"Your voice always brings out other's inner light to service, Y/N," he said with a smile. "It's a right beautiful way to start a Sunday."

You smiled, tucking your chin to your chest to hide your embarrassment at his comment.

"Thank you."

"Really?" Linda said as she looked up to her husband. "Her voice always had a grit that I thought belonged in a nightclub rather than singing to angels. Oh look, let's go say hello to Mr. Peyton."

Linda dragged Arthur off by the arm as he shot you an apologetic look and you bit your cheek at her comment. His compliment bounced through your brain even as Linda's comment stung.

You started to gather the chairs, folding them and carrying a few at a time into the pastor's office to pack away into a storage room. With almost 30 members, it would take almost a dozen trips to collect all of the chairs.

You turned around to make your way for another trip when the door swung open and Arthur came in with 4 or 5 chairs tucked under his arms.

"Thought you could use a hand," he said with a small smile. "Save you a few trips, songbird."

"That's very kind of you, Arthur," you smiled back. "Thank you."

You opened the storage door and let him set the chairs down with the rest. He patted himself, turning to you as you both stayed in the doorway.

"Sorta selfish, too," Arthur said hushed. "Helping you gets me out of the rounds today. I'm in no shape for pleasantries with Linda's friends."

You both chuckled.

"Well I won't tattle on you, Arthur," you chuckled. "It's not my cup of tea, either. That's why I offer to do these types of things. I like being helpful."

"It'll be our secret."

Your heart fluttered as he stood in the doorway with you, looking down on you with those soft, sad eyes. The whiskey made his breath hot and your mind race. You didn't want to think anymore.

You reached up on your toes and you kissed him, feeling him freeze under your touch. You pulled back to see a look of shock on his face but also a spark in his eye.

"We shouldn't do this, love," he stammered, his hands finding your hips as you raised to your toes to meet his lips again. "I'm married to Linda. It's Sunday after a service. You're a good Christian woman."

"And you're a good Christian man," you replied as your hand found his chest. "You try to be, and that's all that God asks of us. It's Linda that demands more of you."

Arthur licked his lips and your eyes followed the movement for a moment as you bit your own. When you looked back into Arthur's eyes you noticed the spark grew brighter.

"She's just trying to keep me from sin, love," he said hoarsely. "She's a good woman who took pity on a sinner and is trying to keep my soul saved."

"Or she's trying to control you, Arthur," you replied. "Just like your brothers do. I don't want to control you. I want to be beside you."

"What do you know of my brothers?"

You shrugged.

"Church holds the spirit as well as a lot of gossip," you say. "Whatever they say about your business is not mine to judge you for. I only think that Linda is using the phrase 'love the sinner, hate the sin,' in the wrong way intended. Your inner light is valid."

"How old are you, songbird?" Arthur asks suddenly, his warm rough hand lightly caressing your cheek. "What do you want with an old man?"

"I'm two years older than Linda," you laugh as you press his hand into your cheek.

"You church girls always look so young," he murmured as you pressed closer to him. "Like sin ages a body."

"Kiss me, Arthur," you sighed. "You're stalling."

And he did. Hesitantly. Softly. His mustache tickled your nose but his lips were soft against yours. Your heart slowed, just like time did.

When a light sigh escaped your mouth -- the faintest moan of happiness -- Arthur's tongue grazed your lip and you happily allowed him access to explore.

His hands held onto you like you were an anchor. He pressed you backward out of the doorway until you were lifted clumsily onto the pastor's desk, knocking over a chair on the way. The noise made you both jump and freeze for a moment. Arthur's hands played at the hem of your skirt.

"We shouldn't," you said breathlessly. "Not here. Too many people could walk in."

Arthur kissed you again, trailing kisses to your ear and down your neck as his hands pushed your skirt higher.

"We can be quick, songbird," Arthur growled into your neck. "An old man can make quick work of a beautiful lady."

"Arthur," you gasped as his fingers found their destination and he pushed your underwear to the side.

Your head fell back as he pressed into you and growled into your chest. His hands gripped your hips roughly, surely causing bruises as he found a rhythm.

"Say it again, love," he mumbled, pulling you back to the moment rather than being lost in the sensation. "Say m'name again, sweet like."

"Arthur," you said softly as you bit your lip. His thrust sharpened and you held onto him as your pleasure rose.

"Sounds like fuckin' music," he murmured.

"Arthur," you moaned louder before his hand clamped over your mouth to stifle the yell of passion you wanted to make as he got rougher.

There it was, the beast that hid behind the softness. And he was glorious.

He buried his own head into the crook of your neck as you bit his hand and came, him following moments after.

He stayed inside you, catching his breath over you before reluctantly stepping back and tucking himself away.

"Can you find a reason to get away, Arthur?" You asked as you smoothed your shirt and stood up from the desk to straighten your skirt. "Can you visit me tonight?"

"Ayuh," Arthur nodded. His eyes looked clearer than before. "I'll tell Linda there's business and come round after dinner."

You nodded, guilt stinging you as he said her name. Your lip began to tremble as the realization set in.

"Hey," Arthur said, his finger tracing your lip. "None of that, love."

He kissed you softly, once again a lamb.

"Tonight," he said as he kissed you. "We'll have time to be slow. Until you're hoarse from singing my name."

You smiled, feeling the bruises forming on your hips now that the thrill was over.

"Tonight, then."

#arthur shelby x reader #peaky blinders #peaky blinder fanfic #storytime with murderousginger #arthur shelby

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fandom-monium · 4 years

Text

Alive Together - Day 1

Summary: Welcome to the Monsterpocalypse. You’re a lone wanderer trying to survive. Until you meet Joel Dawson and Boy.

WC: 4k

Tag/Warnings: light themes of death and grief?? Cursing but minimal. Slow burn. Enemies to friends to lovers?

AN: MEET CUTE? NO. MEET UGLY.

(Entry 2#3#)

Hungry. I have nothing else to report today except that I, (Your Name), am starving. Grilled spiders and roasted centipedes are starting to get old.

I've mentioned it before and I'll do it again, but I miss home cooked meals. Even Dad's shoddy attempts at recreating Mom's recipes. The last time I think was… nevermind.

It hurts; I barely remember the last time I had dinner with Dad, much less Mom, flashes of the memories I have left blurring. Probably from the tears. I used to cry at the slightest thought of Mom and then Dad. Now my heart clenches whenever I try because I shouldn't have to try to remember my own family. Believe it or not, it’s progress.

Maybe it's my fault. I hadn't bothered to snag any mementos that reminded me of them before fleeing the bunker, like an album or something. There weren't many personal items that they'd given me, now that I think about it. Too much clutter, the Captain said.

Or maybe it's the lack of consistent stimulus to my brain. I can't read as much as I'd like to, mainly because it's too dangerous to be distracted (constant vigilance is an important virtue in this world, if you hadn’t noticed). Most books that I've stumbled across (literally, I tripped over a hill of hardcovers. Not fun. Very painful) were either tattered or worn beyond comprehension, destroyed by rain or monster attacks.

Speaking of, my stomach grumbled. I need to start hunting before it gets dark... and before I attract another monster to myself. Again.

-(Your Name) (Your Last Name)

Day 1 - First Impressions

You shut the journal as an ominous roar thunders in the distance. Heart in your throat, you’re already on your feet, shoving the book into your pack and gathering the rest of your things. Once you’re certain there’s no trace left of you on the roof, you gaze at the neighborhood below, shielding your eyes as you scan for signs of alerted monsters.

Greenery and ruins go on for miles, unperturbed.

It’s high noon, rays of sunlight seeping through the clouds and warming your exposed skin. A gust of wind brushes your face and hair, and you suppress a smile. It’s not everyday the weather is this nice, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d relish in it.

Good thing you do know better.

You trace your path to the hills. The town is a maze of torn down buildings and overgrowth, winding roads littered with abandoned houses and wrecked vehicles, and, of course, hidden monsters. There’s only a couple hours before nightfall, and you’re far from your destination.

Better start walking. You’ve wasted enough time.

You climb down the side of the dilapidated house, dropping to the ground with a thump. If there’s one thing you’ve learned since the start of the apocalypse, it’s that residential areas harbored the most monsters, aside from the cities. Too many alcoves perfect for nesting. It’s safer away from the old world.

Safer, not safe.

You keep to the shadows, avoiding the open whenever you can despite the barren streets, darting between urban remnants. Your heart eventually settles as you scan your surroundings like anything and everything will pounce on you the second you let your guard down. By the time you cross the residential area and asphalt roads bleed into dry fields (from years of neglect, you somberly note), the sun has crept out from behind the clouds and the sky is clear blue.

You find a barn after hours of trudging through shrubs and your sore feet. It looms at the top of the hill leading to a dense forest, tall enough that as you step into its shadow it blocks out the sun. Walking closer, you tense as you scrutinize the place, eyes combing over the immediate vicinity.

Nothing. Nothing moves or breathes. You don’t see or hear a peep. Not from the barn or the woods beyond. It’s completely isolated from the nearby town, a perfect fort.

Or a nest.

You huff; shit like this has happened one too many times and you’d be a fool if you haven’t learnt your lesson by now. You pull out your javelin and approach with caution, leaves and grass crunching under your boots as you take in the chipped paint and boarded up windows, steadily making your way around the decrepit building. You frown at the clear deterioration, unable to spot any visible breaches.

Reaching the front of the barn, you gaze warily at the lone entrance. Tall doors ajar, old boards are still nailed across the slim gap or hanging precariously. As if someone or something pried them off, busted through.

In or out, you can’t tell.

For a moment, you weigh your options. You doubt the place had anything to offer, pillaged long before you stumbled upon it. Hell, there’s probably a monster nesting somewhere inside, or a bunch of monster eggs.

But you need food, supplies, rest. Are you willing to risk your life on the small chance this rickety barn can provide those things?

You stare down the the opening and it stares back, deceptively innocent. But it’s mocking you, you can hear it. Just daring you to walk away.

You shuffle on aching feet, making your clothes rub against your sweaty skin.

As if on cue, your stomach growls.

Groaning, you adjust your grip on the spear before ducking inside.

You let your eyes adjust to the dark interior. Light seeps through the rotted ceiling and cracks from the boarded windows, enough that you don’t need a flashlight to see the place is deserted. You glance around the huge room, javelin ready as you wait with bated breath, ears straining to hear over your pounding heartbeat.

Nothing. You don’t hear anything, except the trees rustling outside. Nothing shifts or darts out of sight. No signs of life, not even eggs (that you can see).

It doesn’t mean you're clear, but it’s a start.

Biting your lip, you take a careful step, and another and another, your eyes sweeping the room as you tread over straw and debris. You pause mid-step when you catch a pulley system attached to the ceiling. It’s dark, but you recognize its outline. Frowning, you trace its small, thin woven ropes as they split in different directions against the ceiling and walls, hitting and crossing the floor until they disappear under a thick layer of hay.

You raise your foot, gently kicking away the straw. You step back.

A net. A decent sized one by the width of the patch of hay.

You sigh, shoulders dropping in relief. If you hadn’t been cautious you’d never have noticed it.

You make your rounds quickly as you check for resources. At this point, it’s muscle memory for you as you move through the room with silent purpose, efficient and controlled. You dig through every storage unit, every container, pulling open cabinets and drawers, tearing through the floor with precision as you toss aside rusted tools and empty cans, a pit burning in your stomach. You snarl, throwing down another torn rag. It hits the floor with a thud.

You knew this would happen. You know the chances, but after all this time you still feel the crushing disappointment? You let out a shaky breath, nostrils flaring as you attempt to quell your frustration.

You can practically hear your mother snap at you. Don’t let your emotions get the better of you, (Your Nickname), unless you want to die, her stern voice echoes. You unclench your teeth with a sigh.

It doesn’t take long, your anger simmering down with each exhale, and when you’re sure you’re calm enough, you resume your initial task: scavenging the barn. Is it a waste of time and energy? Yes. Will you find anything useful? Unlikely. Are you going to try anyway?

You head for the stairs to the hayloft. Even if there seems to be nothing left, you need to make sure.

A few minutes later, you're sifting through another trunk when a yelp cuts across the dusty air, followed by the shrill sound of grinding metal. You startle, hissing as you bang your head against the trunk lid. Pushing down the throbbing pain, you snatch your spear and clamber down the stairs, stumbling forward as your eyes darting around the dust drifting in the air. Something barks over you and you look up.

Huh. Did not expect that.

You were prepared for a snarling, limb crushing insect. Or maybe a triple jawed mammal. Even a mega-pig. You’ve seen enough of those and managed.

But a dog? More specifically, a dog caught in the net you barely avoided. It’s tangled in the ropes suspended just above your head, gently swaying. It seems it does not care for the swinging because it starts barking again, louder and more urgent than before.

“Ah, poor doggy,” you croon, lowering your weapon. To your surprise, the dog stops and jerks to face you, its dark eyes gleaming in the shadows. You eye the seemingly calm animal. “Now, how did you get here? Were you following me?”

The dog whines, squirming in a sad attempt to escape. Your lips quirk up. Aside from the occasional bird, you haven’t seen a normal animal in what feels like forever, much less a dog. Most regular animals were consumed by monsters or by people for food.

Food. You haven’t eaten.

You study the dog; its dark brown fur, sleek and short, its body small⎼almost medium sized, with pointed ears and a long snout. And by the way it looks at you, it has some intelligence.

Your stomach grumbles, and the creature cocks its head at you, ears forward.

Shit.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” you grimace at the dog, adjusting your hold before aiming the tip at it. “It’s nothing personal, okay? I’m hungry, and you’re the first thing I’ve seen that hasn’t tried to kill me in a while.”

Which isn’t a lie. Hunting is crazy difficult these days. But you swallow as your eyes meet, its stare unwavering like you aren’t pointing a weapon at his little body. Just one motion and you could end its life painlessly (lucky bastard), but your knuckles go white and you grip falters. Why are you hesitating now?

The dog, as if sensing your battle, barks again, this time more composed than panicked, as if trying to communicate with you. You’re grateful you can’t speak Dog. It’s probably saying something like ‘No, you’re better than this’ or ‘Please don’t do this’ or⎼

“Put him down!”

Or that.

Dear Aimee,

Guess what?

I got a dog! And he’s the coolest, his name is Boy.

He saved my life from a giant frog in a pool who tried to eat me with his tongue, and then we hung out in his bus! Man, do we make a great team. We found out that we have a ton in common too. I feel like we can talk about anything.

You gotta see us out here; we’re like this iconic duo. I don’t know, feels like when we’re together, we’re unstoppable.

“Right, Boy? Boy?” Joel glances at his side, doing a double take. The dog’s gone. His shoulders slump, “Of course, the first friend I’ve made outside and he leaves me. Sounds about right.”

He didn’t think he could gain and lose a friend within the span of two days. This has to be some kind of record.

He jerks when he hears Boy’s faint barking, guiding him as he drags himself back to the old barn they just passed. For good reasons. The decaying barn looks like it’s in need of a new contractor and a paint job… or three. And an exterminator.

God, the surface is terrifying.

Gulping down his dread, Joel crouches to peer through the gaping hole in the wall. This must be where Boy came through. “Whatcha got there?”

The barking ceases, and so does Joel’s heart.

You stand in the dark like an apparition, back turned to him so he can’t make out your features. Your attention is fixed on the shadowed lump hanging over you, and while it’s dark and he doesn’t have a good vantage point, Joel’s mouth goes dry as he seeks out Boy.

Boy woofs again, and Joel’s heart drops. You step closer to the lump.

For a split second, he sees a flash of his mother’s face, her tears streaming down her cheeks.

He doesn’t think; no thoughts, head empty. Blood roars in his ears. His hands tremble. But he doesn’t hesitate, ripping the makeshift crossbow from his back as he scrambles under the opening.

“Put him down!”

He’s not entirely sure what he expects. He’s read enough comic books to understand the situation; the hero drops in to save damsel in distress then proceeds to demolish the bad guys. Technically, he has the upper-hand here. Right?

But realization slams into him. It knocks the air out of him, and he forgets to breathe.

He shouldn’t have barged in like an idiot. He isn’t a hero. He’s nothing like the superheroes in comics and movies and graphic novels. He doesn’t have super strength or speed or highly advanced tech and he sure as hell is not a genius.

What he does have: a freezing problem.

He’s already lost feeling in his hands, and he almost drops the weapon as you look over your shoulder at him.

On the other hand, you have a pretty clear idea before you face your captor (seeing him now, can you even consider him that?). With the apocalypse, governments crumbled with ease along with laws and morals, so it’d make sense for people to disregard them. You’ve met quite a few… characters, and you’ve chalked it up to these main categories; garbage thieves, sleazy scavengers, and shitty thugs.

In short, humans are selfish creatures. Prepare for the worst.

You’ve thrown down, fought dirty, bartered with them all and still managed to come out on top, the scars across your body a constant reminder. Nothing surprises you at this point.

A fumbling boy though? You mask your amusement, raising an eyebrow as you take him in. The guy, tall and disheveled, blocks the only exit out of this godforsaken place, his red jacket rumpled and dusty like he’s fallen one too many times. However, what nearly sends you is, as he steps further into the light, you bite your lip, his eyes round and small lips pressed together as the crossbow quakes in his hands.

Who let this puppy out of their sight?

“Listen, buddy,” You finally speak, making Joel flinch. Your eyes narrow as his fingers jerk on the trigger. That’s not good. “If you’re gonna point that thing at me, you better know how to use it.”

He sucks in air, clearing his throat as his eyes dart between Boy and you. He cringes when his voice comes out octaves higher than he expected, “Let Boy go.”

“’Boy’?” You glance up, your weapon still raised at the squirming little fellow. “Oh, you mean Dinner?”

“You were gonna eat him?”

You shrug. “Maybe. Depends how this goes.”

“Okay,” Joel swallows, a futile attempt to keep his tone even as nausea sprouts in him. You plan to eat Boy? How can someone eat something so cute? “Let him go, and we’ll leave you alone. How ‘bout that?”

Beads of sweat drip down his temple as his breaths come out shuddered. He’s not used to this; he’s gone from being the chef of his colony to making demands, negotiating with a possible psycho. He never trained for this! Well, he’d never been trained, period.

What if he says the wrong thing and sets you off, hurting Boy in the process? He might faint⎼no⎼he will faint. He doesn’t think his heart can handle losing more people… or animals. How is he supposed to save Boy? His fingers twitch against the trigger.

You don’t miss it.

“I don't know about that,” You reply, studying him. His hands tremble as they clutch the weapon. He may not be a scavenger or a thief, but that just makes him all the more unpredictable. Goons, you’d expect them to shoot first, ask questions later, but the fact this guy is making an effort to talk? You want to know his angle, his intentions.

Whether it’s good or bad.

“I’m hungry. It’s going to be dark soon, and Boy here,” You jerk your head at the canine, “was unlucky enough to fall into this ol’ trap.”

You watch, withholding a sneer as emotions and thoughts flit across Joel’s face like an open book. It seems a lightbulb goes off because he looks back at you, eyes wide and hopeful. “You want food? I have some in my backpack. If I give it to you, you let him go?”

He tries not to squirm, the little courage he has waning as your eyes bore into him.

“…Put the crossbow and the bag down. Slowly.”

“You too.” You tilt your head curiously as Joel stutters, “Your spear⎼I mean, if you could stop pointing it at my dog. Please.”

Your brows shoot up. Since the moment he entered⎼wait⎼floundered in here, he could not have made it more obvious that he has no idea what he’s doing. If it wasn’t the way he carried that exposed him, it was definitely his facial expressions, and if not his face, you can hear it trickle through the cracks in his voice. Yet despite how unfair the situation is for him, he’s trying to cover his terror. Failing miserably but trying. All for this cute, little doggy.

And he said please. You ignore the way it warmed you, his tone so…. genuine.

Manners, sincere or not, in the face of danger? You have to respect that.

“It’s a javelin, actually, but I agree to your terms.” Your grip slackens. He might be a wimp, but you have to give it to him. He’s got balls.

A flicker of relief crosses his face, and you both comply with your instructions. In spite of his obvious fear, you roll your eyes as he unzips his bag unnecessarily slower than you meant him to, throwing you a look.

On second thought, he’s either really brave or really stupid. It’s fifty-fifty at this point.

Joel pulls out an aluminum can. It glints in the light as he holds it up and tosses it to you. You catch it easily, inspecting it in your hands.

“Now will you let my dog go⎼Boy!” His scream tears through the barn.

You’re already composed. Uncoiling like a snake, you seize your spear and swing, all in one motion. He lunges for you, but you’re too far. He hits the ground.

Groaning in pain, he berates himself. He should have known; they had no reason to trust each other, so of course this stranger, this psycho, would betray him. He tries to brush it off, the false sense of security dissipating, the relief replaced with crushing betrayal and horror.

This is what the surface is like? His chest clenches. He can’t breath, but this isn’t like when he freezes up on a monster. At least, not those monsters. This is worse. So much worse.

The net rips, then a pained grunt. Joel shields his eyes, burying his face in his hands as tears trail down his dirt-smudged cheeks. His heart thunders in his ears as he prepares for the inescapable sound of Boy’s pained yelps, the squelch of metal piercing flesh. He chokes down a sob.

He only knew Boy for less than two days, but within that timespan he bared his soul to the animal. He probably knew him better than his own colony. In the short time they had together, he became his best friend⎼

Okay, ew. What is licking him?

“Boy?” Joel groans, flinching away as the dog bombards him with wet kisses. “Wait, you’re not dead?”

You step into the light, javelin in hand as you snort, “Of course not. Did you think I was gonna kill him?”

Yes. Joel sits up and cradles Boy to his chest, gawking at you.

You glare at him, almost offended. “I’m not a monster.”

No. No you are not.

Decked in a faded blue jacket, you stand relaxed, spear perched over your shoulder (or a jav⎼java-something). Your eyes glint in the sunlight like steel, hard and piercing, with dark circles under them. You watch him with a slight frown. And like him, there’s smudges of dirt on your face and clothes, but you manage to make it look cool and purposeful.

You don’t look like a monster, but you kind of acted like one. Joel is conflicted.

He opens his mouth to respond, but he's not sure what to say in this situation, overwhelmed by a cocktail of emotions that he’s still coming down from. Before he conjures an appropriate response (is there even one?), you're shouldering your backpack and slipping through the gap. Joel rushes to his feet. “Hey, wait!”

You continue up the hill, not bothering to turn to him as you purse your lips. “Oh. You’re still here.”

“Yeah, I’m ‘still here’! You held my dog hostage; kind of hard to get over,” he grumbles, panting as he trudges after you with Boy at his heels. You’re faster than you look. “So⎼uh⎼where you heading?”

“Away.”

He nods almost sage-like, wringing his hands together. “Cool, cool. So mysterious,” He pauses, inhaling deeply. His voice, now deeper and a bit more relaxed, comes in a rush as he asks, “Is there any chance we could go with you?”

You freeze, and Joel almost crashes into your back. You whirl around and suddenly you’re faced to face, but you’re too astonished by his question to care that he’s in your personal bubble.

His breathes come in heaves. His eyes are big and round, brown and bright with… hope?

It occurs to you that this guy, who hasn’t even given you his name, is a loser. A hopeful, naive loser.

And it’s for that reason you come to a decision⎼you’ll entertain him.

“Where are you going?”

“West,” Joel’s shoulders hunch, his voice self-assured as he adds, “to the coast.”

Yeah... fuck that.

You turn to walk away. “No.”

“Wait!”

You glower at him, stopping him in his tracks. “Dude, we got what we wanted. I got food, you got your dog. End of transaction.”

Joel stares at you for a moment, like he’s debating how far he can test you. He seems to think better of it as his shoulders sag and he caves, “Fine, I’ll head west without you. I can do it.” The last part he says more to himself before turning on his heel, starting in the direction opposite of you.

You nod. This is good, for the both of you. And safer, you tell yourself as you turn to begin your trek again. You’re two strangers in the apocalypse; you don’t know who he is, where he’s been, and, from your experience, it’s best to travel alone. It’s inconspicuous, efficient and⎼

Where the hell is he going?

You halt, squinting as you watch him hike away from the west coast. “Hey!”

He looks at you over his shoulder, his face surprised but expectant. Hopeful. He reminds you of a puppy being called over by their owner.

He thinks you’re caving into him.

Well, jokes on you, loser. You raise an eyebrow, “You know that’s not West, right?”

“Oh,” Joel’s eyes widen, clearing his throat. Boy woofs and he shoots him a withered look, altering his trajectory. “I knew that.”

“That’s not West either.”

He switches directions again.

You shake your head. “No.“

And again.

“Nope.”

Joel’s face reddens, unable to meet your eyes as he stops trying so he doesn’t further humiliate himself.

You make your way over to him, rolling your eyes. He seems to make you do that a lot. “Okay, how much food you got on you?”

“Enough to last me a week? Why⎼”

That’s all you needed to hear.

“Then it’s settled,” You decide, clapping him on the shoulder. He winces. “You share your rations with me, and I’ll help you get to the West coast.”

He blinks, clearly taken aback as you begin your trek once again, gesturing him to follow you. You feel his eyes on your back. “Really?”

“Really. You are a food source. Also I’m pretty sure you’d die before getting halfway.” You add, unabashed.

He frowns, unsure whether to be grateful or not. He decides on the latter. “Oh…thanks anyway?”

“You're really not from around here, are you?” You pause, looking back at him.

He scratches the back of his neck. “No. Is it that obvious?”

“Painfully. So free advice,” You, with a hand on your hip and tone clipped, gesture up and down at his⎼well⎼everything. “Try not to let anyone know you’re a newb. Might keep you alive.” With that, you start heading West, not bothering to see if he’s comprehended the note you bestowed on him.

Joel glances down at himself before trailing after you. “Good to know.”

AN: I want to make it clear: I would never eat a dog, you would never eat a dog, no one would ever eat. A. Dog. That was a joke for this part 1. I even wrote emphasis on your character’s hesitation. It’s just that this is the apocalypse, so it’s safe to assume that survivors are driven into corners, desperate and have to make some hard choices.

The end dialogue is reference to @teenwolffanclub-me TW rewrite bc i love it and them so if you like Dylan O’ Brien and Stiles pls read their shit. <333

This part is a slow starter, but I don’t want to rush this, your intro and your development. But, now that you’ve finally met, hopefully the rest won’t seem any slower than the beginning.

I’ve never wrote for a lone survivor kind of character before. I hope you enjoyed the intro nonetheless!

I think I’ll forgo the 7 parts idea, but that’s a goal.

Part 2 in progress.

Also, how to get a beta reader??

#joel dawson x reader #dylan o'brien x reader #stiles stilinksi x reader #joel dawson #love and monsters #dylan o'brien #stiles stilinski #dylan o'brian imagine #stiles stilinksi imagine #joel dawson x you #joel dawson x y/n #love and monsters x reader #reader insert

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hermannsthumb · 3 years

Note

I've read fics where Hermann disapproves of PDAs but what about the reverse? As in he's so stunned at winning the most amazing man in the Shatterdome (6 phds, literal rockstar, gorgeous Newt) that he deliberately provokes contact and shows of affection. Just to show off to people and send a clear back off signal. And Newt just dotes on him obliviously.

ok this one is another super old prompt and when I was writing it this week it KINDA got away from me. but I hope everyone enjoyyyys. partially inspired from conversations with @k-sci-janitor 👀 totally sfw, except for one brief reference

anyway, a fic about hermann being all affectionate with newt and also discovering what relaxation is

——————————————-------------------------------------------

The day after the world doesn’t end, Hermann brings Newt breakfast in bed.

Honestly, it surprises Newt more than the whole world not ending thing. Up until the previous evening, after all, Newt was pretty damn sure the guy absolutely hated him, and that if Hermann was gonna do something as out of character as bringing him breakfast, it surely meant he’d spat in it first. Or maybe poisoned it. If hated isn’t the right word, Newt would say Hermann at the very least barely tolerated. And then the whole sharing the neural load thing happened. And, after that, hugging, not once, but twice, and then falling asleep in bed together. And now Hermann’s perched on the edge of his bed (which they shared while they slept) and handing him a plate.

“You had quite the busy day yesterday,” Hermann says kindly. Hermann has never spoken to Newt kindly before. Atop the plate are two pieces of toast, a soft-boiled egg, and a mug of coffee. The coffee and toast (Newt notices) are exactly the shade he prefers. He wonders if Hermann picked up on it before or after the whole mind-melding thing. Before wouldn’t surprise him—Hermann has always been weird about noticing details like that. The egg, however, is something purely Hermann in taste. “I imagine you could use a nice spot of breakfast,” he adds.

Newt shoves his glasses on and blinks at Hermann groggily. He struggles to sit up, partially tangled in his sheets, and then takes the plate. A little bit of coffee sloshes down onto one of the slices of toast. “Are you wearing my sweatshirt?” he says.

Hermann smiles and looks down at the ragged old MIT sweatshirt he’s tossed on. He may have a few inches on Newt, but he’s still one skinny motherfucker, and it hangs almost comically off his frame. “I am,” he says. “I poked around in your closet, I hope you don’t mind. My clothing was in a rather sorry state.”

Sorry state is an understatement for both of them. Newt’s surprised they haven’t been formally ordered to burn the shit they wore to the bone slums yet. Blood, dirt, and kaiju guts aside, Newt’s, at least, reeks to high heaven with sweat. “No worries,” Newt says. He picks up the coffee and blows on it. He wonders where Hermann got coffee that smells this good. It’s been hard to find anything decent and non-instant on the base these days, and (thanks to limited rations) chain shops like Starbucks cost an arm and a leg for even a small. He also wonders what people thought when they saw Hermann strutting around the base with bedhead in a sweatshirt that obviously wasn’t his. Newt almost wants to blush on his behalf. Scandalous.

Before Newt can so much as take a sip of the coffee, Hermann is suddenly unbuckling and shucking off his grey slacks. “Dude!” Newt yelps, flushing bright red to the tips of his ears. Hermann blinks at him innocently. “What are you doing?”

It’s not so much that Newt is upset as it is that it’s so wildly out of character for Hermann that he feels he owes it to Hermann to act at least moderately scandalized. In all his years of knowing and working alongside Hermann, he’s never so much as seen Hermann’s bare wrist before. Now he’s in Newt’s goddamn bed flashing calves, and thighs, and neatly-pressed little white briefs… Hermann rolls his eyes and tosses the slacks (unfolded!) onto Newt’s desk chair. “Making myself comfortable,” he says. “Would you like me to stop?”

Does Hermann iron his underwear? It would be at odds with the rest of his clothing if he did, which is usually in various stages of frumpy to outright wrinkled, but Newt can’t think of how else it would look like that. He wonders if Hermann’s stitched his name on the inner waistband. It seems like the kind of thing Hermann would do. Newt suddenly realizes he’s been staring at Hermann’s briefs (and, worse still, considering how cute Hermann looks in just them and Newt’s sweatshirt) for an uncomfortably long time, so he quickly shakes his head and drags his eyes to Hermann’s face. One of Hermann’s eyebrows is quirked up. Newt hasn’t been subtle. “No,” he says. He clears his throat. “No, dude, you’re—all good.”

He chokes down a too-hot sip of coffee to have something to do with his mouth.

Hermann smirks.

The bedcovers are drawn back. Hermann slips under them and drapes an arm across Newt’s chest, his hand curling protectively over Newt’s hip. With his other hand he snags Newt’s coffee from his grasp and takes a sip. Newt watches his jaw and throat work as he swallows it, a funny feeling blooming in the pit of his stomach. The mug is handed back over, Hermann’s fingers brushing against Newt’s, which make Newt feel even funnier. “Newton,” Hermann declares. “I think we ought to have sex.”

“Oh,” Newt says. “Can I finish my breakfast first?”

“Certainly,” Hermann says.

Newt’s heart pounds as he spreads a little packet of margarine across one of the pieces of toast; he can feel Hermann’s eyes on him, never straying once. Hermann’s hand draws little circles on his hip. Newt drops his toast twice to the plate before he can successfully take a bite, and even when he does, he doesn’t taste it. Hermann’s fingers dip under the hem of his t-shirt. Newt swallows his toast. “Why?” he says.

Apparently it’s the right question. Hermann nods, like he’s pleased Newt has asked. Like they’re talking theories or something. “I came to the conclusion while I fetching your coffee,” Hermann says. “It occurred to me that I wouldn’t have gotten up at seven in the morning to get coffee for just anyone. Then, of course, there is the whole drifting business—”

“You realized you wouldn’t have done that for just anyone too, huh?” Newt says with a smile. Hermann’s hand on his hip stills, and his cheeks go pink. Newt’s relieved to have gotten some ground back here. “Hermann, that’s sooo romantic.”

“The world was at stake,” Hermann sniffs.

“It’s okay,” Newt says. “I won’t tell anyone the great Dr. Gottlieb has feelings. So, what, you realized you have a big ole crush on me?”

Hermann takes the unfinished piece of toast from him and sets it down on his plate. He pulls Newt’s glasses off, kisses him soundly, and then puts Newt’s glasses back on. His mouth tastes like toothpaste. “On the contrary, I’ve always suspected it,” he says. “It’s just that now I have the time to confirm it.” He reaches up and strokes at Newt’s hair. “We have the time for lots of things, now, Newton. Whatever we’d like.”

Newt finishes off his coffee quickly, not even caring when he burns his tongue, and then tosses the remainder of his breakfast to the floor. His egg spills onto the massacred skinny corduroys he wore yesterday. Whatever, Newt’s burning them anyway. “God, get overhere already, man,” he says, tugging at Hermann’s borrowed sweatshirt. He needs to help Hermann confirm his crush or whatever, pronto.

It’s a few days before Newt and Hermann finally drag themselves out of bed and to the lab to tackle what little work remains for them to do—cataloguing what are apparently the last kaiju samples known to man (Newt), recording and backing up their drift data (Newt’s solo drift, and then their joint data), drawing some random scribbles on the board and pretending they’re important calculations about the possibility of the Breach reopening (Hermann. Okay, whatever, maybe they are important). Unfortunately, the delay isn’t for any sexy reasons, as much as Newt would’ve liked it to have been. The events of the last day of the war caught up with them pretty quickly after that morning in Newt’s bed, and they mostly just slept, ordered out dinner, popped ibuprofen for their various aches, and avoided medical at all costs. (Rumor had it the medical staff on base were looking for him and Hermann so they could do some brain scans. Apparently drifting with a kaiju brain is potentially dangerous, who knew.)

A rancid smell washes over them the second they push the heavy lab doors open, and Newt spots several hunks of kaiju organs rotting away on his workbench. Hermann clamps a hand to his mouth. “Oops,” Newt says, turning to Hermann sheepishly. He can’t help but cower as he does. He and Hermann got along swimmingly the past couple days—it’ll be sad to see all that hard work go down the drain over this. “Guess I forgot to clean up the other day. In my defense—we were kind of busy.”

But Hermann doesn’t snap at Newt, or thump his cane on the ground, or call Newt an idiot, or even look annoyed; he lowers his hand from his mouth and laughs. Albeit a terse laugh, but still. Newt gapes at him. “We were rather busy,” Hermann concedes. “So long as you clean it up in the next ten minutes, I—what, Newton?”

“Nothing,” Newt says, quickly. “I’m gonna—um—deal with it now.”

Hermann disappears from the lab while Newt is digging around in the storage closet for extra heavy-duty trash bags. When he comes back an hour later, he’s holding a cardboard tray of small plastic cups, and Newt has just hefted his last spoiled sample into the lab’s airtight biohazard bin (a bit mournfully, if he’s being honest, since he’s sure there’s still more to learn about the kaiju from them). Newt squints at the cups in the tray while he rips his messy disposable work gloves off. “What’s that?” he says.

“Iced coffee,” Hermann declares.

The gloves slap, wetly, into the biohazard bin, and Newt lets out a low whistle. “Dude. No way. From where?” He’s not sure when he gave off the impression that the way to his heart was good coffee, but maybe it’s true. Then again, Hermann could probably win him over with a cup of lukewarm tap water. Not because Newt is desperate or anything. He just really likes Hermann.

“A little shop a bit away from the base,” Hermann says. “I took the bus.” He draws back his chair and sits down with a soft sigh, setting his cane against his desk. Then he draws out a small brown paper bag from his parka pocket. He tosses it to Newt; Newt catches it with one hand. “They had these funny little cakes on sticks. I thought you might like one.”

“Cake pops?” Newt says.

“I presume,” Hermann says. While Newt inhales the little chocolate-dipped cake pop (which is so good, oh my God, Newt hasn’t had dessert that didn’t come from a vending machine in plastic shrink wrap in years), Hermann adds, “I wasn’t sure what sort of iced coffee you liked, so I made sure to get a variety.”

“Sick,” Newt says, spewing crumbs on his shirt. “Um. But, like, why though?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Hermann says. “I suppose I wanted to do something kind for you.” He carefully slides a straw out of its paper wrappings and pokes it into the lid of one of the coffees. Once he crumples up the wrapper and tosses It into his train bin, he grips his cane, and uses the handle to nudge Newt’s desk chair towards him. “You worked awfully hard cleaning the laboratory.”

Newt preens a little, even as he privately wonders why Hermann’s acting so weird. Well, nice. But nice is weird for Hermann, so they’re basically the same thing. Is this part of his whole deciding whether or not he digs Newt thing? Newt just assumed the awesome morning they spent together would be proof enough of that. Then again, Hermann’s pretty thorough. “I guess,” Newt says. “It was kind of my mess, though.”

Hermann pats at the empty chair with a smile. Hermann’s smiles are so rare—crooked, and stupid cute—that Newt’s heart gives a painful little twist at the sight of it, and he realizes he doesn’t actually give a shit about why Hermann’s being all weird, actually. “You’ve earned a break,” Hermann says. “Besides, I’d like to spend time with you.”

Newt’s too stunned to argue with that one. When he sits down, Hermann inches their chairs together until their knees are touching.

They don’t necessarily fall back into their usual habits by the next week, but the better ones they’ve picked up (being a little kinder to each other, a little more patient, a little more respectful, and also the fact that Hermann can’t seem to stop touching Newt) all but fall into the background as Newt throws himself into his work with renewed determination. Unfortunately, his desire to get it all done as soon as fucking possible speaks less to his awesome work ethic, and more to the fact that he’s just not sure what else to do with himself now, and he likes that work gives him the excuse to not think about it. Hermann said they have all the time to do whatever they like now. Well, Newt likes working. He knows working. Relaxation is a foreign concept to him, and it was a foreign concept to Hermann up until recently. While Newt is toiling away over his decaying kaiju samples in the lab, Hermann is out—

“Where?” Newt says.

Hermann gives Newt the most serene smile Newt’s ever seen cross his face. “I took a bath,” he says. “It was very nice. I bought some nice soaps, and lit some candles, and looked online to see how to do one of those mud masks. It was very relaxing. You ought to try it.”

“Try bathing?” Newt says.

“Yes. Well, no. I mean taking a bath. Is there something you’re not understanding?”

Newt tries to imagine Hermann with a mud mask on his face and cucumbers over his eyes and fails miserably. Hermann hates messes. He would never stand for mud, let alone on his skin. Where’d he even find a bathtub? Did he break into the rangers’ locker room again? Aren't candles banned on base for being a fire hazard, anyway? “Yeah,” Newt says. “Pretty much all of it.”

Hermann shakes his head with a snort, and Newt catches a whiff of something floral and fragrant—his fancy new soap or oil, he guesses. “I’m not surprised. You know, Newton, you are awfully tense.”

Hearing that from Hermann of all people, the king of having-a-massive-stick-up-your-ass, is probably the funniest thing that’s ever happened to Newt. He laughs out loud and plunges a bare hand into his kaiju sample with a gross squelching noise. “Sure, dude.”

He’s almost too engrossed in his sample to feel Hermann sidling up behind him and setting a hand at his waist. He definitely feels Hermann nose a kiss behind his ear, though, and the hot flush that spreads down across his neck from it. Newt’s hand goes sweaty around his scalpel. One thing he definitely wasn’t expecting from a post-no-apocalypse Hermann is how free he is with affection in any and all forms. “Give it a rest, love,” Hermann murmurs. He nudges at the heel of Newt’s boot with the end of his cane. Love? “Why don’t we head back to my quarters and watch a film? You can pick.”

“But.” Newt fidgets. “I have—my sample—”

Another little kiss. The soapy-oil smell is stronger now. Newt thinks it might be lavender. He wonders if the mud mask left Hermann’s skin all soft. “It won’t be going anywhere, Newton.”

Newt sets down his scalpel.

When they they pass by a group of LOCCENT staff in the hallway, Newt makes to drop Hermann’s hand (which Hermann had laced together with his own before they left the lab), but Hermann holds fast, maybe even faster than before, and looks at him with his stupidly sweet set of big eyes. Newt waits until they round the corner to say anything. “Sorry,” he says, lamely. “Um. I thought—you wouldn’t want—” Hermann continues to stare at him. His iris is still ringed red like Newt’s. “I just mean I know you’re weird about stuff like that. Public stuff.” Hermann has been a closed and tightly-bound book for as long as Newt’s known him; he can’t imagine that would suddenly change and he would start broadcasting his emotions far and wide in the course of a week just because he’s a little less stressed.

Or, you know. Maybe Newt’s totally wrong on this. “Ah,” Hermann says. He nods, very seriously. “Yes. I have been considering that as well. I see no reason to hide recent developments in our relationship.” He squeezes Newt’s hand. "In fact, I see no reason to not be quite, er, proud of them. You’re quite the catch.”

Newt remembers the stolen sweatshirt. Maybe Hermann wearing it out to get them breakfast was more calculated than he realized. “So if I made out with you against the wall right now you wouldn’t be mad?” Newt says.

“Well,” Hermann says, inclining his head to his door, "seeing as my quarters are right there, it seems a rather unnecessary inconvenience.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Newt smiles as Hermann leads him in. “Can I really pick the movie?”

“Within reason.”

#newmann #maria's fanfiction tag #esperata

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coeurdastronaute · 3 years

Text

Essays in Existentialism: Plus One, Ch. 2

Previously on Plus One

It oscillated every other minute between being an amazing idea, but also being the worst idea of all time, and Lexa was mostly exhausted of bouncing back and forth. It might be easier, she decided, if she just got herself on board with it being a good idea, but a deep, gnawing hole seemed to manifest itself in her gut at the very thought of seeing her ex.

As she went through the motions of finishing the day, of doing inventory because it was Wednesday, Lexa tried not to distract herself with the thoughts of her impending trip. In just forty-eight hours, she’d be face to face with Costia, who she hadn’t seen in months, who she avoided before occasionally running awkwardly into each other at mutual friends’ events. She’d come face to face with her ex who was getting married.

And she was going to do it with a complete stranger on her arm.

With a heavy sigh, Lexa tossed her clipboard on her tiny desk in the storage closet and plopped down in the squeaky chair, tipping it back with a wail. Her sister was the worst.

It was quiet in the shop, closed for just a handful of hours, Lexa always took a day to inventory and repair the damage of the week. She enjoyed the late evening work, when her workers were gone, and the shop was empty and full of dreams. No one knew how the cabinets stayed so clean, or how the scratches on table tops got sanded and fixed, or how the wobbly table by the window was miraculous cured one day, or how the ceiling fans got dusted, just that it all happened, and Lexa was off, meaning she didn’t come in until at least ten, the following morning.

But Lexa sat in the chair and let her brain do the same mental gymnastics it always seemed to do in the new quiet she found herself craving. She opened her laptop and ignored the awaiting spreadsheet, and instead opted to look over the answer Clarke had given her to the “Know your partner” quiz Clarke googled and made them both do. A mix of basic information and Newlywed Game style innuendos, Lexa filled hers out after a bottle of wine and anxiously waited for Clarke’s.

That was what started the daydreaming. She scrolled through Clarke’s answers and furrowed, doing her best to memorizing all that she could, as if she’d be tested on it all, as if it’d be impossible to believe she could be happy with someone like Clarke.

And when those thoughts started to seep into her brain, Lexa leaned back again and dug the tips of her fingers into her eyes.

In a week it’d be over.

And with that and a deep, heavy sigh, Lexa looked at the screen again and went about learning Clarke.

She started professionally, of course, looking at her corporate page and resume, because this was, if not anything, simply a business transaction and Lexa thought it was easier to parse a person if she didn’t actually have to fall for her.

A graphic designer at Anya’s firm, Clarke held accolades and a long list of references. The link to her work showed a wide range of commercial campaigns and a certain amount of talent evident by her list of upcoming projects. A graduate of a small, private, liberal arts university, her academics leaned heavily scientific, which was a surprise until Lexa read some of the answers in the survey about a degree in physics given up for art.

Lexa promised that she wouldn’t have looked at Clarke’s Instagram if Clarke hadn’t requested her first. She wasn’t someone who lurked, or at least she thought she wasn’t. She didn’t want to be someone who snuck around, digging through someone’s past, analyzing every filter and caption like a private investigator. But then Clarke appeared.

And there were pictures of Clarke with friends getting drinks on a rooftop. And then the one with her laughing and baking. Or the Christmas party where she was on a corporate Santa’s lap, smiling so wide her eyes were shut. Despite herself Lexa found herself smiling along with the girl in the pictures. The one who went hiking with a pack of dogs, and the one who seemed to always be eating something. The one who had a lot of friends and enjoyed making them smile and laugh. The girl who posted storie about her morning run, and the girl who seemed to have a healthy work life balance.

Lexa closed the webpages and stared at her inventory for exactly two seconds before curiosity won again and Lexa started looking at Costia’s account. There were the standard pictures of her pre-wedding planning. There was Costia working out. There was her new bride-to-be, happy and smiling at a gift for her birthday.

And then a throwback that made Lexa’s stomach drop as she stared at a familiar image of Costia smiling in a bikini on a beach. It was from the last trip they took. Lexa was the one behind the camera.

Three weeks after that picture was taken, Lexa walked in on Costia and a girl in the middle of the afternoon. Right in their own bed. Only to then discover it’d been going on for months. And it wasn’t the first. And then, Lexa didn’t remember much except that she moved into the apartment above her coffee shop and woke up one morning alone on sheets that weren’t familiar, in a room full of boxes.

It seemed even more difficult to start inventory after that shot to the gut.

But her phone went off, and Lexa leaned back in her chair after shutting the laptop again, wondering if that sinking feeling ever went away when it came to someone you love, or loved, or once loved, even for a moment. She didn’t have anything to compare it to, and she didn’t have any idea what love really was.

It felt like a deep wound was scratched open, the scab pulled back, and a burning numbness gnawing at the bottom of her spine. It felt like it would swallow her whole, and Lexa hated, more than anything, giving anyone the power to do anything as such over her.

Hey! Do you think this will go with your outfit?

An image came next, of Clarke in a dressing room wearing a very pretty dress, with very messy hair with her tongue sticking out. Lexa didn’t notice the gnawing feeling disappear.

We don’t have to match completely.

We do! Don’t you know how to date?

Not really.

Another picture of another dress came a moment later. Clarke was pretty. She was happy and silly and kind. It felt oddly normal, for as crazy as the whole scheme actually was.

I like that one, Lexa wrote, making sure to add a heart-eyed emoji to emphasize her point. Maybe that was flirting. Maybe she was allowed. She definitely needed more rules.

Good, I do too. It matches your tie, you know? And these heels will still leave you a little taller than me.

Sounds good to me!

Kind of excited. I guess I’ll see you at the airport tomorrow.

I’ll be the one at the bar.

I’ve heard it’s possible to find your soulmate at the airport. Something about the crossing of paths and time and space.

If my soulmate is a bottle of wine, then I reckon I might.

A love story for the ages.

Lexa smiled once more at her phone before tossing it to the side and letting her head drop to the desk. With a groan she growled into her hands and broke it down. She just needed to make it seventy-two hours. That was it. She could sleep for about twenty of those. She could drink for another twenty or more, if she really tried.

But this was it. This was the end.

And regardless of the weight of everything else, there was something satisfying about knowing it was almost over.

XXXXXXXXXX

The airport was absolutely teaming with bodies and people, weaving their way through the swelling crowds, loading and unloading the terminals at a constant, steady thumping rate, so regular one could set a watch to the heartbeat of the building.

Clarke adjusted her bag on her shoulder and tapped the ticket against her thigh as she moved through the security line. The nerves were coming for some reason. That was why she was at the airport three hours before the flight. She was anxious and needed a stiff drink and a few moments to catch her breath. She needed to escape the whirlwind she’d allowed herself to create.

Carefully, she made her way through the airport, checking the boards and finding her way to a seat in the empty waiting room. Not even an attendant waited at the kiosk.

Once again, she let herself awkwardly scroll on her phone, learning everything she could about her future date and weekend plans.

Lexa was nearly non-existent online. She didn’t have any pictures of herself. She rarely posted anything on her personal account, and when she did, it was just a book or a coffee or from a trip. She wasn’t one to enjoy being the center of attention, but when it came to her shop, she made sure to post almost daily, highlighting her employees and their recommendations, she made share to highlight events, she made sure to be as active as possible.

Anya had already warned Clarke that her sister was devoted to her work. She’d poured all of her effort into being successful and part of the community, and Clarke admired it, she just wished that there was more for her to see.

And so, once more, she flipped back to the long line of questions they’d filled out before giving up and gazing out the window at the planes coming and going.

For a moment, she allowed herself to think that she was doing something nice and good. It was an act of charity. It was the shake up Clarke needed and was selfishly trying to package as benevolent.

“You beat me, and I’m usually the first one here for a flight,” Lexa observed, walking up to Clarke, stealing her from her reverie.

“I like airports. Just waiting for true love to stroll up and introduce themselves.”

Lexa shoved her hands in her pockets, her bag balanced on her shoulder as she cautiously looked around, surveying the empty terminal slowly. Clarke watched her look around, smiled at the innocence of it. Enjoyed the way she ran her hand through her hair, mussing it up a bit and tossing it to another side.

“No one likes airports,” Lexa shook her head before taking the seat beside her.

“I do. They’re romantic.”

“Romantic?”

“You can get onto a plane, and a few hours later, you’re hundred of miles away, and it’s different weather, and it’s a different time zone. You can go to sleep in a different state. How can you not be romantic about that.”

“It’s a tin can filled with recycle air.”

“But there are peanuts.”

That did it. Lexa cracked a smile to herself and relaxed a little.

“I was going to be the first one here. Surprise you with coffee, but you beat me to it.”

“You are quite a good girlfriend. Someone clearly trained you well.”

Lexa shook her head, somewhat bashful, somewhat reserved. There was always something right there, just below the surface, obfuscated by a kind of resolve to never give anything away, not at any price. Clarke read it between words in their texts and emails, a glaring finality in the simple pixel of a period.

“Can I get you a coffee? Two creams, two sugar right?”

“You don’t have to--”

“It’s early and I’m trying to be charming. Allow me to somewhat repay you for this whole endeavour.”

“Sounds good. Thanks, darling.”

With the term of endearment, Lexa nodded, grinning into her chest as she stood and made her way across the terminal in search of sustenance. Clarke watched her take out her phone, texting her sister no doubt.

Once more, Clarke resumed the digging on her own, scrolling on her own phone at old pictures on Lexa’s profile. She was ready for fun, and she was ready to crack at that facade.

“I don’t know if this will help,” Lexa sighed as she sat down. “I didn’t sleep a wink last night.”

“Oh this won’t be good for me either,” Clarke said as she took a sip. “I’m a fairly nervous flyer.”

“And yet you let me get us both coffee.”

“You made a good point, and I’m prepared to be paid back all weekend.”

With another grin, Lexa leaned back, her arm going on the back of the chair that Clarke inhabited, naturally, with ease, with a level of comfort.

“Are you ready to tell me the story?”

“Which one is that?” Clarke turned to look at her date, returned from an absent moment.

“How we met.”

“How we met,” she nodded, her smile bordering on mischievous. “That’s simple. Don’t you remember? It was a very blustery Tuesday, and I was trying to escape the wind and rain. I almost tripped coming into your coffee shop, but you happened to be sweeping, and were kind enough to catch me.”

“You’re severely overestimating my reflexes.”

“Fine. I ran you over and we both ended up on our asses in the middle of the coffee shop. Coffee everywhere.”

“Sounds pretty likely.”

“And I knew right there, I was hooked. Those eyes, all angry and annoyed at me for not looking where I was going, despite my persistent defense that I’d been assaulted by the weather.”

“Why do I have to be the angry one?”

“Wouldn’t you be though?” Clarke returned, daring her to be contradicted.

“Maybe,” Lexa agreed over the lid of her cup, fretting with it nervously.

“So I crashed into you, and you bought be a coffee. I turned up every day after that until I finally asked you out. You took longer than I would have liked to answer me, but I accepted it anyway, and we’ve been madly in love ever since.”

“And when was this?”

“About eight months ago.”

“How’s it going so far?”

“Splendidly. I’ve already met your sister, who it happens that I work with, which is super convenient for everyone.”

Quietly, Lexa sat there, going over the story, going over all of the past eight months of apparent bliss in her head. Clarke watched her furrow before softening, her eyes not seeing, but rather looking through the window as a plane took off and another landed. The softening of her features was soon met with a perplexion, a slight, gentle contortion of the brow and the lips, a tightening as a kind of confusion overtook the ease of the entire story.

“Is it that easy?” Lexa asked quietly, turning her head toward her date. Clarke cocked her head, waiting for more. “Is all of it… just… a wind? Waiting for someone to just ask you out? Is it that easy? Does that happen to people?”

“It can. How does anything happen in the world? It just… does. The universe is just a series of things happening, all of the time, right?”

“But is it that easy?”

To her credit, Clarke thought about it. She flexed her jaw and took a deep breath before slowing letting it go as she wondered if it really was.

“I don’t know. Maybe it can be.”

“How?”

“I guess there has to be a balance to making things happen and letting things happen.”

“I don’t know if I’m good at either of those things,” Lexa confessed. She sat up straighter a moment later, afraid of her honesty, and surprised more by how easily it came out.

“I think you can be.”

“That’s probably too kind.”

“We’ll see.”

Clarke rubbed Lexa’s shoulder, rubbed the middle of her back between her shoulder blades until she reached the collar of her shirt, where she massaged her neck. She tensed before relaxing, and Clarke didn’t stop, just rubbed there gently, slowly until she knew it was enough and she trailed her palm back toward the seat.

It was right there, they just didn’t know it.

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heart-of-gold-outlaw · 3 years

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Welcome Home | Chapter Nine

Chapter Title: Paint It, Black 9/? Wattpad

You manage to catch a grand total of three fish. After that, you decide you've had enough. And yes: it has everything to do with the four hooks you had to dig out of your hand. Helping out camp is one thing. Actually putting in effort? That's another entirely.

By the time you hike up the hill to Horseshoe Overlook, the sun is starting to set. You look around. Hopefully, you can go straight to Pearson's wagon. The fish weigh heavily in your satchel—the one that Arthur gave you. That thought alone brings a blush to your cheeks, and you hurriedly give Pearson the fish to distract yourself from it.

"These'll do nicely, Y/N," he says. "Let's see, bluegill, pickerel, and..." He heaves out the largest one you caught. "A smallmouth bass."

You bite your lip, suddenly a little unsure. "They're okay?"

Pearson blinks, taken aback. "Well, sure. Why wouldn't they be?"

Because I caught them, you think. Instead of saying that, though, you shake your head and smile.

"No reason." You turn with a wave. "See ya, Pearson."

Whether he notices your obviously fake attempt at lightheartedness, you'll never know. Still, it's not like it matters. Pearson, you've decided, isn't the most observant of the bunch. But he does cook a damn good stew.

You find yourself drifting toward Arthur's tent. He isn't back from Valentine yet, though you think he'll be back soon, if the sun is any telltale sign. The wagon doubles as ammunition storage, and you figure you might as well take inventory. Being from modern times—modern jobs—has its perks, apparently.

Although you barely know the difference between rifle and pistol cartridges, you manage to count and organize everything. The wagon looks ten times better by the time you're done.

If only I could do that to the rest of camp, you think with a smirk. Maybe they wouldn't be outlaws if they knew how to take care of themselves.

You pick up a box of bullets. Revolver, you realize. They're not all that interesting, but they are bigger than you thought. Briefly, you wonder if you'll ever learn how to use a revolver. The one Arthur gave you back at Six Point Cabin still sits by your bedroll, practically untouched. You've thought about practicing. Hell, you've thought about a lot of things. But somehow, you just know that if you try anything by yourself, you'll wound up with another burnt hand.

You hold the bullets at arm's length. It's not that you're afraid to try. You're not really afraid of anything, save for the obvious. And yet with the way things have been going, you might as well play it safe.

"They ain't gonna bite you, you know."

Barely stifling a shriek, you whirl around. Of course—of course—, Arthur's standing behind you. There's an amused half of a smile on his face, and you feel your cheeks burning for the second time that evening.

"I know," you say. "I was hoping they would, though. I'm into that shit."

Sometimes, you wish you could control the things that come out of your mouth.

Arthur stares at you, clearly trying to process what you just said. You don't really want to explain yourself. Honestly, that's a conversation you never want to have.

"When did you get back?" You ask, changing the subject.

"About five minutes ago." Arthur reaches over and takes the box of bullets from you. "You thinkin' of practicing?"

A laugh escapes you, loud and a little too forced. "No, not in the slightest."

Arthur seems to know you're lying through your teeth. He gives you a look, then glances down at the ammo again. You can practically see the thoughts going through his mind. It's... slightly unnerving—and slightly adorable.

Actually? You need to stop. If Arthur finds out about your little crush on him, it's game over.

"C'mon," he eventually says, startling you out of your reverie. He pockets the ammo and motions toward your bedroll. "Grab that revolver an' meet be by Florence."

You must look a little uncertain, because Arthur smiles reassuringly and pats your shoulder.

"Don't worry," he says. "I'll teach you how to use it."

In seconds, the nervousness you felt goes away. As Arthur heads for the hitching posts, you hurry to your bedroll and pick up the revolver. For the first time, you recognize the craftsmanship that went into it. Elegant engravings swirl around the barrel, and the grip is a lovely ivory with a carved butterfly. You don't know where Arthur got it. Then again, no sense in complaining. It's absolutely beautiful, and you'll take beauty over, well, nothing any day.

You walk over to the hitching posts. Arthur's already in the saddle, looking strong and sure atop Florence. He reaches over and effortlessly lifts you behind him. At first, you're slightly unsteady. You don't suppose you'll ever get used to horseback. But eventually, you settle into Florence's gait as Arthur sets a steady trot for the river.

"We've got about an hour of daylight left," he says. "Might as well make use of it."

"Uh huh," you say, unable to focus on anything but how warm he is. "Sure."

Florence misses a step, and you immediately cling to Arthur in a death-grip. He glances over his shoulder. You don't miss the amused look in his eyes, nor the slight curve of his lips, but you ignore it in favor of, you know, not dying.

For what seems like the millionth time, you marvel at the scenery around you. In the future, you don't really get a chance to sit back and admire natural beauty. There's not really much of it left. Sure, you could take a vacation to Yellowstone or Yosemite, but it's not quite the same. Too many cars, too much... future.

It doesn't take long for Florence to get to the river. Arthur steers him toward a fallen log. He dismounts quickly and expertly, while you do your best not to fall off without your anchor.

Despite everything, you pitch forward. Arthur reaches out and catches you before you can faceplant in the mud, and you hear him try to hold in his laughter. Your face heats up.

"Sorry," you say when you're steady on your feet. "Not really used to sidesaddle yet."

"Ain't gotta apologize," he says, hands still on your arms. He's smiling. "You'll get it."

You smile too, looking into the soft blue of his eyes. For a moment, you forget why you're by the river in the first place. But eventually, Arthur clears his throat and looks away, moving his hands from your arms as he walks to the fallen log.

"We'll start off pretty close," he tells you, "and then go from there."

He reaches into his satchel and pulls out some bottles. You think you recognize whiskey and rum. What surprises you is that they're full.

"Isn't that a waste of good alcohol?" You ask.

Arthur laughs as he sets the bottles on the log. "Was plannin' on giving these to Dutch, but I like this idea more. Been meanin' to teach you to shoot for a while."

Your brain shorts for a second. "Really?"

"Sure." He finishes setting up the targets and moves to stand by you. "Can't help us rescue Sean if you ain't had a little practice."

He stands by you after setting up six bottles, then shows you how to hold the revolver. Your grip is too tight at first, and Arthur waits patiently as you adjust it. Eventually, you manage to get it where it's comfortable.

"Like this?" You ask, looking to him for confirmation.

He nods. "Exactly."

Pulling out his own gun, he quickly shoots one of the bottles, absolutely obliterating it into nothing. You flinch a little at the sound. You've never really been a fan of loud noises, but you suppose you'll have to get used to them.

"Don't try to think about it too much," he tells you, "and be ready for the kick."

You hesitate for a second, then extend your arm so the revolver's pointing at one of the bottles. "How's this?"

Arthur inspects your stance, lips pressed together in thought. He moves closer and gently grips your arm to bend it slightly at the elbow.

"Relax, Y/N," he says. "It ain't gonna bite you."

You find yourself thinking only of how warm he is, how the slightest brush of his hand against your arm sends butterflies through your stomach. Forcing yourself to snap out of it, you nod your head almost mechanically.

"Okay," you tell him, adjusting your posture. "Like this?"

He steps back and gives you a onceover. "Better," he says with a smile. "Now let's see if you can hit anythin'."

Biting your lip, you pull the hammer back and squeeze the trigger. You can't help but jump slightly when the gun goes off, and the bullet goes awry. A splash and a fountain of water tells you it landed in the river.

"Oops," you manage.

Arthur, to give him credit, doesn't laugh. Instead, he corrects your stance again and puts his hand between your shoulders.

"Relax," he says smoothly. "First shot's always the worst."

"But it isn't my first," you protest. "I shot that O'Driscoll."

"Point blank." He presses his hand against your back ever-so-lightly, aligning your shoulders so you're not so tense. "Now try again."

You hope you're not blushing as much as you think you are. Taking a deep breath, you aim the revolver again and pull the trigger. The first bottle explodes in a flurry of shattered glass.

"I hit it!" You beam at Arthur triumphantly. "I actually hit it!"

He smiles at you, a soft grin you don't think you've seen on him before. After a moment, he motions for you to move on to the next bottle. It takes you another try to hit this one, but eventually, it joins its companion and shatters.

You keep practicing until finally—finally—you hit all the bottles. After that, Arthur looks at the almost-dark sky and tells you it's time to head back. You have to admit, you're a little disappointed. Well... until he says he'll take you out again tomorrow.

Back on Florence and trotting steadily toward camp, you manage to ride sidesaddle without wobbling too much. And as you climb the hill to Horseshoe Overlook, listening to Arthur hum contentedly to himself, you find yourself feeling more at home than you have in years.

Inspired Music: The Rolling Stones | Paint It Black

#arthur morgan #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #rdr #red dead redemption #modern!reader #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x y/n #reader insert #fanfic #fic #cowboys #outlaws #i wanna be a cowboy baby

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yoditorian · 3 years

Text

a law divine - 1

soulmate au!ezra/reader

this is solely the fault of one single anon who called out something i put in the tags and now it’s a whole universe but you know what?? it’s the love of my life. anon i hope u see this 💛 i also just want to say i know there isn’t A Lot of soulmate talk in this one but it’s important for the narrative okay bear with me

playlist // series masterlist // main masterlist

word count: 7.2k (a Big Boy)

warnings: swearing, my usual allusions to smut bc we keep things neutral in this house, brief food/alcohol mentions, 18+ please no babies

It might be the ugliest ship you’ve ever seen.

Not that you’re really one to judge, the one you charter out when you’re running point on a job is a mismatched patchwork of rusty panels held together with electrical tape and hope. If there’s the slightest possibility you might be a teeny tiny bit disappointed in it, it’s only because agency jobs are usually a little cushier. A little safer for once. You could do with a bit safer.

Your family might prefer a lot safer, but you’d sooner take your chances in open space without a suit than take a job working scrapyards. At least risking your life on digs gets a decent payout.

“You the danger mouse?”

It’s not an accent you hear often on the Pug, the majority of the station’s population is human, but you turn with a smile to meet the bright purple eyes of the Thanne. Armour-strong scales and sharp teeth, but he seems kind and mild mannered despite his clear predatory biology. You nod as you readjust the pack on your shoulders.

“I’m Iras.” He holds his hand out to you. A distinctly human gesture made a little awkward by the sharp edged scales and extra fingers, but you shake it nonetheless. He’s your captain for this job after all. You wonder where a Thanne became so well versed in human custom, the species as a whole tend to keep to themselves instead of branching out into the universe like so many others, until his crew members appear on the boarding ramp.

Iras gestures to each of them in turn. Summer, a blonde woman with dark skin and a kind smile, and Milo, an older man with a swirling tattoo above his left eyebrow that matches the navy blue of his eyes.

“Is it just us?” You ask. You could have sworn there was a fifth name on the manifest you’d been forwarded, but teams are always subject to change. You just hope you’ll have your own room.

“Ezra always leaves things down to the wire, he’ll show up right before we’re due to push out.” Summer laughs fondly, throwing an arm around your shoulders like she’s known you her whole life. You’re usually a little wary with brand new teams but the way she’s already chatting away makes you feel at home. The last agency job you were sent on got dicey, fast, somehow you’re sure the same won’t happen with this lot.

“There he is.” Milo leans out of the ship to point out into the docks.

You turn to see a man sauntering through the throngs of harvesters towards the ship, and it’s odd. The rest of the crowd seems to melt away as he closes the distance, even the weight of Summer’s arm on your shoulders feels not quite there. You take the moment to study him. He looks all business with his dark hair and his charcoal grey shirt and the neat pack slung over his shoulder, but his pants and boots have seen better days and the streak of blonde at his temple makes you smile. It’s nice to finally be with a crew without a single stuffy addition.

“It’s not often I get to congregate with like-minded souls.” He grins when he’s in earshot, a flash of something feline in his eyes. You don’t want to admit that you like it.

“Like-minded?” You tilt your head at him as you follow Summer up the ramp and into the ship. Ezra slips in behind you just as it starts to raise. Just like the others said.

“We’ve all got the same death wish, Sunspot.”

The launch, at least, is smooth despite the beaten up ship and it’s only about twenty minutes before you’re far enough from the Pug to punch a lane to the next system over. At least it isn’t far, there’s only a day between now and making planetfall. Somehow, you’re not surprised to find that it’s more of a barracks and bunk beds situation rather than each having a private quarters. Last time you were hired by the agency, you definitely got your own room. But it gives you a chance to chat with the others as you unpack.

Milo explains the air isn’t breathable, so he’ll need to double check to make sure everyone’s filters are running at capacity. But he reassures you that it’s a comfortable temperature, so it’s good to know you won’t be sweltering in your suits or freezing your asses off.

You pick the bed on the wall beside the door, taking out a few essentials from your pack and tucking the rest safely away in the storage compartment. Just as he did back at the docks, Ezra is the last to find his way to the room. He settles his things on the bunk opposite yours because the universe has it out for you, apparently.

“Did I hear one of them call you the danger mouse?”

You struggle not to roll your eyes at the nickname awarded to anyone stupid enough to do your job, although admittedly he doesn’t sound like he knows why. You offer him your name instead and pretend the way he rolls it around in his mouth doesn’t send a shock right down to your bones. You’re not in the habit of sleeping with colleagues, not until the job’s over at least. But you’d be lying if you said you’re not tempted.

“They call me in when a site’s unstable but too profitable to close.” You answer, tugging your sleeves up as the climate control settles to a comfortable temperature.

Ezra raises an eyebrow, waiting for you to continue, and you pull off your gloves. They land on your thin mattress as you hold your hands out between you. Not even the slightest twitch.

“Steadiest hands on the Pug.”

“So they are.” There’s a challenge in his voice that threatens to send a shiver up your spine. It’s clear he doesn’t doubt your skill in the field, but the return of that glint in his eye from the docks has you wondering exactly what else he’s thinking about as he studies your hands. It’s not hard to work out.

It’s been so long since you had to travel out of the system, you forgot how much inter-system lanes can fuck with the human brain. You’re half asleep for the thirty minutes you spend sorting your things for the morning, barely enough energy to change into the sweatpants and ratty t-shirt you call pyjamas, before you crawl into bed and settle down almost immediately.

Only you don’t get to sleep for as long as you’d like. The rest of the crew seem to have filtered in after you, the shift of sheets and snores float through the dimmed room. Except, it’s not just that. There’s shuffling and bed creaking from further down the line of bunks. A hushed giggle sounds in the silence and-

Oh god. Oh no.

They’re not. They can’t be, they- they are.

You’re very awake all of a sudden, eyes wide as you keep them firmly on the ceiling and wishing as hard as you can for an alarm to start beeping or something. Anything to get whoever’s banging Summer to stop. A deep voice hushes her when she laughs again. Iras. Knowing is somehow worse. The mechanics- you don’t even want to think about it.

You turn onto your side slowly, but loud enough to hint that maybe they should find somewhere else for their escapades, and fold your pillow around your head as a kind of makeshift set of earmuffs. Whether they’ve quieted down or it muffles the noise, you’re not sure, but it seems to have worked enough. You catch Ezra’s eye in the almost-darkness, much in the same position as he holds his pillow over his own ears.

It’s embarrassing for the both of you, even as you share a conspiratorial look. But somehow, it’s less awkward to have to hear Iras and Summer going at it when you know he’s awake. He winces when a particularly loud squeak echoes through the room, and it takes everything in you not to bust out laughing. You fall asleep again eventually, making faces at Ezra in the dark until neither of you can keep your eyes open anymore.

You’re surprisingly well rested come the morning, when the whole ship jolts as it punches into the system and you’re almost thrown out of bed. So much so that it’s easy to forget that you woke up at all until you shuffle into the main living compartment of the ship. One of the crates by the wall has been cracked open, Milo hands out granola bars for breakfast.

Summer and Iras are sitting in the same chair, feeding each other, and it might be cute if you’d been awake longer and hadn’t been woken up by their activities in the middle of the night. You slump into a free chair, face twisted in disgust for a moment. You’re pretty sure nobody else sees until Ezra laughs and drops into the seat beside you. They’re nice people, from how they took you as a friend immediately, but that doesn’t change the fact that it’s just a bit much for your perpetually single heart to take.

“It’s a week-long job, they can’t take a break?” You watch as they finally pry themselves apart to start, you know, actually working. But not without a genuinely gross kiss that definitely toes the line of public decency. Suddenly the half-eaten bar in your hand isn’t all that appealing anymore.

“Soulmates take no breaks, Sunspot. I’m sure yours would be hard pressed to be anywhere but in bed with you whenever they get the chance.” Ezra winks and it takes you a moment to remember where you are. A glance at the pair makes your new knowledge obvious, the way they seem to be touching, even now, on opposite sides of the room.

“I’m not sure I believe in all that red string stuff.”

Once the ship is safely landed a short walk from the site, the days you spend digging pass with ease. The deposit is a decent size, it takes all five of you to cover it completely, and the payout should be enough to keep you all comfortable for a little while even with the agency’s cut. The crew around you fill the time enough that you barely notice the week coming to a close.

Summer sings in the mornings as she cleans her equipment and readies her pack for the day. Miles talks gently to the cells as though they can hear him, shushing them any time he worries a gem might corrupt. Iras seems to have a secret superpower when it comes to the ration packs, they always taste better when he’s the one on lunch duty. And Ezra spends the afternoons regaling you all with tales of ancient beasts, laying eggs that fossilise into the very gems you’re harvesting. Although you’re not sure how true they are.

You almost get through the whole dig without a hitch. Almost. But aurelac is a tricky thing, even a change in the wind can turn a site for the worst. You’re all sitting around at lunch when it happens. The telltale smoke wafts up into the air for no visible reason at all and although you’ve collected enough to cover the quota, you’d still rather not lose viable gems.

“Get to what you came here for.” Iras gestures in your direction and you dive into the pit head first.

You’re not even sure you stop to think as you follow the harvesting steps at lightning speed, salvaging half the corrupted cells before someone tugs you out by the collar of your suit. The rest of the site starts to smoke the moment you’re out of range, spitting and hissing and rendering the rest of the gems worthless.

“Danger mouse indeed.” Ezra chuckles over the comm system, hand still fisted in the fabric of your suit. For once, the nickname makes you smile.

While you all go your separate ways after the ship has docked back on the Pug, Summer makes you all promise to meet later at a club you’ve only heard of in your friends’ messy night out stories. Still, you pinky swear when she holds her hand out to you and try to remember if you have a single item in your wardrobe that’ll pass as club attire. Or at least something that isn’t so worn there are holes in it.

Even if it’s a song he knows, there’s no chance that Ezra could recognise it with the volume cranked so high through the cheap speaker that everything but the beat is distorted. Still, it doesn’t stop people from dancing.

He’s a little late, as usual, but he doesn’t need to worry as Iras appears behind him and claps a hand on his shoulder, pointing to a booth across the room where Milo is looking increasingly uncomfortable.

It doesn’t take long for Ezra to spot you and Summer in the middle of the dance floor, as he follows Iras around the edge of the space to the booth Milo’s claimed. You’re both more jumping than dancing, yelling the unintelligible lyrics of the song into each other's faces. He can’t hear your breathless laughter as Summer spins you in a circle, smile wide and bright, but he can feel it in his ribs. The drums of the song kick in at the same time the swirling lights of the club light you up like some kind of celestial being, just as you catch his eye through the crowd. And everyone else disappears. The rest of the world, rest of the universe, fades into the background. Just like they did the first time he saw you, glaring suspiciously at the ship on the docks.

Summer’s dragging you back to the table when the song comes to a close, the both of you out of breath and laughing, and Ezra has to try desperately to remember how to speak when he watches a little bead of sweat slide down the side of your neck. And stop himself from just licking a line straight up it. His silent suffering only increases when Milo holds out a shot of the most potent alcohol the Pug has to offer and you down it without so much as a flinch, winking at him when you return the glass to the table for good measure.

Milo calls it a night only an hour later, clearly only having braved the crowds of the club to celebrate the job. Summer and Iras are tangled in each other on the dancefloor, or the booth, as they keep the shots coming. You, at least, decide to keep your wits about you, declining every drink after the one Milo had handed you. Nobody’s going to fuck with a Thanne, even in as seedy a club as this, so you don’t worry about Summer as she gets sloppier and sloppier. But there’s no spiky non-human boyfriend looking out for you down here, it’s just you and the knife you keep at your hip.

You pull yourself from the dance floor, eyes tracking the room for the missing member of your party, until you feel a set of eyes on you from above. Ezra’s leaning on the bannister of the stairs, his unflinching gaze set solely on you. And you can’t help but smile. You follow him up to the mezzanine without hesitation when he glances upwards and back to you. The buzz of the shot has mostly faded from your veins, replaced by something much more dangerous by the way he’s looking at you. The way he’s looked at you since you met him.

It’s not hard to spot your friends from up here, leaning over the barrier with Ezra to people watch. He crafts stories about every stranger who catches his eye. The man hunched over the bar in a beaten up jacket, the waitress who fiddles with her necklace any time her hands aren’t occupied, the pair of lovers tucked away in the dark corner on the other side of the mezzanine. You find yourself sliding closer to him the more he talks, wrapped up in the warmth of his voice even in the rundown club. Your shoulder knocks into his as you mindlessly bop to the music and listen to his made up stories. Utterly enchanted. It’s hard to remember a time when you felt this way with anybody, if you ever did at all. To tell the truth, it’s hard to remember anyone before Ezra. And neither of you have even made a move yet.

He's got his arms braced on the barrier, and you find yourself lifting the one closest to you so you can slip in between them. Surrounded on all sides and you couldn’t feel more comfortable. To his credit, he doesn’t falter in his vivid storytelling about the group now settled in the booth your crew had claimed earlier, not even a stutter as you turn in his arms to face him. He’s decided they’re here to celebrate the beginning of a new job, rather than a successful harvest. His eyes flick to you for the barest moment, enough to notice yours are firmly focused on the way his lips move around his words, before searching the club below for another story. Another way to keep his mind and mouth occupied so he doesn’t accidentally admit all the sinful things he wants to do to you when you press your ass up against him like that.

“Ezra.”

He shouldn’t be able to hear you over the music, but you’re nose to nose and he’d be hard pressed to ignore the way you practically purr his name. He’s expecting you to make another flirty comment in that voice that sends his mind reeling into all manner of indecent places the same way you have been all night.

“Can I kiss you?”

He doesn’t expect you to just outright ask him.

“Yeah.” Yeah. Hell of a time for his eloquence to fail, not that it matters anyway. You’re on him the moment he stops speaking.

It’s like the sun explodes inside him, the way his stomach bottoms out the second your lips touch his. There’s nothing soft about it, not the way he might have imagined there would be. If he’d been so bold as to let himself imagine what kissing you might be like. You’re all warmth and heat and you still taste a little bit like the shot you’d thrown back earlier, and he finds himself falling. Not that Ezra minds, he hopes his parachute never opens if it means you’ll keep kissing him like this.

You let your fingers roam under his jacket, twist themselves in the thin fabric of his t-shirt, and you sigh into his mouth. God, you knew he’d be good at this. His hands leave a trail of starlight as they trace over your body, never quite choosing a place to rest. They start to settle on your shoulders, only to skim down your arms and squeeze harshly on your waist, to play along the strip of skin he finds just underneath the hem of your shirt, to grip harder than he might mean to onto the meat of your ass through your pants. You gasp, break the kiss for barely a moment, and stop his apology in its tracks.

He doesn’t protest when you walk him backwards, still groping at each other like it’s just the two of you in the whole club. Ezra only groans when his back hits the wall and you push even closer into him, as if there was even any space left for air between your bodies already. He’s not about to complain. He could kiss you for a thousand years and it still wouldn’t be enough. It’’ll never be enough, not for a soul as hungry as his. You pull back too soon, far too soon, and it takes a solid minute for his brain to kick in and break the vice grip he still has a little too low for the public eye.

Oh, that look on your face. He’s in trouble.

“Where are you off to?” Ezra asks, flushed and breathless, a hand stretched halfway out to where you’re backing toward the stairs.

“Home,” You say with a sly smile, “You coming?”

He can’t push off the wall fast enough.

You don’t live far from the club, a ten minute walk at the most, but Ezra manages to make it a solid twenty with the way he keeps pulling you to him. Not that you’re about to complain. You’ve been waiting a week to let him get his hands on you. At the press of his lips on your neck, the shudder it sends down your spine, you wonder if part of you has been waiting even longer than that.

You’re trying, desperately, to type in the keycode to your apartment. If Ezra could calm down with the grabby hands, you might have gotten it right straight away.

“No roommates?” He asks, kissing along your shoulder, and you take the temporary reprieve to kick your brain into gear and remember the fucking numbers.

“Hugo won’t be too upset if I make him sleep on the couch.”

The door slides back into the wall to reveal a dark apartment, a strip of light from the hall falling on a very orange cat. He stares at you for a second, clearly not particularly pleased that he’s been so rudely roused from a nap, before he settles back to sleep stretched out on the couch cushions. Hugo. Ezra is silently relieved that the roommate is just a cat, he’s not sure he’s got the self control to stay quiet tonight. Or to make sure you do.

You waste no time once you gesture for Ezra to walk in ahead of you, flicking the switch on the wall to slide the door shut and pulling him back to your lips. He doesn’t hesitate to crowd you up against the cold metal.

Although you could devour each other until the closest sun explodes and swallows the station whole, Ezra has to break away. To think, to breathe, to tease you a little about the moan he just swallowed from you. But you beat him to it.

“Gotta catch your breath?” The smile on your face threatens to make his knees buckle, and with you pressed up against the closed door the way you are? He might just let them.

“What do you want, Sunspot?”

You left a lamp on in your bedroom, the door cracked just enough to let a little filter through to the main living space. Still, he’s almost completely silhouetted against the warm yellow glow. As if he’s some kind of ethereal being, maybe he is.

“Make me see the stars.” You pull him in as close as you can and let your lips brush over his as you whisper. His next words make you shudder almost as much as the way he drags the zipper of your jacket down, slowly, tooth by tooth.

“As you wish.”

And boy, does he deliver.

You’re expecting things to feel more unfamiliar than they do, as you explore each other for the first time, but it’s like you’ve been here before. Once, twice, a hundred times before. Every move feels oddly choreographed. Ezra knows exactly how to take you apart and put you back together again, the way he pulls every twitch and moan out of you so expertly. You’re no different, as your fingers map the plains of his chest like it’s muscle memory.

You shake it off, put the thoughts to the back of your mind. You’ve been around the block a little in your time on the Pug, it only makes sense that he has the same kind of experience. But shared experience or not, you can’t deny how much having him so close feels like a homecoming of sorts.

It’s the best sleep of your whole fucking life and, honestly, you’re not that surprised. Ezra makes a damn good pillow. Even if you both wake hours later into the day cycle than either of you normally would. Even if he’s more of a morning person than you are. It’s kind of nice, to sit still snuggled in your pile of blankets and watch him potter around your apartment as Hugo winds around his ankles like he’s been there for years.

Your fridge, however, is heartbreakingly empty and renders his offer of making breakfast pointless. Instead, he pulls his shirt on and offers to take you to the best little diner he knows, tucked away in the heart of the marketplace. It’s a hard offer to turn down.

“What kind of gentleman would I be to have so much income at my disposal and not treat such a beauty as yourself to a good meal?” He winks as he flashes his credit chit at you as if you didn’t scan in for your paychecks at the same time. You laugh as you empty a food pouch into Hugo’s bowl, and tell him he better show you all the good breakfast spots. You shrug off his raised eyebrow and mutters of a ‘next time’. As if he didn’t already know.

Still, Ezra takes you by the hand the moment your apartment door secures itself shut behind you, leading you through the hall and out into the street, and you’ve never felt more wanted.

It’s like everything’s brighter, walking leisurely through the bustling market stalls with Ezra. The smells are stronger as spices in the air cling to your nose, the cacophony of vendors calling out almost sounds like music, and you start to laugh. Hand in his, in the middle of the maze of stalls full of food and tools and trinkets. As if it’s just the two of you in the whole universe.

At least Ezra doesn’t look back at you like you’re crazy. He smiles too, just as big, and you feel bathed in warmth the same as when the sun comes out planetside.

You’re both still grinning when he leads you deeper through the market, down an alley and up a flight of stairs to an unassuming door.

“Is this where you murder me?” You joke just as the door opens to reveal a short older woman with an eyepatch, who pulls Ezra down into a tight hug as soon as he’s in arms reach. He introduces her as Merse, the woman who’s run the best diner no one’s ever heard of on the whole station. She slaps his arm for his cheek, but her grin grows twice as wide when she spots your intertwined hands.

Ezra pulls you through the doorway after him as he follows Merse, chatting about how she always keeps the best table open just in case he brings a friend and you try not to smile too wide when she wiggles her eyebrows at you. He says something to you, but you’re too distracted by the view from the big windows.

The far wall is completely glass, overlooking the main docks, lined with booths. A small family sits in one of them, their two children standing up on the seats to watch the ships come and go. You’ve never seen it from this angle before, always down in the masses and scanning the boards for new jobs. It’s kind of beautiful. In a rusty, patchwork sort of way.

Merse points you towards one of the booths with a promise that she’ll bring you the best breakfast you’ll ever have, something tells you she’s not lying.

It’s not long after you slide into the booth that she comes marching out of the kitchen with two plates, wafting steam that makes your mouth water and your stomach rumble. Rice and vegetables and eggs and all sorts of things you’ve never even seen pile high, and you’d worry you wouldn’t be able to finish it all if you weren’t so hungry.

“You know I won’t break, right?” You push your fork around in the remaining rice on your plate as you watch Ezra absorb your words. He thinks about it for a long moment, dark eyes over you before settling on your own.

“What’s this about?” He knows, you know he knows. More importantly, you know he’s going to make you say it. In the middle of the day cycle, in this family friendly diner.

“Just,” You exhale sharply, “Making sure you’re aware.” Your body floods with a shyness that’s alien compared to the confidence you had last night and suddenly, your breakfast is the most interesting thing on the Pug. You can practically feel him smiling at you, but you don’t dare look up to meet it.

He was right though, the food really is some of the best you’ve ever had.

It’s not until you’ve wandered back through the market, still hand in hand, and found your way back to your apartment that Ezra decides to bring it up. He may have been more than a little distracted last night, but he’s sure he spotted a set of old books sitting on a shelf above your couch. You freeze, ready to go on the defensive about how ink and paper will never be obsolete, until you realise he’s genuinely interested. He’s not judging you by any means. Something about the curiosity shining in his eyes makes your heart flutter more than you care to admit.

He could watch you talk about your books all day, every day, for the rest of his life. How your eyes lit up when you recognised his interest, a paperback lover himself. You can’t seem to stop yourself as you dive into the intricate details of your favourite classics, two or three hundred year old texts that make you feel like you’ve lived a thousand different lives at once. He wants so badly for you to keep talking but the more impassioned you become, the more he wants to kiss you.

You trail off at some point, he loses track when you climb into his lap to point out notes you’ve made in margins and the books lie scattered on the couch beside you as you kiss him until neither of you can breathe. You’re still a little achy from last night, deep in your bones, and you hiss when his teeth scrape across your shoulder.

“Won’t break, is that right?” Ezra chuckles darkly and nips at your jaw, “Can I try?”

“Please.”

You wake at the creak of your bedroom door, sometime in the early hours. Hugo noses his way through the narrow gap and hops up onto the bed, curling up on the unclaimed pillow by your head. Ezra sleeps deeply, face buried in your neck, and you let the warmth of him wash over you. It ebbs and flows like a tide, that familiarity. The undeniable fact that something about this just feels right. You’ve known this man a week and yet you’re here wondering, as he rests in your arms, if he might want more than just this with you.

Oh, but you are so afraid. Afraid to put a name to anything about him because what then? Will he tell you that you’re simply a placeholder in his life for something better, or that his heart might bleed through his skin when you’re apart? You’re not sure which is worse. Not that it matters, there is no word in any language that would be able to explain exactly how you feel about the man asleep in your arms. It’s enough, you think, to have him with you at all. In any capacity. Whatever pieces of his soul he bares as your breathing evens and his mind wanders. That is enough, and you will protect it with your life.

You have to part ways at some point, of course. Another week of rolling around in your bed sheets together, on the couch, on your pitiful kitchen counter, up against the wall, and Ezra gets a call from the agency. It’s a last minute job, the crew only need an extra set of hands to fit the safety standards, but it’s several systems out from the Pug. It’ll take him away for at least a month. You trail after him at the docks, with promises of messages in his absence and all manner of unsavoury activities on his return. It’s with a deep kiss and a wolf whistle from a couple of dock workers on their break, that you wish him luck. And ask him to hurry back.

Summer’s message surprises you when it dings through on your tablet. Some gajillionaire on Dallore T53 has found an aurelac deposit on the grounds of his new estate and wants it gone. She’s preoccupied, already out on another dig with Iras and a new crew. But it’s the kindness of her even thinking to offer it to you that makes your heart swell. It’s been a while since you’ve had real, honest to god, friends.

You’d go in alone, normally, for something like this. But now? Now, you’re punching in Ezra’s comm pin before you can even really register what it is that you’re doing. He only got back a week ago, and you made him settle in back home before he could settle in yours. It’s not like the two of you would be doing any resting on his return to your apartment, exactly. The job was a pain, he’d told you, it ran months longer than anyone expected and you’re sure he’s still exhausted. He won’t agree, but you find you have to ask. Just in case.

“Sunspot?” He sounds happy, rested. And you breathe a sigh of relief, at least he can follow your orders when he wants to.

Hugo snakes around your ankles at the familiar voice, the same way he does any time the man himself walks through the door. If you didn’t know that the little orange devil’s alliances lie in who feeds him, you might think he loves him more than you.

You explain about the job, make sure to stress that he doesn’t have to come. That you don’t even really need to take it if he’d rather you stay close by. Okay, you don’t say that out loud, but the smile you hear in his words through the speaker makes it known that he’s heard you. Loud and clear.

It doesn’t matter in the end, not when he accepts before you even have a chance to give him any details. You don’t know why you were so worried he might say no.

“Any excuse to be warmed by your light, Sunspot.” Hugo brushes up against your leg at the same time Ezra’s voice practically drips through the speaker, smooth as honey.

“Is that a euphemism?”

“Do you want it to be?”

You choke on your breath and he laughs like you’ve told the funniest joke in the universe. He’ll kill you one of these days, you’re sure of it.

You charter the ship you usually take on private jobs, the space a little smaller than you remember with another person on board, but it’s not like either of you aren’t used to being in close quarters with each other by now. At least Ezra has the decency not to be mean about the beaten up exterior, she still flies true. He’d grinned at that, told you how a rough outside often means the opposite of the interior mechanics. The glint in his eye is enough to know he’s not just talking about the ship.

At least the planet is in the same system as the Pug, so there’s no need to punch through to a lane. You fly in silence for a few hours, the familiar feel of the controls under your fingers as you guide it through the sky. Ezra’s eyes remain firmly on you although you pretend as though you don’t notice, and it takes him a moment to come back to the present when you ask him to flick a few switches and prepare to enter the atmosphere.

The coordinates the client gave you to land are only a short walk from the house itself, a great stone castle-looking thing. It’s kind of ugly, the way the limestone juts out above the treeline. A big white block among the rich reds and oranges of the leaves. They grow that colour all year round, perpetually stuck in spring and summer. It must be nice to have the kind of money to find somewhere like that and decide you’ll build a house there. The air is breathable, and a quick look at the planet file proves it’s never too hot or too cold. A perfect place to build a house really. Although, if it were you making that kind of decision, you’d maybe go for a design that’s a little less cubist.

The deposit isn’t huge, but it’ll be a good payout nonetheless providing the cells are all in good nick. You and Ezra wade through swathes of long grass and wildflowers until you find a spot to set up camp. At least you’re not stuck in bulky suits and having to lug around your equipment.

You couldn’t have asked for a more perfect dig if you’d tried. Each of the cells sit far enough away from each other that even if one were to fail, it wouldn’t corrupt a whole mess of the others. Although with both of your talents, it doesn’t surprise you when you collect every last crystal without a single misstep.

You’d told Ezra the profit would be split down the middle, equal pay for equal work. But it doesn’t stop him from sliding an extra gem into your pack to cover the ship charter. After all, you’re the one who was offered the job in the first place. He’s just following his heart, the one that walks around outside of his body and throws itself into deposits mid-corruption.

You hold one of the little gems aloft in the sunlight and watch as it sparkles.

“I used to think it was weird how rabid people go for these. But the more I dig the more I get it, isn’t it the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen?”

Ezra tilts his head like he’s studying the rock, but his dark eyes don’t leave yours.

“It’s a close second.”

Sap.

Night falls before either of you realise just how late it is, clearing out the last few cells of the deposit. It’s not worth going back to the Pug now, he reasons, and you find it hard to disagree. The ache of the few days you’ve spent digging has settled deep in your muscles, the thought of having to run through docking procedure when you’re so tired is enough to make you wince.

You let him take you for all you’re worth under the watchful eye of the heavens, and find there’s more stars behind your eyelids than you could ever hope to see in the skies. It’s all you can do to cry out the name of the only god to ever make you feel this holy. Ezra.

He wakes with the sun, the same way he always has on jobs, to find you curled so tightly against him that it bubbles up from his toes all the way to his throat and he finds his eyes threatening to spill over. Everything in the universe seems to slot so perfectly together when you’re like this. Ezra sighs, content to never let the moment end. You are so beautiful.

He shifts up onto his elbow a little, still cradling you against him, and lets his free hand trail softly over your face. Tracing the shell of your ear, the curve of your cheekbone, the bridge of your nose. The dawn’s sunlight breaks over the trees and filters through the fabric of the tent, bathing you in soft green light. He could stay here, holding you, until the universe implodes. Ezra doubts he’d notice such an insignificant thing with you beside him.

But end it must, and he rouses you gently with soft whispers and kisses against your temple. You stretch in his arms, not unlike Hugo, and sigh as your joints pop and settle. Packing up happens slowly, moving around each other so naturally it’s as though you’ve done it a thousand times before. Every time Ezra passes, you drop a kiss wherever you can reach. His shoulder, the arm of his jacket, that little patch on his jaw. He pretends not to blush when you catch his hand and carefully press your lips to the little tattoo between his thumb and index finger, you pretend not to notice when he does.

You’ll be the death of him, he’s sure of it. The way you keep watching him out of the corner of your eye, the way your smile is so bright when he catches you that he can barely stand to look at it. With the tent and equipment packed up, his fingers itch to thread through your own as you start the walk back to the ship, there’s not a word in the universe strong enough to describe just how much he hates that both his and your hands are too full.

It’s odd, thinking about it. How you met by pure chance, hired by the agency just because you were on the same station at the same time. Would he have ever met you if you’d chosen a different career path, if he had? Maybe somewhere, centuries before or after this moment, where you’re meeting again. Different lives, different times, spanning across all of existence. Maybe, right here and now, you’re starting to feel the way he does about you. Just a little. Maybe he’ll get up the courage to ask what you think, how far you want to take things. He’d give himself to you in a heartbeat, without question. In a way, he already has.

Ezra can’t stop himself.

“What do you make of the red string of fate?”

“All you’ve seen of the universe and you still believe in soulmates?”

“Maybe I’m more foolish that I made myself out to be.” He shrugs, trying not to let his eyes fall to the little finger of his right hand. Trying not to clench his fist to show you exactly how much your disbelief affects him down to his bones, as though his soul itself is frowning. You’re smiling. Uncharacteristically quiet, but you seem appropriately pleased by his answer and stray a little further out into the long grass.

Curiosity gets the better of you.

“Can you see yours?” You have to call out across the gap you’ve unintentionally created, yellow stalks swishing in the breeze between you, and for a moment you’re not sure he heard.

Ezra looks at his right hand, at the thin red string tied neatly at the knuckle of his little finger, and follows the line as it threads through the grass to where it’s knotted at your left.

“No.”

TAGLIST (add yourself here):

@bee-dameron @keeper0fthestars @thevoiceinyourheadx @firstofficerwiggles @1800-fight-me @ew-erin @chatterbean @gotta-have-faye @freeshavocadoooo @darnitdraco @greeneyedblondie44 @fire-is-catching-always

#oh god here it is i hope it lives up to what i've made it out to be #a law divine #prospect (2019)#ezra (prospect)#ezra x reader #ezra x you #liz does words #soulmate au #smut

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ladyrivia · 3 years

Text

Spitfire (Chapter Two)

Previous Part

Summary: Anya settles into her new environment, Carrillo and Pena continue to pine over her.

Warnings: Google Translate Spanish, guns, sexual thoughts

Anya gently shut the door, laying down and finally allowing herself to rest after hearing the click of Carrillo’s door down the hall. She closed her eyes, listening to the faint sound of the shower starting from the master bathroom. Getting comfortable she--

“Fuck,” Anya groaned, remembering her sleepwear was in her bag, in Carrillo’s car. Which was locked, and his keys with him in his room. He said I could get him if I needed anything. Plus I wouldn’t mind the sight of him shirtless.. Maybe more than shirtless. She smirked at the thought for a moment before clapping her hand over her face, dragging her hand down and holding her jaw. Stop it. You’re going to be working together. You can’t make it weird. Releasing the hold, Anya took off her jeans, folding them and setting them on a chair in the room before wrestling off her bra from under her shirt, throwing it on top of the neatly folded jeans.

Anya eventually sprawled out under the blankets and comforter, the warm embrace of the bed soothing her aching muscles. She found herself quickly succumbing to sleep, but she could’ve sworn she heard footsteps approaching her room and the door creaking open.

Carrillo couldn’t help himself, his mind completely taken over by the thought of the woman sleeping down the hall. He found his mind lingering on her big brown eyes, the blush that would creep up on her face, the way her jeans hugged her curves, the cut in the shirt being the perfect length to reveal her cleavage. Para. Stop. He felt blood rushing to his newly formed erection, fist clenching in an attempt to regain composure.

He rushed to finish scrubbing the sweat and grime off his body, then cranked the water temperature to as cold as it could go. His muscles tightened in retaliation, but he accomplished his goal of getting rid of his erection.

Changing into his sweatpants, he realised that he had left her bags in his car. Cursing under his breath, he stalked to the guest bedroom, quietly opening the door. He found Anya already asleep, her hair forming a halo around her head on the pillow and her face looked so peaceful. Espere. Wait. Carrillo found himself standing in the doorway, watching her sleep like a creep. ¿Para qué estaba aquí de nuevo? What was I here for again? His eyes focused on the dimly moonlit chair, seeing her jeans and bra sitting on top.

Carrillo felt a bit guilty about forgetting her bags, but she seemed perfectly content in her stripped down day clothes. He softly shut the door and returned to his room, shuffling into his bed. Normally he would have trouble falling asleep, the constant pressure from his job keeping his brain from shutting off, but remembering the soft features of the new agent, sleep found him quickly.

Javier didn’t stop cursing himself all to the store around the corner from the apartment building. Idiot. Fucking forgetting to set up her furniture. He continued mentally kicking himself as he picked up multiple cartons of his, and seemingly Anya’s, favorite brand of cigarettes, along with a couple bottles of whiskey. Least he could do is prepare her a DEA Agent welcome basket.

Returning to his apartment, he searched for the notepad which he had written down the storage locker number, lock combination, and her apartment number. Shit. Her apartment was the one right next to his, which had been empty for as long as he had remembered. The storage locker was close to the embassy, Anya having shipped her furniture down to the Southern Americas long before her arrival in Columbia.

Javier sat in his bed for a moment, formulating the plan of how he was going to move her furniture while smoking yet another cigarette. Satisfied, he kicked off his clothes and quickly fell asleep, dreaming of his new partner.

Anya ran down the hallway, sweat running down her face even though the cold air whipped around her in the abandoned warehouse. Her gun was drawn, pointed at the ground as she continued to run to the last door, kicking it down. A gasp left her throat when she saw her partner, Ethan, tied up to a chair, badly beaten and bleeding. She quickly ran towards him, kneeling before the chair he was bound to. “Ethan, oh Ethan.” She set her gun on the ground and brushed the bloody and matted hair away from his face, looking into his almost dead eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, but the only thing she heard was the cocking of a gun behind her.

Anya gasped and sat straight up in bed, a sheen of cold sweat covering her entire body. Her eyes darted around the room, confused by the new surroundings. Memories of the previous night flooded back to her. Flight. Embassy. Bar. Carrillo. Anya looked at the alarm clock, 07:00. 7AM. She sighed, the nightmare had jostled her nerves. A shower would be nice.

“No bag, no clothes. Of course.” Another sigh escaped her lips as she shuffled out of bed, her bare legs being exposed to the morning light. She felt bad for going through his things, but she really didn’t feel like putting yesterday’s clothes back on to go ask him to get her stuff for her. Bingo. Anya found an old pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt in the closet.

She was pleased to find the guest shower already filled with toiletries, taking the extra time to scrub the remnants of long travel off her body. Exiting the shower, Anya encountered another problem, she had no clean panties. She shrugged. Guess we’re going commando for now.

Carrillo woke up shortly after Anya, hearing the shower from the guest room turn on. He quickly got out of bed and got dressed, mornings were always easy for him, whether it was years of conditioning from in the military or just naturally being a morning person. Today was a rare day, having the morning off. He shuffled to the kitchen, deciding to make breakfast for him and his new favorite agent.

“Steve, wake your ass up!” Javier pounded on his partner’s door.

“The hell do you want?” Steve muttered as he opened the door, his appearance disheveled by sleep.

“Need your help moving Donato’s stuff in.” He cut off Steve’s groans of protest. “You accused her of being a prostitute yesterday, the least you can do is help me get her stuff set up.” Javier purposely said this part a bit loud, so Connie would hear.

“Steve!” Connie came up behind him, swatting him on the shoulder. “You didn’t tell me that!” Steve muttered something of an apology to his wife. “Quit whining and help Javi move her stuff in.”

“Alright, alright. I’ll help you Javi, just give me a damn minute.” Javi snickered after Steve shut the door in his face, boy was he whipped.

“Don’t forget your keys! We’ll need to use your truck!”

Anya smelled something delicious cooking when she exited the shower, following the scent, she left the guest room and found Carrillo in the kitchen. Her footsteps were quiet, quiet enough he didn’t turn around when she stood in the doorway of the kitchen. She took the sight of him in, his uniform tight over the muscles of his arm and his back. After a minute, he finally turned around to grab something from the kitchen island, noticing her.

He had to stop himself from dropping his jaw open, and suddenly all the guilt from leaving her bags in the car was gone. He would do it again to see her in his clothes again. They were definitely too big for her, his t-shirt reaching her mid thighs and the extra length of the sweatpants pooled at her feet. Carrillo chewed the inside of his cheek when he felt his erection return.

“Morning,” Anya played it off as if she did not stare at him for a minute. “Smells fantastic, what are you making?” She sat in a chair opposite of where Carrillo was standing at the island.

“Huevos revueltos con tomate y cebolla,” Scrambled eggs with tomato and onion. He pointed to one pan. “And arepas.” He pointed to another pan, switching back to english.

“Anything I can help with?”

“No, just make yourself comfortable. Coffee?”

“Yes, please.” He poured her a cup, leaning over the island to set it infront of her. The creamer and sugar were already on the island, over to the side. Anya fixed her coffee the way she liked it, extra cream and regular sugar.

“That is a disgrace to coffee.” Carrillo commented when he saw the milky color in her mug.

“Bite me.” Anya took a long sip of her drink. “I suffer with the shitty coffee at the office, at least let me enjoy it the way I like it here.” Her accent slipped again, rolling her eyes when his lips twitched up in amusement when he heard it. A moment of comfortable silence passed between the two.

“I like your clothes, where’d you get them?” Anya gaze fixed on him with a glare, but with a hint of amusement sparkled in her eyes. Last night he was so serious, she wasn’t sure if he had a sense of humor. Well, at least until now.

“Had to find something to wear after I took a shower, I didn't want to strut around in a towel.”

“Podemos recoger su bolso después de comer.” We can get your bag after we eat. He bit his cheek again, his erection making itself known again after the thought of her walking around his house in just a towel. He plated the food, walking around the counter to set her plate in front of her before taking the seat next to her.

“Thank you,” Anya gave him a big smile before digging into her food. “Damn, you really can cook, this is very good.” She praised him.

“Mi mamá me enseñó todo lo que sé.” My mom taught me everything I know. He returned her smile, taking a bite of his own food.

“We have to move all this?” Steve complained when they opened the storage locker.

“We were supposed to move it before she arrived.” Javier placed his hands on his hips as he analyzed all the items in storage, Steve shuffling inside to get a better look.

“Wait.. if her bed is here then where did she sleep.. Don’t tell me you--”

“I didn’t sleep with her,” Javier practically growled. “She went home with Carrillo.”

“Carrillo?” Steve’s eyes widened. “You let her go home with that asshole?”

“Don’t remind me.” Jealousy grew in his chest. “He asked me if I would rather her sleep in my bed where.. You know.” “Well, he isn’t wrong. I’m glad you kept your hands off our new partner.. I hope it stays that way.”

“What?” Javier was surprised Steve was being so blunt with him.

“She’ll eat you alive man, it takes a particular type of woman to survive the boy’s club. There ain’t no way she’d put up with your bullshit.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Javier started to get defensive.

“C’mon man, don’t act as if you don’t know,” Steve raised an eyebrow. “You have commitment issues, you fuck prostitutes for inform--”

“Okay, okay, I get it.” Javier harshly cut him off. “Let’s get this shit in the truck.”

Carrillo and Anya took their time eating breakfast, sharing stories from previous assignments and raids.

“So your partner, what happened to him?” Carrillo asked what he thought was an innocent question, but immediately regretted it when he saw her freeze, her smile fading from her face.

“Transferred.” She muttered into her coffee, both of them knowing she was lying, but he didn’t push the subject further. They finished the rest of breakfast in silence, Carrillo feeling guilty yet again. He wished he could formulate the words to tell her that he could empathize with her, lord knows he could with the amount of good soldiers he lost in the field, but with years of shutting off and building a wall between him and his emotions, the words never came.

Anya finished eating shortly after Carrillo, wordlessly picking up both their plates and moving to the sink to clean them. She let her emotions wash down the drain along with the dirty water, replacing the shield that Carrillo had slowly whittled down. Damn him. She finished washing the dishes fast, waving him off when he came over and insisted he helped.

“We should grab your stuff.” Carrillo glanced at the clock, grimacing when he realized there wasn’t a lot of time left before they would have to go to work.

“I don’t need to bring everything in, I just need a change of clothes.” Anya followed him out to his car, leaning into the back seat and rifling through her bag to grab a fresh set of clothes. Her ass was fully on display, Carrillo not too subtly staring at it while she was bent over, but quickly looked up when she turned around.

While walking back inside, Anya tripped on the excess fabric of the large sweatpants, falling into him. He whirled around and caught her, hands firmly grasping her shoulders, one of her hands were braced on his chest.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” Her face flushed bright red.

“You’re okay.” He couldn’t help but give her a small smile, she was really adorable when she was flustered.

Anya’s heart raced, she thoroughly enjoyed his hands on her far too much. She practically ran to the guest room, trying to regain her composure while getting dressed. She dressed in a fresh pair of jeans, a short sleeved button down with a tank top serving as an undershirt. She tugged her black boots on, very similar to what members of the Search Bloc wore. She pulled her hair back into a loose ponytail, letting a few pieces fall to frame her face.

Re-emerging from the guestroom, Anya noticed how Carrillo stared at her, his eyes committing every piece of her to memory. They stood looking at each other for a minute, before Carrillo broke the silence.

“Ready to go?”

“Morning fellas,” Anya greeted the pair as she and Carrillo entered the bullpen. “How was your evening, Murphy? I hear you have a lovely wife at home.”

“That I do, speaking of which, she has invited you guys over for dinner tonight, you coming?”

“Of course, Javier here has told me that apparently we’d get along well.” She nudged Javier in the shoulder.

“You know I’d never miss a chance to eat your wife’s cooking.” Javi chuckled.

“Wish I could but, I have a date with some narcos tonight.” Carrillo placed a hand on the small of her back. “I’ll come by after I do my initial rounds to get your Kevlar and gun.” He stalked off towards the Search Bloc’s part of the building.

Carrillo’s touch did not go unnoticed by either man, though Javier’s mind quickly went to jealousy. He wondered if anything happened between the two last night, Carrillo wasn’t known to be a physically affectionate guy, especially towards people he just met. His fist clenched as he returned to facing his desk, trying to distract himself from the workings of his mind.

“Great, we’ll just head there after work. I’m sure that’ll be around dinner time anyways.” Steve fidgeted with the pen between his fingers, also returning to the papers he was pouring over. Anya popped the lid of the tub again and dove into the ESCOBAR files once more.

“Anya,” Carrillo returned almost an hour later. “Ready for the armory?”

“Yeah.” She glanced up from where she was reading, mentally marking where she was leaving off.

“Right this way.” Carrillo started to lead her to the armory, Javier staring at her ass while she followed him. The fabric of the jeans perfectly hugged her curves, her gait naturally having a little swing to her hips. A slight erection was forming under his desk.

A pen hit the side of Javi’s head.

“Dude, what the hell?” He grabbed the pen, lightly tossing it back to Steve.

“She’s our partner, Peña. Not eye candy.” He rolled his eyes.

“Let’s try this one first.” Carrillo looked through their extra Kevlar vests for one that would fit her best, this would typically be easy but they also had to consider, well, her boobs.

Anya lifted the vest over her head, sticking her head through the hole and settling the heavy vest on her shoulders. She strapped the Velcro tight at her sides, wiggling her arms to test the fit.

“Verdict?” She asked as he grabbed the vest, tugging it a bit to inspect.

They were extremely close, she could feel his breath hot on her face, smelling strongly of cigarette smoke. They stood for a moment, neither of them knowing what their next move was.

Abruptly, he stood back, giving her a quick nod. “It fits,” He took something out of his pocket. “Here.” He handed her what she realized to be her name tape, DONATO being embroidered in black onto the green fabric. She slapped it onto the velcro space for it, then quickly got out of the uncomfortable Kevlar.

“Thanks.” She gave him a smile. Carrillo turned to the gun locker, unlocking it and handing her S&W Model 39 pistol and a box of ammunition. Anya tucked the gun into the back of her waistband, and put the box in her back pocket.

“You’re now fully equipped.” He shut and locked the gun locker once more.

“Thank you again, Carrillo.” She picked up her Kevlar vest.

“Of course. Can’t have my favorite agente underprepared in the field.” He gave her a warm smile, patting her on the back. “I have to go back to my rounds, adiós.” Carrillo left her in the armory, returning to his demanding job.

While Anya walked back to her desk, she allowed herself to blush over the fact that he called her his favorite agent.

“All suited up?” Javier looked up as she approached, she lifted the heavy Kevlar.

“Yup.” Anya opened the empty bottom drawer of her desk, shoving the Kevlar in. She unholstered her gun, and took out the magazine, placing the body of the gun in the bottom. She took out the box of ammo, quickly counting out 8 bullets and loading them into the magazine, placing both into the bottom drawer as well before closing it.

Anya sat down and returned to the evidence box, a heavy sigh escaping her lips as she dove into the realm of Escobar again.

“That’s it, I’m calling it.” Steve announced as he got out of his chair.

“Me too, Donato, why don’t I drive you home? Steve and I moved your furniture and boxes in this morning.”

“Oh! Thank you guys,” Anya stood, stretching her arms over her head, her shirt riding up slightly. Javier took a quick glance. “That’d be great Javier, we’ll just have to stop by the secretary, I left my bags there this morning.”

“Here’s your apartment, and your keys.” Javier gestured to the door before dropping the keys in her hand. “My apartment is the one right next to yours.”

“Can’t even escape you outside of work.” Anya chuckled as she unlocked the door, tossing her bags in before shutting it and locking it again.

“You make that sound as if it’s a bad thing.” She responded with a light punch to his shoulder.

“I’m starving, where’s Steve’s place?”

“Couple floors up, c’mon, his wife makes fantastic food.” A few flights of stairs and jokes later, they arrived at the door, Javier knocking-- more like banged-- on the door.

“Hey guys, come on in!” Steve answered the door with a large grin, clearly being at home with his wife made him a happy man.

“Hi Javi, oh and Anya!” Connie quickly greeted them, giving Anya a big hug. “It’s so good to meet you!”

“Nice to meet you too.” Anya returned the hug.

“I made some lasagna, is that alright?”

“Oh, yeah, definitely!”

“Wine or whiskey?”

“Wine please, is there anything I can do to help?” Anya followed Connie to the kitchen.

“No, it’s almost done, here, go take a seat.” Connie handed her a wine glass and the bottle of wine, gesturing for her to sit at the dinner table where Javi and Steve already sat, sipping on their whiskey. She sat next to Javi, leaving the seat next to Steve for Connie. A few moments later, Connie followed with the steaming dish of lasagna.

Dinner was very pleasant, Connie asking all sorts of questions about New York and the work Anya did up there. Javier listened intently, wanting to learn everything he could about her. He loved the way she talked, especially when her accent would slip, showing her New York heritage.

As Javi predicted, Connie and Anya became friends quickly, the evening was filled with their squeals of excitement when they found another thing that both of them could relate to. As the night finally came to a close, and many promises to have a dinner party again, Javier and Anya returned to their floor.

“Wow,” Anya yawned. “I am tired.” She stretched her arms over her head.

“Well, in that case, you should head to bed.” Javi leaned on her door frame, basking in her presence.

“I’m planning on it, thank you again for moving my stuff in.”

“Not a problem.” He rubbed the back of his neck, wishing he could use his usual methods of charming women on her, but he couldn’t bring himself to it. He wanted more than just his usual one night stand with his informants, there was something about her that made him feel… he couldn’t find a way to describe it.

“Oh,” Her face scrunched in realization. “Could I ride with you to work in the mornings? I’m still working on getting a car down here. License transfers and all that.”

“Of course, though if you wake up late, I’ll leave your ass here.” Both of them let out a laugh.

“Goodnight, Pena.” They retreated into their respective apartments, Anya flicking on the light and looking around her new apartment. She pulled out a couple of essentials, mostly toiletries, and placed them in the bathroom. She quickly found her “BEDROOM” box and dug out her bedding, making her bed so she could sleep as soon as possible.

Anya was getting ready for bed, shuffling to the kitchen to get a glass of water. She was surprised to find a bottle of whiskey, a couple cartons of cigarettes, and a zippo lighter with “to new beginnings” engraved. She ripped open the carton of cigarettes, pulling out a carton, and returned to her bedroom. She laid down, lighting a cigarette, letting the nicotine relax her further.

Anya knocked against the wall behind her headboard, and was pleasantly surprised when she heard a knock back.

“Thank you for the housewarming gift, Javier.” She heard a chuckle come from the other side of the wall.

“Javi. Call me Javi.”

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ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa · 4 years

Text

Addicted to You

Part II: All Along the Watch Tower

Summary/Reader’s Notes: In this part the boys head to Columbia to do some reconnaissance. They all find out why they are really there and as expected...Frankie does not handle it well. There will obviously be more ‘reader’ centric parts as time goes on. I thrive for your thoughts and comments. **Shout out to @rae-gar-targaryen for being an amazing person and helping me with translations. The italics are either Spanish, with the translations in ( ) or they are the boys talking over the coms as a reminder that they are spread out and not near one another--let me know if that reads okay or if there is a better way to do the Spanish/English in the paragraphs.

Pairing: Frankie “Catfish” Morales x Pope’s sister!Reader Word Count: 5k (this is a theme...) Warnings/rating: R/18+ Language, derogatory language, STRONG kidnapping elements, blood, violence, execution/death, general Frankie DISTRESS. Angst, Bro Hugs, Man tears, TOM. (I am in pain after this. Please give me your feelings)

Part I

MASTERLIST

Seventeen thousand dollars for one week of reconnaissance wasn't anything to shake a stick at. And Frankie was almost ashamed to say when Pope told them that was the initial pay out, they all jumped on it without knowing many details. Times were tough. Tom was going through a divorce, paying two mortgages, and scraping by as a piss-poor real estate agent. And in the words of Pope, the real crime was that he had been shot for his country five times and couldn't afford to send his daughters to college. Will was still giving pep talks, to kids barely old enough to drink, through the recruiting agency and traveled so much settling down and having a family wasn't an option. Benny was street brawling in a cage every Friday night for what he could make playing penny slots up at the casino. And Frankie--well, Frankie drifted from one job to the next, never having a job long enough to get basic health insurance and pay for anything that would help the nightmares he had every night. So, maybe it wasn't all that sad when the four of them jumped at the idea of making five figures for a week of work.

They had each packed a bag and flown over the borde into Columbia where they spent the first day letting Pope show them around and talk about the terror that narcos like Lorea was unleashing on the country. He laid it on pretty thick when honestly, he didn't need to. They were already there. No backing out now.

Somewhere on the outskirts of the city Pope had a storage unit that was basically full of everything they would ever need for recon work. They loaded up on assault rifles and ammunition, radio communication tools, med kits, binoculars and scopes, hell, he even had fucking night vision goggles for each of them. Pope tossed Frankie a bulletproof vest and he strapped it on, still looking at the impressive wall to wall unit of tactical gear. He knew he had been after Lorea for three years, but this was excessive, especially if it had all been paid for by the Columbian government.

As far as the four of them knew, this mission was off the grid. Pope had cut a deal with local authorities and had intel that Lorea had about seventy-five million dollars of drug money holed up in the middle of the fucking jungle. If they decided to take the job after the recon, well, they got to keep twenty five percent of it. Frankie couldn't even begin to think what he would do with that kind of money. But he couldn't shake the feeling that there was something Pope wasn't telling them. He spent the majority of the first leg of the trip waiting for the proverbial shoe to drop.

“Holy shit,” Will whistled as Pope showed them the storage unit. “Where did you get all of this, man?”

“I told you,” Pope said, tossing a vest at the blond. “I’ve been after this guy for three years. The Columbian government is extremely motivated--if I say I need it, it shows up within a week or two.”

Benny picked up one of the assault rifles and flipped it over in his hand, examining the mag chamber and nodding. “Must be nice.”

“Listen,” Pope stopped digging through the supplies and looked at them. “I need to know you guys are sure about this. Lorea isn’t in some hole in the jungle--it’s a mansion. We’re talking guards, barbed wire fencing, security cameras. That’s why the reccie is so important.”

“We get it, man,” Tom said holding out his hand. “It’s serious shit. Now give me my com.” Tom held out his hand and Pope put a radio and earpiece in his palm. And that was that. They were all in.

The next day the five of them were in the thick of it. Frankie moved slowly through the trees, big, lush green leaves slid along his arms and torso as he stepped carefully through the mud and sticks. His steel-toed boots were quiet enough for this terrain but he kept his eyes peeled for any trip wires or trigger cameras.

Will walked alongside him, mirroring his footsteps with about ten feet between them as they swept a path towards the chain link fence that surrounded the perimeter. Pope and Tom had set up a vantage point on the hill, using binoculars to walk them through the path and tell them what they were up against.

It was humid as fuck and his shirt clung to his back and he felt a bead of sweat start to drip down from the brim of his hat. As he smacked a mosquito off of his arm he remembered there was a reason he had moved back to Texas.

“What are we lookin’ at, Cat?” Tom said over the radio and his voice came clearly into Frankie’s ear.

“I got two guards by the south end.” He clicked the button on his headset and kept moving.

“Looks like I got one by the gate,” Will confirmed. “How reliable is this informant, Pope?”

“She’s good for her intel.” Pope answered simply.

Pope’s informant was a local, who apparently had been feeding him information off the grid for a ticket out of the country and a small cut of the money they recovered. Apparently she drove a van onto the base like clockwork to deliver loads of Lorea’s cash. Some of the guys, mainly Tom, figured the intel was bullshit and Pope was too trusting because he had most likely been balls-deep in this broad. But if Pope trusted her, then so did Frankie.

“Yeah, that means she’s smokin’ hot.” Benny said, from his spot on the north side of the Mansion. “Blonde or Brunette? I’m trying to paint a picture here while I sweat my ass off in these fuckin’ trees.”

“Fuck off,” Pope said flatly.

“Keep the radios clear, assholes,” Tom said with annoyance in his voice. “Focus.”

Frankie walked a few more feet, making sure he stayed in the cover of the foliage as he peered through the links. And clear as day he saw their first issue. A young girl, probably about ten years old, ran past one of the guards chasing after a soccer ball, before a young boy stole it from her and they ran back into the house.

“Shit.” He cursed. “Pope, we got kids here. Does he have kids living here with him? Because if he does that complicates things and that is not what I signed up for.”

“The family’s not the problem,” Pope’s voice came through his ear. “They’re the answer.”

“Why?” Frankie felt the anger in his voice but he couldn’t stop it. He did not sign up to hurt kids. Drug lords? Sure. Their guards? Absolutely. If it shot at him then he would shoot back--but kids did not fit that criteria.

“Church.” Pope said like that answered everything and the rest of them waited in silence for him to continue. “Lorea is very devout. Every Sunday morning he sends three guards to the six AM service. When they get back, he sends the rest of the team with his family down to mass. That leaves him and three guards in that house. That’s our way in.”

“Why would he do that?” Will said.

“Worried about someone taking his kids,” Pope shrugged. “And he never leaves his money.” There was a pause over the radio before Pope continued, “Plus--I don’t think he expects anyone to actually have the balls to try and rob him.”

“What does that say about us?” Will said, approaching the fence line and looking through a few of the slats. “Shit…”

“What do ya got, Will?” Tom said over the com and everyone waited with baited breath.

“I got an execution about to go down.”

Silence was over the coms as they all waited to hear more details. Frankie lowered his binoculars and stepped carefully over the fallen branches on the forest floor. Once he was next to Will, he peered through the slats in the worn down boards that leaned against the fence. Sure enough, there were a handful of men on their knees in the dirt, burlap bags over their heads as one of Lorea’s henchmen pressed the barrel of a handgun to the back of their skull.

“Fuck,” Frankie whispered, shaking his head.

Will closed his eyes as the first shot rang out and the man at the beginning of the line fell to his knees in a splatter of his own blood and brain matter. “Not our place, man.” The blond whispered and he was right. Going in there to stop whatever was happening would do nothing but get them killed.

That’s when they heard the screaming.

“No!” her voice rang out as another shot echoed in the courtyard of the mansion and the second hostage fell beside the first. "¡Pare! ¡Pare, por favor-- no hicimos nada! Déjame ir." Maybe if you tried Spanish they would listen to you, but you doubted it. (“Stop! Stop--please, we didn’t do anything--let me go!)

Frankie felt his stomach drop to his feet. He knew that voice. He would be able to pick her voice out of a crowd anywhere. He had heard her happy. He had heard her sad. He knew the way she whispered sweet nothings in his ear. However, what he had never heard was the near hysterical level of fear that her voice held now.

“What the fuck?” Will whispered as realization dawned on him too and the pair watched another of Lorea’s lackies pull you from the van screaming and kicking as hard as you could.

Your blindfold had fallen off in the transport from the city to the jungle in the middle of nowhere and although your hands were still zip tied in front of you, that didn’t stop you from trying like hell to get away. The burly bald man that pulled you from the van wrapped a large arm around your chest and picked you up off the ground. You continued to scream as they shot another one of your crew in the execution line and finally your assailant put his hand over your mouth.

“(Y/n)...” Frankie wanted to puke. Your screams cut through him like a knife. The physical pain he felt in his chest as he watched you with wide eyes was almost too much to bear. His feet started to walk him toward the gate before he even realized he was moving.

“Cat!” Will hissed, getting up from his hiding spot and grabbing him by the back of the shirt.

“Let me go--” Frankie tried to shove him off, keeping his voice down as much as he could. His hands shook, his knees felt like they were going to give out, but he had to get to you. His body was moving faster than his brain was processing. Why the fuck were you here? Here of all places.

Will tightened his grip and pulled him back down to his crouched hiding position. “You walk in there now, you’re dead and so is she!” Will all but begged him to listen to reason. “I don’t know why she’s here but at least she’s alive.”

Frankie held his jaw tight as he looked at Will and then back to the fence.

“Pope,” Benny said over the radio from his vantage point. “Did you know she was here?”

The radio stayed silent. Frankie put one knee on the ground to balance himself. He bit his lip and nodded to Will. He would stay put for now. But if they tried to kneel you down in the execution line, he was going in--with or without the others.

As the bald man put his hand over your mouth you did the only thing you could think of and bit down hard on his fingers, driving your heel backwards against his shin. He dropped you like you had burned him and you stumbled, catching yourself on your bound hands before getting back up and trying to run.

“Cuca!” the man cursed, shaking his hand out and quickly lunging to grab you by the hair. When you tried to kick him again he spun you around and back handed you across the face.

You hit the ground hard, a small cry coming from the back of your throat as your face hit the dirt. You could already feel the twinge in your lip and taste pennies on your tongue as you spat a small bit of blood onto the gravel. Hoping that you could close your eyes and this would all have been a dream, that's what you did. The fucker had hit you hard enough that you coughed, a hollow ache settling in your chest as you fought to not let yourself cry.

A smaller man exited the van and saw what was happening and slapped the bald lackie on the back of his head. "No dañe la mercancía!" (Don’t damage the merchandise)

"Esta puta necesita un bozal." The bald man spat back as he grabbed you by the hair and pulled you to your feet. (This bitch needs a muzzle)

“Lorea estará muy enojado…” The smaller man scoffed and waved off the bald man, heading back across the yard. (Lorea is going to be upset.)

Cunt. Merchandise. Bitch. Frankie listened to them degrade you and he felt the bile rise up in the back of his throat. He wanted to kill each and every one of them. No. Not just kill. He wanted to make them suffer. He wanted to smash that bastard's head against the bricks over and over until he could never lay another finger on you, or anyone else, ever again. He wanted to shove the barrel of his own gun inside that prick's mouth and pull the trigger until there was nothing left of his skull but a handful of teeth.

Frankie started to move forward again and Will grabbed him before he could get more than a couple of steps.

"Frankie!" He all but pleaded as Frankie tried to fight his grip with a grunt and they both struggled in the leaves. Will put his arms around the other man's shoulders in sort of a modified choke hold and kept him stationary.

"You gotta let me go man--they’re gonna hurt her." Frankie tried desperately. His throat was tight, his heart was pumping way too fast, he couldn't just sit here. "I have to go get her--"

"I can't do that, brother," Will shook his head and tightened his grip ever so slightly. "It's a death sentence and you know it. We gotta regroup. Come up with a plan. We'll get her--I promise."

Frankie watched helplessly as they took you inside the mansion and out of his sight. Two years. It had been almost two years since he had seen your beautiful face. Two years since that night after playing pool at that dive bar on the outskirts of Dallas. Two years since he had smelled your skin or tasted your lips and yet there you were--just as goddamn beautiful as he always remembered and he couldn't get to you.

"Whatta ya want to do, Pope?" Benny's voice came over the coms and brought them all back to their present task. "You're running this shit show."

"Meet back at the trailhead entrance. We'll go over everything and come up with a plan." Pope's voice said much too calmly in response and Frankie hated him for it.

He knew. He had known from the minute he showed his face back in Texas that you were here. He had lied to his friends and worst of all he had lied to Frankie. But why? Pope knew better than any of them how close Frankie was to you--that you were special to him.

He jerked his arms free from Will's grasp and stood up. He wouldn't do anything rash, he needed time to think. Ripping his hat off and squeezing the bill in his hand he cursed quietly and ruffled his own hair furiously. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!" He growled as he started back towards the rendezvous point, not bothering to look or even care where he was going. He ripped the com from his ear and let it hang useless from the collar of his shirt.

“We need to get the fuck out of this jungle.” Will watched him go and squeezed the button on his radio again. "Cat's not doing so hot, man."

"Yeah, no shit." Benny retorted. “I can’t imagine why.”

“Easy, smartass,” Will warned.

"Don't let him go in that house and blow our cover." Tom said, flatly. As if he really thought Will would be stupid enough to let such a thing happen.

"Way ahead of you." Will snapped back before getting up to follow his friend back through the trees.

---

The five of them drove from the mansion in silence. By the time the Jeep crawled its way out of the rough terrain of the jungle the sun had already set. Crickets were starting to chirp and a few fireflies speckled the tall grasses on the sides of the road as dusk took over. Will drove with Pope in the passenger seat and Frankie in the back, purposely putting distance between the two men for the ride to the small village that they were staying at.

No one said anything until Will parked the car in the gravel in front of a dive bar and all four doors opened as they climbed out. Before any of them could blink, Frankie walked around the car and grabbed Pope by the lapels of his button up shirt and slammed him back against the side of the Jeep.

“Fish!” Will said, but Pope held up his hand and waved the blond off as he winced. Frankie had had the entire drive to stew about this and he more than deserved whatever he had to say.

“You knew,” Frankie grit his teeth and got close to Pope’s face. “You fucking knew she was here and you said nothing!”

“Is that true, Pope?” Benny asked, sticking a cigarette behind his ear.

“Yeah,” Pope whispered and nodded his head.

“Why?” Frankie hissed and pulled him forward slightly, pushing him back against the jeep again, not bothering to be gentle about it. “Why wouldn’t you fucking tell us, man? Why wouldn’t you tell me??”

Frankie couldn’t keep his voice from cracking at the end and at this point he didn’t care. The thought of you in the hands of a Columbian drug lord was something he could barely fathom. Were you scared? Of course you were. Had Lorea let any of his guys touch you? Hurt you more than he had seen in the driveway? There wasn’t a way for him to tell you that they were coming to get you. You were alone--and he couldn’t do a damn thing.

“I needed to know that you guys were in this because you wanted to be--not because you would feel guilty if you said no. This is dangerous. We have no support. No back up. No med e-vac. We are on our own.” He said each word pointedly, looking from Frankie to the other guys individually before back to the man in front of him. “I needed to know that you accepted that because you wanted to and not just because my little sister was in trouble.”

“Trouble?” Frankie, laughed bitterly and shook his head. “You’re something else, Santiago. A flat tire is trouble. Getting laid off is trouble--she could have been killed.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Pope bit back, finally raising his voice a little. “Do you think this has been easy for me? That’s (y/n) in there! I’m her brother! I’m the one that chose the dangerous career--she was supposed to be safe!”

“How long have you known?” Tom asked.

“A few days,” Pope said, quietly. “I knew she was in the area because we were supposed to meet up. When she never showed the locals said Lorea had ambushed a group of Americans--journalists, a couple doctors. I tracked the ping off of her cell for a day, but then I lost it. I knew he had to have her.”

“Goddamn,” Tom said, shaking his head.

“I knew I needed help,” Pope looked back up at them. “And if I use any of the guys down here, Lorea will get whiff of this thing and he will be gone--and so will she.”

“Whose money is it?” Tom asked and Pope looked at him with a carefully blank face.

“It’s complicated. You were paid through a third party LLC--”

“Ehhh, it’s not that complicated. A hundred thousand dollars for a recon--,” Tom said sarcastically. “Whose money is it, Pope?”

Pope sighed and shook his head. “It’s my money.”

“Hijo de puta,” Frankie cursed and let out a pissed off chuckle. (Son of a bitch)

“That doesn’t change anything!” Pope tried but none of them were having it.

“Of course it does!” Will said, letting his voice get louder for the first time that night. “You thought you had to pay us to--” He stopped himself and took a deep breath.

Frankie eased his grip on the other man’s shirt a little bit and bit his lip. His chest ached. His heart felt hollow between his ribs and he wished the rock that was sitting in his throat would go away and let him take a deep breath as well.

“How could you think that we would have said ‘no’?” Will asked. “We care about her too--she’s your family.”

“That’s exactly why I didn’t tell you the truth!” Pope pointed at him and squared his jaw. “If it was personal you all would have followed me blindly and I needed it to be your own choice.”

“You’re an idiot, Pope,” Benny said less tactfully and Will elbowed him in the ribs.

Pope wasn’t listening to them. He was focused on his best friend and he said the only thing he could think of. “I’m sorry, Frankie.” He was sorry, more than he could express. He didn’t want to be doing this, to see the people he cared about most going through this shit-storm. But they were here and it was up to him to get everybody out safe.

Frankie released him abruptly letting Pope fall back against the Jeep and leaving his shirt wrinkled from his white-knuckled grip. He shook his head and rubbed a large hand over his eyes and down his face. “I need a minute.” He kept his voice low, trying to keep his emotions at bay as he stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jeans and walked off into the dark of the parking lot, focusing on nothing more than putting one foot in front of the other.

The four of them were left in silence as they watched him go.

“So, what about the money?” Tom finally spoke and Benny chuckled.

“Fuck you, man,” Will shook his head and fought the urge to roll his eyes. “I’ll go see if he’s okay.” He nodded in the direction Frankie went before walking away.

Pope rubbed the back of the neck and nodded. He looked back at Tom. “The intel on the money is still valid. Lorea is still running a fully operational drug business. It’s just an added bonus to if we can pull this off.”

“Good,” Tom nodded and crossed his arms. He jerked his head over towards the patio of the bar. “Come on. You owe us a drink and we need to come up with a plan.”

---

Frankie put the cigarette between his lips and flicked it to life with his metal lighter. He inhaled deeply, pocketing the metal square and closing his eyes to rub them furiously with the back of his hand. What was he supposed to do now? How was he supposed to wait all night before they loaded up and headed out?

He thought about the last time he saw you. I missed you. He always missed you. The way you said his name, the way you smelled, the way your arms wrapped around his waist as you laid your head against his chest--he missed it all.

“Shit,” he cursed quietly, moving the cigarette from his lips so he could wipe the couple of tears that had fallen off of his cheeks.

“Cat?” Will asked, and Frankie stayed facing away from him.

“Yeah?” he said with a clearing of his throat, but he knew he wasn’t fooling anyone, least of all Will.

“You okay?” Will asked, not knowing what else to say.

“Oh, yeah,” Frankie nodded, taking another drag off of his smoke and blowing it back out through his nose. “I’m great.” His tone was hateful, but he couldn’t make it sound any other way and Will knew it wasn’t directed at him.

“She’s gonna be okay, man--”

“Is she?” He angrily threw his cigarette onto the ground and twisted it under his boot. “How long have we been doing this? How long have we gone after guys like him?”

“Frankie--”

He took a step closer to Will and pointed his finger into his chest but Will stayed perfectly still. “Guys like Lorea do whatever the fuck they want until guys like us stop him. They take and they take and he has her! Why? Why did it have to be her?”

Will swallowed hard as he watched Frankie’s eyes get wider. It may have been the middle of the night, but the light of the crescent moon couldn’t hide the water that was pooling at the edge of his eyes. Will’s own heart broke for the desperate man in front of him. Of course he cared for you, too, but it was nothing compared to the torch that Frankie held for you. They all knew that.

“What if he hurts her?” Frankie, dragged his hand down his mouth and rubbed his jaw, trying to steady his shaking words. “What if--”

“We can’t think like that. You cannot think like that.” Will shook his head and put his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “We’re going to go in that fucking mansion tomorrow and we are not leaving without her. I promise you that.”

“What if he’s already killed her? And I never got to--” Frankie bit his lip and looked out into the street with a shake of his head. “And I never got to--” He couldn’t say it. He couldn’t put into words all of the things that he never got to do when it came to you. And now, for the life of him, he could not come up with a single thing that was so important that it had stood between the two of you all of these years. He closed his eyes and fell silent, not even resisting when Will pulled him into a vice-like embrace and clapped him on the shoulder a few times.

“We’re gonna get her back. And you’re going to tell her everything you’re thinking. Okay?” Will lowered his voice and squeezed Frankie’s shoulders in support. All Frankie could do was nod and hope he was right.

TAG LIST: Let me know if you want to be tagged or if I missed you!

@irishleesh93 @ripleyafterdark @lokiaddicted @winters-buck @stevieharrrr @zeldasayer @rae-gar-targaryen @thebakerstboyskeeper @bookshelvesandteacups @honestlystop @seawhisperer @huliabitch @phoenixhalliwell @roxypeanut @mrsparknuts @domino-oh-damn @wickedfrsgrl @cloud-of-roses @arrowswithwifi thinemineours @sgtpenny @xxlovingfandomsxx @scorpionsandhoney @honeybeeespeaks @lukesrighthand

#Frankie Morales #triple frontier #frankie morales x reader #pedro pascal #pedro character fic #santiago garcia #oscar isaac #frankie catfish morales #Fun fact All along the watch tower was the original name of this fic but I thought it was too long #So you get it as a chapter name because I fucking love me some jimi #addicted to you #I fucking love writing angst man and idk what that says about me as a person but im having a BLAST with this #do yourself a favor and listen to Jimi Hendrix while watching that gif #its life changing #like a gearing up montage #BUHBUM BUM DUM DUM BUH

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wild-flower-art · 4 years

Text

The Old Guard- Andy x Reader (F/F)

Guess who’s back and betta than evaaa? I’m so sorry it took me almost 2 whole ass months to post the 3rd chapter. With school starting up again, the part of uni I work at got fuckin hectic. Luckily that part of my life has settled a bit (for now), and now it’s time to get back on track in other parts of my life...writing being one of them. Enjoy!

Chapter 2

Chapter 3 – Help us (I think I’m sticking to 3rd-person POV-- 2,975 word count)

Darkness engulfs (y/n) as she enters the house, only able to see and follow the light from her flashlight. Her suit is weighing heavily on her body, her helmet obstructing her vision but protecting her all the same. She does her best to get out as quickly as possible, the SCBA tank only allowing for at least 30 minutes to get in, do her job, and get out. Some of (y/n)’s team are trying to extinguish the fire that just won’t let up, and the rest of them have been sent in to get people out. (Y/n) sees there’s a basement door in the kitchen. She radios in to her team that she’s going down. She can hear screams. Girls crying out for help. The further down into the basement she goes the darker it becomes. This is where the fire started. She reaches the bottom of the stairs and can hear the screams even louder now. Her flashlight shines on another door. That’s where they are. (Y/n) tries to calmly yet quickly get the door latches unlocked with her bolt cutters. Their screams are getting louder. They know they’re being saved. Before she can get the door open there’s an explosion behind her, knocking (y/n) forward…

She awakes with a start, having almost rolled off the bed. Her heart is racing, blood running cold through your body, left side of her torso throbbing with pain. (Y/n) is damp with sweat, soaking through her shirt. She searches for her lamp, but then remembers she’s not at home. She then reaches for a candle and lighter, flinching slightly at the sight of the flame.

It was just a dream.

…But it really wasn’t. It’s a memory that not even sleep can help her escape from. Before she can focus too much on what she did wrong, and what she could’ve done better, she hears a light tapping at the door. Her breathing hitches in her throat, but then releases itself when she realize it’s Nile, the light from the main room illuminating (y/n)’s—no, not her room—the guest room, probably. Not at all decorated or welcoming. It looks like a room used for storage, not being meant for personal use.

Nile whispers, “Hey, are you okay? I thought I heard crying.”

“Yeah, I’m fine, Nile. Thank you. Just a….bad dream.”

“You have those often?”

“Yeah, too often.”

“You’re not the most peaceful of sleepers then, huh? As an ex-Marine I know how that feels.”

“An ex-Marine?”

Nile stammers, “Oh, yeah, uh I was in for a few years before I got injured, and was uhmm discharged.” She tries to hold eye contact, but then looks away after a beat. (Y/n) feels like she overstepped a line she didn’t know existed.

“Oh…I’m sorry.”

“Nah, it’s okay. It was for the best, I’m sure. Maybe. I don’t know. Soooo....can I ask what you dream about?”

(y/n) sighs, “Before moving here to England I used to be a firefighter back home. We had been called out to the scene of a possible trafficking house the feds had been keeping an eye on. It had caught fire rather quickly, so we had to move just as fast, if not faster.”

(Y/n) looks down at her hands that she didn’t realize were clenched into fists. She inhales slowly so as not to cause more pain to her diaphragm, and on a shuddery exhale (y/n) releases the tension in her hands and shoulders. Fuck, my body hurts.

“I had gone down to the basement where I heard the screaming of young women and girls…kids…” A lump forms in her throat she tries to swallow down before continuing, “I was so close to getting them out, but then something went off behind me, knocking me forward. It felt like I was being tackled by a large animal or something, knocking me out cold. My dream usually ends there.”

“What happened after? In real life, I mean.”

“My team was able to get me out of there, the girls weren’t so lucky. The next thing I remember is waking up in a hospital bed about a week later. I quit shortly after when I heard the traffickers who had the girls in the house weren’t caught. I felt like I owed it to them to keep future girls from being victimized like that. I followed them here to England, but the trail ran cold about a month ago. I’ve been teaching self-defense classes to women, young girls, and non-binary kids since I’ve arrived here to be of use and pass the time, maybe make some money…oh shit, speaking of, where’s my phone? I need to contact my classes and cancel.” (Y/n) starts patting down her pockets and aimlessly checking the sheets and under pillows for her phone.

“Oh, uhm…I don’t remember you having a phone on you when we brought you. Maybe it fell out at the building?”

“Fuck. Well, I’ll contact them tomorrow when I leave from here.”

“Leave? No, you shouldn’t leave. You should stay until you’re healed up.”

“I don’t think your friends want me around for too long. I was gonna suggest I go to a hospital, but looks like you know your way around a bandage and sutures.” She says, examining her wound.

“Yeah, well, it helps to know those things out in the field. Anyway, please stay. We insist. And I’ll help you contact your class tomorrow. In the meantime, you should really get some rest. You look like shit.” She says the last part half-heartedly and with a smirk.

“Aw gee thanks, jerk”, (y/n) chuckles.

Nile starts to exit the room before (y/n) stops her. “Hey, Nile? I mean it, thank you.”

She smiles and nods before closing the door behind her. (Y/n) falls asleep as soon as her head hits the pillow and she closes her eyes, her body welcoming rest once again.

Nile makes her way up the stairs to her bedroom that she’s sharing with Andy since Andy gave (y/n) her room to recover in. That downstairs bedroom and couch in the livingroom give her easy access to the front and back doors in case something is amiss. It takes Andy too long to get settled, not used to resting in a room so far away from where possible intruders can enter. She starts to roll out of her makeshift bed to head downstairs, but Nile makes her way into the room, stopping Andy dead in her tracks.

“What do you think you’re doing?” She asks, hands on her hips.

“I can’t sleep in here, Nile. I’m sorry. I have to go downstairs and keep watch.”

“No, you don’t. Nicky and Joe agreed to take turns staying awake tonight. You need to learn how to relax. You can’t heal yourself the way we can anymore, so you need to give your body some time to rest so you don’t burn out. We’ve been over this! Any less sleep and you’ll look as exhausted as (Y/N). Jesus! You’re like a stubborn old person, too set in their w—“, before she can finish her reprimanding rant a pillow smacks her square in the face, earning a laugh from Andy, pleased that she caught Nile off guard.

“That’s not funny”, she says throwing the pillow back in Andy’s direction.

“Well, if it’s not funny then why am I still laughing?” Andy says between giggle fits. It’s becoming a common occurrence to see Andy like this. Lighthearted laughs and jokes that the guys said hadn’t ever happened this often, not in a long while, so Nile smiles and lets her have her moment before she has to dampen the mood.

“(Y/N) asked for her phone.” Andy stops laughing and instinctively reaches for the phone that lays in her coat pocket. “She teaches a self-defense class and needs to cancel for the next few days, maybe even weeks.”

“What did you tell her?”

“That I don’t remember seeing a phone when we brought her here and that she probably dropped it at the building…She doesn’t know who or what we are, so why are you keeping it?”

“You can never be too careful, Nile. She can’t just update people on where she is and expect people not to look for her. She might not know who we are, but we need to limit her access to the outside, at least for now.” This earns her an incredulous look from Nile. “Just trust me, okay?”

“Alright, boss. Now, can you please lay back down and get some sleep?” Nile asks as she gets into her bed.

It takes Andy a while to get settled, but when she finally does she can’t seem to manage to quiet her racing thoughts.

“I can hear you thinking, Andy! What is it?”

“You said if I didn’t get sleep I’d look as exhausted as (Y/N). What did you mean by that? Was she awake when you went downstairs to lock up?”

“Uhh, yeah. She was having a nightmare about something that happened when she was a firefighter. Just before she moved here her team was sent out to a burning building, turns out that was a trafficking holding house, possibly run by the same people who run the one we raided last night. But that’s just me putting two and two together. She said her trail ran cold, so she’s been keeping busy with her classes.”

“How much does she know?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t think to ask. She looked so tired and sad, I just needed to get out of her hair so she could rest. Now, sleep!” Nile tosses a pillow at Andy’s head this time.

Andy turned on to her side so Nile wouldn’t see her still awake. I should pick (Y/N)’s brain on what she knows about those people who set that house on fire. Maybe she can help us.

(Y/N) slept through the rest of the following day, not giving Andy time to ask her what she knows, but, instead, giving Andy time to talk to Nile, Joe, and Nicky about (Y/N) and if they think she’d be willing to help.

“She’s come this far to find out who hurt, and continues to hurt, those girls. I’m sure this will give her more purpose to continue on her journey”, Joe speaks up from behind his cup of coffee.

“Should we have Copley do some digging on her? Just to see where she comes from, and maybe find any paper trails to where she’s been following those disgusting human beings through?”, Nicky says as he makes his way back to the dining table, pulling a seat from across Joe and next to Andy.

“I contacted him earlier, he’s on it. He said he’d get back to us by the end of the day. Should be hearing from him any moment now.” Andy turns her head to look at her bedroom door. Still no movement. They’ve done multiple checks on (Y/N) throughout the day. Each time they were either met with groans, signaling them to go away, or with light snoring. With drool lightly dribbling from her mouth, she’s obviously getting the kind of rest Nile wishes Andy would allow herself to get. I’ll rest when I’m dead. Reminding herself and the team that she is on borrowed time, and she doesn’t want to waste whatever time she has left worrying about menial things like resting. Though (Y/N) makes it look so comfortable.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone look so peaceful while sleeping.

She’s shaken from her thoughts as Nile scoots out of her chair to stand. “Well, I’m off to bed.”

“We’ll head in for the night as well.” Joe says, getting up and wrapping his arm around Nicky and then rubbing the middle of his back.

“Goodnight, boss” they call out in unison as they head up the stairs.

“Night.”

It’s maybe about 45 minutes after the rest of the team has gone up to bed, and a couple of glasses of vodka later, that Andy receives a message from Copley with several attachments of what he found on (Y/N).

Here’s all I could find. Hope this will suffice.

Got it. She quickly types in response. She’s curious to open the files, but it’s getting late and she wants to look at this new information with the team. She double, triple checks and locks the doors, and makes sure the windows are all securely latched. She and Nile would be taking turns watching over the house, and she has first watch. She turns off all the lights, except for a lamp in the kitchen, and makes her way upstairs to grab a few things to hold her over for the next few hours. She isn’t upstairs for more than 5 minutes when she hears a door open and close, some carefully placed footsteps, and another door squeaking open before being lightly shut. Barefoot, Andy quickly and quietly grabs her labrys from its case, shoves a gun in her pants, and swiftly makes her way downstairs and out the front door.

She stops suddenly when she realizes it’s (Y/N) walking down the driveway. She runs over to her, fearing she might be in trouble. (Y/N) turns around in shock and almost screams, but grabs at her left side and hisses in pain, having twisted her body around too quickly.

Short of grabbing her arm, Andy quietly yet sternly asks, “Where the hell do you think you’re going? It’s dark out! You could get hurt! Do you not have any sense to just stay put?”

(Y/N) all but ignores Andy and turns back towards the driveway to continue walking.

Andy walks past (Y/N) and stands in front of her. “Hey, I’m talking to you! You’re not going anywhere until we know you’re okay!”

Trying in vain to push past Andy, (Y/N) replies, “I said I’d be gone as soon as I’m feeling better, and obviously I’m feeling a lot better, so if you don’t mind—.”

Andy scoffs and puts herself back in (Y/N)’s way and gently pokes at her upper left side just over her ribs, causing (Y/N) to wince and hiss in pain. “Yeah, obviously.”

“What the hell?!” (Y/N) grits through her teeth. “Do you treat everyone you help like this?”

“No, just the stubborn ones I believe have the ability to help us in return.”

(Y/N) squints at Andy incredulously, “Help you with what?”

“Help us find the guys who burned down that house with all those girls stuck inside.”

(Y/N) stands stock still and dumbfounded. “How do you know that?”

“Nile told us about your nightmares. I also had someone do some digging on you, so I’m sure those files will tell me the same thing.”

“You had someone ‘do some digging’ on me?! You guys are crazy! Now, please MOVE!”

(Y/N) shoves her hand against Andy’s shoulder and tries again to maneuver around her, using Andy’s height against her to juke her out. It almost works, but Andy is too quick to turn around and put her leg in front of (Y/N)’s leg to trip her and hook her arms around (Y/N)’s waste to keep her from falling forward. (Y/N) groans in pain and frustration as she places a heavy heel on Andy’s bare foot. With her heel still digging into Andy’s foot, (Y/N) leans her body back and shoves her hands up into the small space between her body and Andy’s arms. With a grunt she pushes her arms out, freeing herself from Andy’s grip as Andy falls backwards. Pleased with herself, (Y/N) quickly limps away from Andy, all the while Andy is on the ground smiling, trying not to laugh at the sorry sight in front of her. She gets up and half jogs up to (Y/N), catching up with her in just a few strides. To add insult to injury, Andy keeps a steady walking pace next to (Y/N), who has broken out into a sweat.

“So…where are we going?” Andy asks, trying not to laugh at how (Y/N)’s brows furrow with frustration.

(Y/N) responds with a roll of her eyes and a huff before pleading, “Please just go away and let me leave.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, (Y/N). We need your help and you clearly need ours. Please just come back to the house and get some rest…Do you even know where you are?”

“No idea.”

“Then how do you know where you’re going or if you’re going in the right direction?”

“I don’t, but if I keep walking I’ll get somewhere away from you guys.”

Andy picks up her pace and places herself in front of (Y/N) again, this time placing her hands on (Y/N)’s shoulders and meeting her (e/c) eyes. “Please. Help us find those girls.”

That’s all it takes for (Y/N) to give in. She puffs air out of her mouth and looks down at their feet. She notices a small bruise forming on Andy’s foot where her heel pressed down just a moment ago, a few scrapes marking her own. She feels a pull in her stomach, an obligation to those girls who needed her and a new obligation to the girls who still need her. She feels pressure building behind her eyes, her vision blurring, and her bottom lip slightly quivering. Fuck.

When she finally looks up her eyes are glossed over with unshed tears. Now’s not the time. She clears her throat and swallows hard. “Okay”, she finally whispers. And with that she turns around and walks back towards the house with Andy following close behind. They walk in silence until they reach the door. As (Y/N) reaches for the door handle, Andy places her hand over (Y/N)’s. Their eyes meet again as Andy whispers, “Thank you.” (Y/N) nods her head slightly before entering the house.

#the old guard #andromache x reader #the old guard imagine #andromache the scythian x reader #andy x reader

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