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artichokefunction · 1 month

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the handler is currently talking to the client, about gender or whatever. you're not paying them that much attention right now, you got what you needed to know, you think. the client is currently at moderately high risk, which is why the handler gave you access to the live security cam footage, and the client is a celebrity or influencer or something, one of them types, which is why this meeting is happening at a fancy restaurant that does their own brewing and has fancy food-based art displays on the walls, and a few hanging from the ceiling as lamps. you don't feel like disguising as a civilian right now, so you're in the truck, watching the footage. the handler is good at disguising. today her braids are a very ordinary blonde, up in a bun, and he's laughing like he does when he hangs out with her friends. her human friends. you're a human, technically. whatever. you keep an eye on the crowd.

someone just entered the shop, and they're only a little bit suspicious. until their eyes lock on to your table. you see the way their hand goes to their pockets, briefly, before they remember they're undercover or whatever. you're out of the truck already. the parking lot is just behind the, uhh, beer garden? you think that's what it's called. you hop the fence and slip through the back door and are at your human's table just in time to flip it on its side and pull them behind it. you don't have time to get them out the back door with you, the target has opened fire. you need to return fire. the humans in here - all of them - have gotten loud. hrmm.

you reach over to hold Fig's hand as the agent pulls up its pant leg to retrieve the handgun it keeps in its calf, in the space between the artificial muscle and bone. Fig has started to hyperventilate. that's not ideal. you keep your voice low, and you try to tell them that the situation is under control, that they'll be okay. the agent fumbles at its arm for a handful of bullets, and then it loads its gun with a few smooth and practiced motions. it straightens up to open fire on the attacker, and you rub circles into Fig's hand with your thumb. it's weird, working with someone who isn't used to this. makes it more stressful. you keep talking to them, quiet as you can. you think you're doing an okay job at being comforting? you hope you are. you hear a particularly loud bang from just above you and they instinctually grab at you, pulling you closer. turns out that was a good move.

man, fuck this guy. he shot at one of those big fancy lampthings above your human's table. that was sort of smart. you weren't expecting it. you panic, a little bit, and end up throwing yourself into it, shoulder first. it lands just out of range to do your humans any damage, but the guy got some free shots at your back and side in the process. you're mad now. you shoot him in the hand, and the shin, and the thigh. he fumbles his gun, and it falls to the floor. that's all you needed. time to get out of here. you reach down and grab the handlers shoulder, briefly, to draw her attention, and then you point out the back door. emphatically. we need to go. the handler gets the client up and on their feet, eventually, and you keep your gun trained on the attacker. he doesnt try anything. he doesn't even notice you're still pointing a gun at him, he's busy with his thigh wound. killing in public is ill-advised, which is why you aren't doing it. one of the other humans in this building is on call with an ambulance, or the cops, more likely. finally, finally, your humans are moving out the back door, and you follow, making sure they don't get ambushed. the handler opens the back gate easily [you didn't know it opened that easily. you didn't have time anyways it's fine] and the three of you load into the van, because the client walked here and also theyre still panicking. and you wouldn't be able to help with that and the handler needs to drive. so the client is in your seat, and you're in the back, by the operating table. and it's fine. it's fine. they're in your seat and it's fine. there are splinters in your shoulder that you didn't notice earlier. but you don't remember which drawer the tweezers would be in. and the road has lots of sharp turns, you don't want to mess anything up with your shaky hands. your hands are shaky. you can hear them talking in the front, in quiet shaky voices like humans who just endured something traumatic. you don't really want to be able to hear them. you have a music player back here, you remember where. you pull up something loud and shapeless and think about that for the rest of the trip.

---

you are finally, finally, finally back in your own house. and despite how paranoid you've been lately, you feel pretty safe, because there are two assassins sitting on your living room floor. Grenadine - no wait, sorry, the handler - is pulling small bloody shards of wood and glass out of their agent's back. they're leaving the pieces in a little plastic tray on the floor next to them. the agent has taken its shirt and jacket off, and it's [it, right? not they? yeah it] it's just sitting quietly, eyes closed. its chest is littered with small scars, and with bigger patches of skin that don't quite look like scar tissue? they look like something else. you're not really sure what. its shoulders are broader then you'd expect for someone with top scars, faint as they are. you're staring. you've been staring. fuck. you finish what you went to the kitchen to do, putting a frozen pizza in the oven and making some hot chocolate, for you and your guests. you put a metal straw in each cup, because you have them and they're fun. you try to carry the three mugs out to the living room, and then you decide to be smart instead and just make two trips instead of spilling all over your carpet. the handler thanks you quietly. ah, quiet mode. okay. you grab your mug and sit on the couch, trying to give them some space. the mug is warm in your hands, it's helping you calm down.

you check your phone, in case anything important happened. ah. you were the important thing that happened. you get shown four different photos of you at the restaurant and decide you don't want to see any more. you switch to the music app, and play something quiet and calm and backgroundy on the TV speakers. it has lyrics but they're soft enough that you think your guests won't mind. your guests are taking a hot chocolate break. the agent takes its mask halfway off, and underneath it has a shiny metal jaw, like a proper cyborg. it doesn't really seem to have a lower lip to speak of. it uses the straw.

the handler puts her mug down, and puts her hand on the agents shoulder, rubbing small circles with their thumb. the agent puts its mug down and lies its hands flat on the ground, and the handler gets to work pulling out bullets. you don't watch that too closely, but you do find out what the not-scar skin is, it's fake, it covers up patches of cyborg machinery inside it. that's - that icks you out for some reason. makes you feel weird in your skin. you get up to check on the pizza. it's done. you cut it up and bring it out. you put it on the little table next to the couch, and you grab a slice, and you sit down. it's not long until those two are done. with one arm around it's shoulders, the handler gets the agent to move to the couch. it's sat next to her and she's sat next to you. it's very quiet in here, somehow, even with the music. you hazard a question.

[...Will it be okay?]

[oh, yes, no doubts there. it's already asleep, see.]

and it is asleep, injured shoulder pressed gently into its partner's side, face wrinkled up in what could be focus, could be distress. you're not really sure.

[will you be okay?]

[Yeah... yeah.]

they give you a look when you say that.

[do you want to talk about it?]

you breathe a long, drawn out sigh. [Sure.]

and the two of you fall into a quiet, earnest conversation. she's easy to talk to. she's nice. the faint sound of her partner breathing matches the rhythm of the song playing. it makes breathing feel easier for you, as well.

#[fiction]#[category: the agent & the handler]#blood #guns #injury

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soulless-angel25 · 1 month

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Multiamory March 2024, Day 14 Prompt- Mentor @polyamships

[Possible OOC, I have not played any of the games. I have read the manga though so if any personality traits are inaccurate sorry!] [The just a general warning, there are guns mentioned in this, and it does get kind of suggestive between the three characters]

It was after a bullet had missed it's mark, the intended spot being Alice's... somewhere, she wasn't quite sure where. But the bullet had managed to hit her leg instead.

And so, here she was with Blood and Elliot, one behind her and the other beside. She had tried to refuse but Blood... that damned man... and Elliot hadn't even tried to convince him to lay off her or say they could come back at another time! He had stayed steadfast behind Blood as the man had leaned over her.

Whispered in her ear and told her that she was going to learn how to at the least handle a gun and know its insides or he'd have no choice but to keep her in his room when she slept to keep her safe. She felt a flush begin to creep up her face as she remembered how he'd nibbled on her ear before stealing a kiss and backing away so that she couldn't punch him.

Trying to focus her attention back on the target in front of her she felt Elliot's arms holding her still, his breath hot as he guided her arms. It suddenly made her aware of the shaking in her arms and of just how vulnerable she was at the moment, at the fact that Elliot could easily restrain her and she wouldn't be able to fight back.

Letting out a shaky breathe she tried to relax, Elliot wouldn't hurt her. He cared for her ("All the people in this world will fall in love with you."). Shaking her head she tried to get Nightmare's words out and focus on what was happening.

Elliot's' hand reached further out, moving from her upper arm towards her hand. It settled lightly over her hand that held the trigger as he whispered, "Shoot, Alice."

She breathed out and pulled the trigger. The noise was loud, louder then she remembered but that was probably because she was the one firing now.

And then the moment of quiet that had just began to settle was broken by Blood's footsteps moving closer, as he leaned in front of her and Elliot gently took the gun from her. "Very good, Young Lady." Alice felt her face flush at the praise even as Blood brought his face closer, so close that his nose was almost touching hers. She went to move back before being reminded of the fact that Elliot was behind her.

He brought a hand up and took some of her hair in it, raising it to his lips even as he maintained eye-contact with her. He ever-so gently kissed the hair in his hand as he brought the other up to cup her face. Even though his hand was gloved she could feel the heat radiating through and had to hold herself back from leaning into the touch.

She was aware of the fact that Elliot had moved his hands from her arms, could feel as they settled on her waist. Before being distracted again from Blood gently rubbing circles on her face. Between the two she could feel heat flooding her face, and as she looked at Blood could see that unbearable smirk on his face as he took pleasure in her reactions.

Then Elliot leaned forwards, his chin resting upon her left shoulder. Lips barely close enough to touch her neck if he wanted. At the same time Blood close the space in between their lips, having at some point dropped her hair from his hand (when had he done that?).

The sudden feeling of his lips against her caught her off guard, a muffled noise escaping her as she leaned into the hand that still held her. Vaguely she registered how soft his lips were before she felt his tongue prod at her lips, which she refused to open. Alice felt his other hand slide under her dress and gently press against her skin making her gasp and open her mouth which Blood quickly took adavantage of.

Another noise that was quickly swallowed up followed from the feeling of Elliot's lips on her neck. His lips felt rougher compared to Blood's, but that thought quickly fled as he alternated between nibbling on her neck and lightly biting.

Her arms moved from her sides, grabbing hold of Blood's jacket as she felt her legs weaken. The stimulation coming from two different mouths, one going at a leisurely pace and the other moving faster making her head spin.

Alice felt Blood's lips leave her for a moment to breathe before coming right back. As he kissed her his left hand drifted from her face to her neck and his right continued making it's way up under Alice's dress.

The feeling of Elliot against her neck, biting and kissing, sometimes licking and then moving on as the air felt cool against where he kissed made her arms feel weak. He moved up and down her neck, leaving Alice to only imagine what her neck would look like later.

#multiamorymarch #multiamory march #alice liddell #blood dupre #elliot march #alice in the country of hearts

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lovelybarnes · 3 years

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scars- b. barnes

pairings: bucky barnes x reader warnings: heavy mentions of insecurity, focus on scars, injuries, blood, wounds, canon violence about: requested! (PK9) kissing scars, bruises, scratches, etc. + (PF26) person a wiping person b’s tears away a/n: thank you so much for requesting!! i hope this is what you wanted and that you liked it!!

[ @tylard-blog1 ]

you’re aware that everyone on the team has them; natasha romanoff, even steve rogers, with his unbreakable milk skin, and bruce banner, with the green that tinges the hue of his temples when a scar is made. they’re reminders of what you do, some symbols of the lives that you’ve saved-- and others the lives that you’ve taken.

yes, everyone has them, but that doesn’t make you like the ones that litter your own body very much. nor does it stop you from looking away from them when you catch a glimpse of the scars that peek out of the clothing you specifically choose to hide them away from the curious eyes of the public. it doesn’t stop the frustrated tears that ebb in your eyes when you run the tips of your fingers over the raised tissue.

sometimes you realize how unfair it is of you to hate the scars that splay on your collarbone, and the ones that run across your hips and thighs, when you press your lips against the ones on bucky’s shoulder, pleading for him to believe you when you say you think he’s beautiful. the thought lingers when you playfully roll your eyes at natasha on the rare moment when she narrows her eyes at the healed bullet wound that sits above her hip, genuine words assuring her she looks great no matter what slipping out of the same mouth that utters ugly words at the mirror. you ignore it even as it guilts you when you touch the scars on bruce’s arms with featherlight fingers, pressing that they don’t make him a monster, or any of the hideous words with which he describes himself.

you try to tell yourself the reassurances apply to you, too, because they’re true-- the scars don’t diminish the beauty of your smile, or the glow that you carry, and they shouldn’t hinder the upwards pull of your lips when you catch a glimpse of them in the mirror-- but even as you try to convince yourself of that, your eyes always flit away, hand positioning itself in front of the scars as you examine the way you’d love yourself without them.

you were never aware of the blue eyes that caught your moments of dislike for yourself, missing the bead of worry that embedded itself in the cerulean of bucky’s irises.

it was on a particularly bad day of yours that one of your relatively smaller missions was scheduled. listed underneath your name was bucky’s, although he was only on there because he had demanded you never to go on a mission to an active hydra base alone, even though he knew you could handle it; you didn’t mind, always enjoying the quiet moments you got on the quinjet with bucky-- and the pilot, usually clint or steve, who bit their tongue, unlike sam or tony.

it would’ve been fine on any other day, but your day hadn’t started on the best note. the scars underneath your clothing seemed to burn every time you moved in the way they had when you first received them. you had stared at them for far too long, wishing you had the super-healing of the asgardian gods or the super soldiers you surrounded yourself with, who would never get permanent scars from the things you had experienced. they felt especially ugly sitting on your skin, making you want to lay in bed all day, pretending they didn’t exist.

your mission cut off your day of wallowing in your bed, forcing you to shove on your suit and sit in the quinjet to arrive at the mission you could’ve easily handled by yourself had it been another day and you had felt any other way.

you were from the same black widow program natasha was from; you were probably impossibly better, more ruthless and uncaring because from the moment you were born, you had nothing to lose, no family to protect, no memories of a childhood--even a fake one-- to hang onto. your movements were always calculated and perfect, like they had been forced to be, and your emotions were never supposed to cloud your anything-- they never did, except for when you had the days that knocked you off your feet, just like these.

nevertheless, you were distracted in the base with bucky, although you shouldn’t have been, considering the delicate information you were handling. you flawlessly did the routine of knocking guards unconscious, ignoring the way a harsh heat flashed in your hip when bucky’s hand touched the place where one of your more brutal scars was. it felt nearly as if he could feel it under his fingers, even though it was a ridiculous thought considering the material of your tac suit.

it was still going relatively fine; you had recovered the usb file you had been assigned to secure, and most of the guards were dead, fallen in a trail that created a clear pathway for bucky to find you, usb drive clutched tightly in your hand as you bled out on the floor, a knife thrown next to the pool of blood quickly forming underneath you and the person who had done it lying dead a few feet away. your gun was in your other hand, one of its bullets embedded in the hydra agents’ chest. bucky could hear the strangled gurgles of breathing coming from the agent, but he paid no attention to him as he rushed to your side, eyebrows furrowing as his hands reached the stab wound. you hissed sharply when you felt the cold of his vibranium fingers meet the burning hot of the injury, pressing down hard as lightly as he could while he mumbled something into the comms you never used. you were suddenly gathered into his arms, cringing when you heard a scream you didn’t realize was yours until you felt bucky’s lips moving in reassuring sentences next to your ear, a string of apologies falling from his lips. you never let go of the drive, desperate to keep hold of something that connected you to the real world, not wanting to focus on your other alternative: it was irrelevant when compared to everything else, but through the blinding red of pain, the only thing you could focus on was obsessing over the fact that a new scar would inevitably heal in place of the stab wound-- one you knew you would survive because you’d survived a hell of a lot worse than it, but the next ugly thing to form in your abdomen might just make you never want to see yourself again.

warm tears rolled down your cheeks as bucky carried you back into the quinjet, one of your hands tiredly fisted at bucky’s shirt, trying your best to stay awake but ultimately failing from the loss of blood and will.

it’s stupid. you’re aware, but your first thought when you open your eyes again is how there is yet another scar that will form on your abdomen, making tears rush to your eyes in frustration because it was your fault it was there anyways. had you just paid attention-- just not concentrated so on the wretched things, a new one would not be forming right now. the collection of ugly tissue that littered your skin was already too large.

the frustration you felt overpowered the painful numbness that settled over the wound in your abdomen, making dried tears spring back to life and dribble down your apple cheeks, alerting your boyfriend of your state. “doll? what’s wrong?” he asks, and at the sign he’s there, listening to your whimpers and audible disdain, the dam breaks loose, your hands reaching up to your face and tugging at the gash.

bucky’s up on his feet, tender hands circling around your wrists to pull them back down, “y/n, what’s wrong, doll?” he repeats, gentle blue eyes scanning your tear-streaked face. you squeeze your eyes shut, another salty trail making its way onto the bow of your lips. bucky’s warm fingers wipe away the wetness, his fingertips light.

“baby, please tell me what hurts,” he begs, his vibranium hand making its way into yours. you shake your head, squeezing his cold fingers. “i hate them,” you mumble, feeling his palm cupping your jaw, “i hate them so much.”

“hate what, honey?” he questions gently, brows furrowing further when he sees your hand curling into a loose fist above the place where his hands have lovingly settled: right on your scars. “i’m sorry,” you cry quietly, nose scrunching up when his fingers trace over the tissue he’s memorized the location of, “i hate them. they’re ugly and i hate them.”

“these?” bucky inquires, surprised. he lifts your shirt-- really, his-- to see the object of your tears, catching when you shut your eyes again and more tears drip off your jaw.

“bucky, no--”

bucky looks up at you, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “y/n…” he starts sadly, pulling away to get you to look at him. “they’re not... “ his eyes flick down to one of the scars, and he taps on it gently, “d’you remember this one? it was a couple years ago when i barely joined the team.” you can feel a lump growing in your throat, perfectly able to recall where you got it.

“you barely knew me back then, but you did know i was a super soldier, and you jumped in front of that bullet anyways. god, i knew i had to ask you out before someone knocked sense into anyone else.”

you sniffle, biting your lip, “this one,” he touches another one, “you saved nat and a little girl from a madman. her parents were so thankful they stayed with you until you woke up to thank you.” his finger wipes away another tear, “she invited me to her birthday party this year,” you snivel, and bucky smiles.

“these are not ugly-- you are not ugly, i promise.” he tells you. “i love you, every part of you--” his head suddenly ducks down, and you can feel his lips softly pressing against the scars, careful to avoid your newly forming one. your hand reaches his jaw, running your nail along his stubble as more thankful tears slip from your eyes. “i love you,” he repeats, kissing your lips.

“thank you,” you whisper against his lips, sniffling as you feel the burn on the scars slowly begin to disappear with the coolness of bucky’s vibranium fingertips.

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llamagoddessofficial · 3 years

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Okay so I live (all things said and done) not far from the arctic circle, and long story short got to thinking about the various snow/ice safety things that are drilled into you up here and what to be wary of- like Snow Blindness 👀 what if MC,all alone, ended up out in the icy fields, her goggles broken/etc from a fall, and she ends up with it? In pain, blinded, she can’t tell what is where and Sans sees all of this unfolding, the growing panic, her probably eventually going still as she realizes trying to fumble around would make her more lost…. Would he lead her to safety, perhaps tapping on the ice in front of her to lead her way back to her warm tent, or would he take advantage and perhaps bring her to safety in some sort of icy cave only he has access to, to “nurse” her while her eyes recover~?

“stop.”

The voice was so distinct that if you’d heard it before, you would’ve recognised it immediately. You didn’t. The soft, dark, sonorous tone didn’t belong to anyone on the research team- it didn’t belong to anyone you’d spoken to before.

But you knew who it was.

Your eyes hurt. They hurt so much, the aching worming back into your head and spreading through in a headache that felt like it was going to split your skull in half. You had snow blindness- your goggles had broken hours ago, and your attempts at keeping your eyes shielded had done nothing to aid your worsening condition. You couldn’t see anymore, eyes squeezed shut in your last attempt at defending them from the glare... a gritty sensation under your eyelids was making irritated tears drip down your cheeks no matter how many times you tried to wipe them away. The sun was setting, you didn’t know where you were, you couldn’t see... at this point, the fear of freezing to death in the arctic was nagging at the back of your head.

You didn’t know where you were.

...

You’d obeyed the voice instinctively, stopping dead. Yes... despite not recognising it, you knew exactly who it was.

That was what frightened you.

“Wh-what do you want?” You blurted, heart beginning to pound even faster than before.

How was he there? How far had you moved? You weren’t wearing your ear protection... stumbling home blind and deaf just wasn’t an option. Part of you wanted to force your eyes open to see him, to see the giant orca siren who had been stalking you in both the waking world and your nightmares. But at this point it wasn’t possible anymore- your eyes were so painful, trying to open them felt like trying to drag your hands over broken glass.

So you had to just stand there, blinded. Even more vulnerable than before.

“just listen to me.” Despite the musicality and silkiness to his deep voice there was an underlying urgency that couldn’t be faked. It was coming from just a distance ahead of you... only a few paces, if your hearing was correct. “you’ve walked onto thin sea ice.”

“... H-huh?”

“there’s cracks everywhere. all around you. if you go forward anymore you’ll fall through and drown.”

... Your heart very nearly stopped. You thought the swaying you’d felt through your feet had just been from the confusion and splitting headache- not from walking so far out you’d managed to make your way onto the treacherous thin ice that’d give way under you any second.

“i’m going to lead you back to safety, okay? just follow the sound of my clicks.”

...

... You didn't really have the grounds to question him. I mean... what were your options? You'd blindly wandered onto deadly and fragile ice, an inky and icy death waiting just a few inches of frozen water below you. You desperately needed help, there was no way you were getting away safely on your own... if you take his help there's a chance he's lying, so you die, but if you reject him...

... You die either way. Might as well take the route with a sliver of hope. Maybe he’s... had a sudden change of heart? Randomly decided not to eat you?

Besides... You thought, shuddering. There's gotta be a little truth to it. Why would he try to trick me if I’m that close to gaps in the ice? Why bother leading me if I’m within range?

... You just... tried not to think about the fact that orca siren were well known for toying with prey for hours.

You heard his clicking, easily penetrating through the ice just ahead of you. That familiar echolocative sound... tapping like water droplets hitting a stone floor interspersed between louder clicks that you felt in your feet.

... You took a shaking deep breath, wiped away more tears... and started stumbling after the monster’s beckon.

He was right about there being cracks everywhere. The ground continually rocked beneath you; as he led you across the ice, you occasionally heard him surface, breath and rippling water... then the clicks would begin again somewhere else- further ahead or a little to the left or right. All around you there were places for him to come up for air... holes that you could’ve staggered straight into.

He led you across the shaking and unstable ice, weaving your stumbling blind form out of a maze of cracks and imminent danger. He could probably sense, with his echolocation, what sections of ice were thick enough for you to safely walk across.

Eventually, the ground evened out, and stopped rocking back and forth when you trod on it. His breaks for air became fewer, and further between... it must’ve been safer territory now...

...

... You turned your face.

... You didn’t have to see the setting sun to be able to see it. Everything under your eyelids got brighter when you turned toward it, you felt a modicum of warmth on your cheeks and still-burning eyelids.

So...

...

“W-we’re... going the wrong way.”

... You heard him pause, his clicking stopping short as he surfaced a short distance away. You couldn’t tell if he’d turned to face you or not, you desperately wanted to see.

“The... the st-station is... east, from the m-melting ice. We’re... g-going south right now...?”

...

His voice changed. You could hear the smile- in your minds eye you could see the dark grin spread across his face.

“i said i’d take you to safety. didn’t i?”

...

You clapped your gloved hands over your ears and, just like you’d been trained to do, began shouting out the lyrics to the first song that came to mind as loud as you possibly could. Just underneath the words you were yelling you could hear something beginning to resonate... something sweet and beautiful, soothing and otherworldly and terrifying, but you couldn’t linger on it, not even for a second, you couldn’t think about it at all because as soon as you concentrated on the sirensong instead of your song you wouldn’t be able to pull yourself back again. As soon as you thought about him instead of the stupid lyrics, instead of the burning in your eyes and head, instead of the hoarseness in your throat, it’d all be over.

...

A gunshot.

The bullet landed in the water only a few feet away from where Sans was floating, sending up spray that dotted the ice around it. It caught you and the siren off guard- both of you stopped, your panicked yelling broke and the beautiful melody cut short jarringly like an entire orchestra freezing mid performance.

You took your hands away from your ears just in time to hear Sans mutter “stupid researchers...” before the unmistakable splash of him diving back under the surface again; under the ice, back into the depths.

For a second, you literally couldn’t help it- you forced your eyes open the barest fraction, the glare immediately shooting pain through your skull. And... it was Hit, in his signature black and red coat, the sunset-coloured world behind him completely fuzzy. Boots crunching on the ice as he moved toward you, rifle raised and pointed at the water; goggles pulled up to his forehead...

Even as you shut your eyes again, just a second already too long, his expression was burned into your mind. Glaring at where Sans had been with a look you could only describe as... furious.

And possessive.

You heard him swear softly, anger dropping away- you heard him hastily put his rifle over his shoulder, rushing over to you and dropping heavily to his knees, saying your name like he was nervous you weren’t going to answer. You felt coarse gloves against your icy face, turning it up to him, warm breath on your painful face... you never thought you’d feel so much relief at the touch of somebody you’d never trusted before, but you let out a tiny shuddering exhausted sob and leant into him until your forehead touched his chest.

“hey. hey, it’s okay.” His voice was gentle, but still clearly panting- how far had he gone to look for you? “it’s okay, i gotcha.”

When he hoisted you into his solid arms, you just leant against him completely... tucking into the hold as much as you could. You were emotionally and physically spent and all you wanted to do was sink into his jacket and sleep.

"... c’mon, doll. let’s get you home.”

#llama writes #llamagines #arctic au #hehehehe #this was too good of an opportunity to pass #kinda spent all day writing it

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daryl-dixon-daydreams · 3 years

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Words: 2,952 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: The prison (Season 3) Warnings: language, that's it! A/N: Kintsugi, aka "golden joinery" is the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery with precious materials like gold and it is strikingly beautiful. I think you'll understand why I titled the fic this at the end! Summary: After Daryl leaves with Merle, he return to the prison to find that Y/N is extremely angry with him...

Your name: submit What is this?

Your face went through a rapid series of emotions as soon as his familiar broad shoulders came into view. First was shock and surprise, and then relief to see him again and to see him in one piece, and then just... anger. Daryl shifted his weight anxiously from one foot to the next, watching over everyone crowded around him as you simply stood up and turned your back on the room and left. You walked straight out and into the row of cells, disappearing through the heavy metal door. Daryl caught Rick’s eyes and the sheriff simply tilted his head and gave Daryl a knowing look. Daryl’s attention was pulled away as Carol grabbed him into a tight hug.

He was surprised when you didn’t come back out to join in the discussion of what the hell to do next about Woodbury and the Governor. He worked up the courage to try to talk to you, knowing full well it may just be an exercise in futility.

You easily heard the familiar cadence of his steps approaching your cell and the doorway darkened as his frame stopped in the space. He gripped the edge of the cell door and anxiously chewed his bottom lip.

You were sitting on the edge of your bunk, determinedly not looking at him. “Go away, Daryl.” Your voice was quiet but there was an unfamiliar edge to it.

He shifted uncomfortably but didn’t leave. “Just—would ya just talk to me?” he ventured. He saw the muscle in your jaw tense as your teeth clenched. “What is there to talk about?” “I—’M back now. I came back,” he said. He felt sick. He wasn’t used to you being angry with him and it was completely twisting him into knots. “Yep,” you said, standing and going to the doorway. You pulled the hanging sheet in the doorway, a makeshift door, closed right in his face. “Leave me alone,” your voice came out from the cell and then he heard the springs of your bunk creak as you sank back down on it. He stepped back from the fabric and dropped his hand from its grip on the doorframe, heaving a heavy sigh. Carol stepped out of her cell, just a few doors down and looked at Daryl staring at the closed sheet in front of him. He turned at the sound of her soft footsteps. Carol’s brow was furrowed low over her eyes and she tilted her head in the direction of the staircase that climbed to the second level. Daryl’s hand clenched and unclenched in a fist and he gave your cell one last parting look before turning away to follow Carol up the stairs. She peeked at Judith in her makeshift bed and smiled. Daryl stopped beside her and looked down at the little sleeping bundle. His heart warmed at the sight of her, but his expression was still dark. Carol glanced over at him. He chewed on his bottom lip anxiously again. “She won’t even talk to me,” he drawled. “Give her a little time,” Carol said gently. “She’ll come around.” Carol sounded very sure of her assertion, but all Daryl could think was that he’d ruined things for good. “I came back,” he said, leaning back against the railing. His heart was aching with regret. Going off with Merle was stupid in the first place. Almost as soon as he’d done it he knew it was a mistake. “You being back doesn’t change the fact that you left in the first place,” Carol pointed out. “You really think she doesn’t have a right to be upset? Think about how she’s interpreting you leaving.” He gave her a questioning look. Carol straightened up and stared at him. “I understand why you did what you did. He’s your brother. He’s blood. But you leaving with him... to her it means she wasn’t worth staying for. You chose Merle, a racist asshole, over all of us, and right when we’re sitting on the edge of war against the psychopath Merle worked for. I know that isn’t really what happened. It’s not that simple, but that’s what it feels like. She thinks you leaving means that... whatever there is between the two of you wasn’t worth anything. It wasn’t enough to make you stay.”

He gulped and shifted uncomfortably. “But that ain’t true...” Carol shrugged. “That’s how it seems to her.”

Daryl ran a hand over his face and sighed again. “I really fucked up,” he growled. The grit and gravel in his voice was heavier than usual. “You did what you thought you needed to do,” Carol said, giving his shoulder a light squeeze. “Just give her a little time. She’ll cool off.” But the rest of the day, you stayed in your cell with the doorway covered. Daryl hung around hoping you’d step out so he could try to talk to you again, try to apologize and explain. He was sick with regret and guilt and worry, but you never stepped out. “Who’s on watch tonight?” Daryl asked Rick. He was thinking about offering to stay up and take both shifts because there was no way he would be sleeping that night anyway. He was too anxious. “Y/N first and then Glenn is taking the second shift. He gave Daryl a knowing look. The archer looked miserable. Rick sighed. “I’m just glad you’re back,” Rick said.

Daryl nudged his nose up in nod. “Yeah... thanks...” You’d be on guard first. You wouldn’t be able to hide in your cell forever. You could, however, still tell him to fuck off, but he had to try. Just waiting around was agonizing and he kept thinking about how in this world even the next minute wasn’t a guarantee. He had to make things right as soon as he could.

Night fell and after scraping together his courage, Daryl got up, knowing you’d be in the guard tower by now. He went to the little stove and heated up some water, pouring it over a tea bag in a mug and staring down at it. Yeah, bring her tea, dumbass. That’ll fix it. But regardless of that derisive voice in his head, he grabbed the mug and headed out to climb the narrow stairs of the guard tower, curls of steam wafting off the surface of the amber liquid. You turned when you heard the metal door from the stairwell creak open, thinking maybe Glenn couldn’t sleep and was coming to keep you company early. Instead you saw the broad shoulders of the archer coming through and you turned away and fixed your eyes on the darkness blanketing the prison yard. “What?” you asked sharply. Daryl gulped. Obviously you hadn’t cooled off enough yet. “I just—uhh.” He rubbed his hand awkwardly over the back of his neck. “I brought ya some tea,” he drawled. You kept your back to him and said nothing. He edged closer and set the tea in front of you on the table. It was then that he noticed the bandage on your upper arm. He hadn’t noticed it before, probably because you’d been wearing a jacket. Without thinking, he reached out and gently grabbed your arm. “What happened?”

You glanced at his hand on your arm and then up to his blue eyes. You felt your resolve crumbling as soon as your eyes met his. It was like some involuntary reaction you had no control over, but you tugged your arm from his grasp and shifted away from him, averting your eyes back toward the outside again. “I got shot,” you said. “What?” he urged. “The hell ya mean ya got shot?”

His voice was tinged with deep concern. “By one of those Woodbury assholes. You know, when you were off running around with Merle,” you replied. Daryl’s stomach twisted. How could he have been so stupid? If he’d been at the prison where he was supposed to be he could have protected you. What if it hadn’t just been your arm? He hadn’t even said goodbye to you... he’d just left. The hell was he thinking? You must have sensed his sudden panic because you looked over at him again and studied his face. “It’s just a bullet graze, Daryl.” Your tone was flat this time, but it was an improvement over the previous anger. “I’d rather be alone,” you said quietly. You hesitated. “Thanks for the tea.”

He gulped again. This distant tone you had was eating him alive and he felt his blood pressure rising. “Would ya just look at me at least? Gimme a chance to explain!”

You were a bit taken aback by his tone, which was now a little angry too, and you did turn to stare at him, your brow furrowed heavily now. “Explain?” You scoffed. “What the hell is there to explain? You made your choice. Your priorities are pretty damn clear. So, just—just leave me alone...”

“Nah,” he growled. “Not ‘til ya listen to me.”

You glared at him and he watched the muscle in your jaw tense as you clenched your teeth. “Actions speak louder than words, Daryl.”

“I fucked up, alright? I ain’t denyin’ that! I wanted to come back as soon as I left!” he roared. “‘M sorry!” “Sorry?” You stared at him, bewildered. “You’re sorry,” you repeated. “Yeah, well, so am I. Sorry I was stupid enough to think that maybe—” You broke off and shut your eyes, breathing in a tense breath. “That maybe what?” Daryl pressed you.

“That maybe I actually fucking meant something to you!” you yelled. There were angry tears in your eyes now and you fought to blink them away. “But if you could just leave then clearly I’ve deluded myself, because I could never do that to you. So, I guess I don’t know what this—” you gestured to yourself and then to him, “—is. Was. Whatever... apparently it’s nothing.” The archer stared at you feeling like his heart had split open. “That ain’t—that ain’t true. And it wasn’t that simple. S’not that simple.” He took a hesitant step toward you.

Your jaw was still set. “Forget it. You don’t need to explain anything to me. It’s not like we were.... together. I was stupid to read into anything. I’m—I’m done. I’ll just send Glenn up later,” you murmured, trying to storm out of the guard tower, ready to race down the stairs and leave the whole mess behind you. But Daryl’s hand gently caught you as you tried to move past him, landing lightly but firmly on your arm.

“Nah. Don’t do that! Don’t just—just dismiss this!” he growled.

You stared up at him, caught off-guard by his hand on you, by him physically stopping you from leaving. You were trying to think of something to say but your mind was suddenly blank. His hand finally dropped from your arm but instead of backing off he stepped closer to you. “This ain’t nothin’!” he argued. “And ya weren’t kiddin’ yerself. Now just stop bein’ so damn stubborn and talk to me!” You felt your resolve crumbling a little. “I—I don’t have anything else to say!” you retorted angrily. “Now let me by!” You tried to brush past him again but he stepped right in your way. “Daryl,” you growled. “Get outta the way.” “Nah,” he said shaking his head. “Ya wanna be stubborn? Fine, but so will I.”

“Move!” you yelled at him again, feeling a flush of angry heat in your face. “No,” he said again, this time catching your eyes with his blue ones.

Your chest was heaving with angry and nervous breaths. “Let me go,” you said, and this time even you were surprised by how weak your own request sounded.

Daryl stared down at you, his posture defiant, obstinate. His heart was absolutely racing in his chest and he finally couldn’t suppress the urge any longer. He clasped your face in both hands and kissed you urgently, something he’d wanted to do for so long, but even more so since he’d tried to leave. It was all he could think about. A moment later he was sweeping you into him with a hand on your lower back.

You let out a noise of surprise and stumbled back, away from him, staring at him standing there with his chest heaving. “Wh—what the hell are you doing?”

Daryl gulped. Oh shit. Had he just fucked things up worse? He gestured vaguely with one hand. “This ain’t nothin’,” he drawled, breathless from his lips on yours. He stepped toward you cautiously again, half expecting you to move away or brush past him for the exit, but you didn’t move. He anxiously licked his lips, and you felt butterflies flit to life in your stomach. “‘M sorry,” he said again.

You stared at him, a quizzical expression on your face. You wanted his lips on yours again. “Say it again,” you said softly. You stepped closer to him.

Daryl stared down into your eyes. The regret in his was plain. He slipped his fingers into your hair and clasped your face again. “‘M so sorry. I ain’t ever gonna leave again if I can help it.”

Your expression softened and you grabbed onto the front of his vest and pulled his lips down to meet yours, kissing him heatedly. Daryl’s hand landed on your lower back again and he pulled you against him, pressing forward so you were touching practically from knees to nose. His kiss was urgent, feverish. He pressed into you and you moved backwards blindly until you felt the table behind you. Daryl’s strong hands lifted you, setting you on the edge. You looped your arms around his neck and gently bit at his lower lip, eliciting a chesty growl from him. His hands wandered over your back and smoothed down your sides, feeling the curve of your waist and angles of your hips. They wandered down further and ran over your thighs, sending tingles of electricity up your back. You tugged him into you more tightly, feeling his hips pressing into the inside of your knees as you sat on the table. You slid a hand under his vest, around his back, and scratched your nails over the thin cotton of his shirt, feeling his strong, tense muscles beneath the material. He pulled back from you suddenly and your eyes opened, long eyelashes fluttering, disappointed and feeling the inches between your lips profoundly. “What is it?” you asked him, completely out of breath. He just stared down at you, not lifting his hands from your hips. “Nothin’. Just tryin’ to convince myself this is really happenin’,” he drawled, his eyes flitting between yours and your partially parted lips.

You ran your fingers through his hair and he leaned into your touch. “It is.”

He looked suddenly nervous again. “Listen, I still wanna tell ya... I can’t entirely explain it. I know Merle’s an asshole. Of course I know that... But he’s my brother. And it was almost like I didn’t have a choice in the matter. I’d already left him once in Atlanta. I couldn’t do it again.” Daryl rushed on, still in vague disbelief that somehow you’d gone from yelling at him to kissing him in a span of a few minutes. “But as soon as we were alone out there... I realized he might be my brother but he ain’t really my family anymore. Maybe he never was.”

You gulped and nodded, pressing your hand flush to his chest and feeling his racing heart beneath your fingers. “I’m sorry I was so hard on you,” you said regretfully. “I was just—hurt.”

He nodded. “I can’t blame ya. ‘M sorry.”

You looped your arms around his neck again and he gave in to the gentle tug easily as you pulled his lips back to yours. The heat built between you again and you let out a small sigh as Daryl’s lips wandered from yours to kiss your neck and the delicate skin by your collarbone, his fingers tangling roughly into your hair. You found yourself arching into him more and more and Daryl was reeling as your fingernails lightly scratched his back, even over the fabric of his shirt. But the building heat was quickly quashed by the sound of the squeaky metal hinges on the door to the stairwell and both of you startled. Daryl spun around and you jumped up from your spot on the table, accidentally knocking the mug of tea to the floor, which of course shattered and sent liquid splashing everywhere. Your entire face flushed as you saw Glenn standing in the doorway with a surprised look on his face, one hand still on the doorknob.

“Uhhhhh... sorry,” he mumbled. But his face quickly broke into a grin he tried to stifle. “I’ll just—I’m gonna go,” he said jutting a thumb back over his shoulder, unable to keep the amusement out of his voice. Daryl shifted uncomfortably next to you. Glenn turned on his heel and headed right back down the stairs and into the cellblock again.

Rick, unable to sleep with the threat of the Governor still looming, caught sight of him returning and gave him a questioning look. “I thought you were on guard duty now?” he asked curiously. Glenn smiled and laughed a little awkwardly. “Uhh, yeah, but uhh—Y/N and Daryl have got it,” he said, his eyebrows lifting. “Y/N and Daryl? Isn’t she still pissed at him?” the sheriff asked, looping one thumb into his pocket. Glenn laughed again. “I’m pretty sure they made up... Night, Rick.”

#daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon twd #the walking dead #twd fanfics #daryl dixon drabbles #daryl imagines #daryl dixon x reader #fanfics #writers of tumblr #twd drabbles

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xxwritemeastoryxx · 3 years

Text

Unintended Target

Author: xxwritemeastoryxx

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Reader, Avengers x Reader

Request: Hellus can I have a Bucky Barnes angst where you're dating and like you get hurt really bad on a mission because you tried protecting him and he just cannot stop crying while you're being treated. Steve like literally has to hold him through it. Ending in fluff. Sorry for so many details ahahaha! -Anon

Word Count:

Warnings: Canon typical violence, mentions of blood, a bit of angst

Author’s Note: We've reached the ending of the first week of May Madness! And welcome to my first one shot for the MCU! But you know me. I do hope you guys enjoy

Feedback gives me life and motivation for future things. ♥

Y/N never believed that she’d ever be able to run as fast as she had. Her heart pounded in her chest as she raced against time to get across the property in time. The sound of her boots hitting the ground had been lost to the sounds of gunfire that surrounded her.

She and the rest of the Avengers were dealing with the remnants of a hydra base. What was supposed to be a quick in and out mission seemed to take a turn. There was more manpower than they expected and it was taking longer just to clear the property.

At some point during the fight, she’d lost her earpiece making it difficult to keep in contact with the others. The others knew she could handle herself, even though they were currently trying to find her among the mess that was being created. She had been expecting to meet at the rendezvous spot with a smirk on her face with all the files she needed in her hand.

At least that had been the plan. But after her eyes had scanned one of the files, she dropped the file and began running out of the building. Hydra had a new plan alright. And it was that plan alone that had caused fear to course through her, wanting-more like needing-to be on the opposite side of the property.

“Anyone have eyes on Y/N yet?” Bucky called out as he took down another member of Hydra.

Bucky hated that Y/N currently couldn’t be reached. While he had trained with her plenty of times and knew that she was able to take care of herself, he didn’t know where she was at. He didn’t know if she was injured or having any issues. His girlfriend could easily wipe the floor with him, but as close as they were, he was worried.

She’s not in the west wing anymore. Bucky heard Natasha’s voice over the comms. She left a nice trail in the process for us though.

Natasha was trying to make light of the situation. If she could get Bucky to bring down his worry in the slightest, she was going to attempt it. Together the two were practically unstoppable, separate them and make it so they can’t speak to each other and they’ve got an anxious super-soldier.

I’ve got eyes on her. Clint’s voice came over next. And unless there’s something I’m missing, Y/N is either running from something invisible or she’s trying to get somewhere.

Anything from the west wing she could have seen? Tony’s voice filled their ears.

Still looking. Nat responded.

“Where is she headed?” Bucky asked a moment later, the swift movement of his knife piercing the body of another person advancing on him. With him down, Bucky had cleared his section. His concern now focused on why Y/N had been running away or towards something.

I’ve lost sight of her. She was headed towards the east. More than likely heading your way.

The plans had been replaying in Y/N’s head from the moment she read them in the west wing. The words on the pages she had found made her heart race in a way that all the training she had been through never made it race. The fear had threatened to bring tears to her eyes. All she knew was that she had to get to Bucky.

She hadn’t stopped for a moment since she had begun running. Even when she was faced with those that tried to stop her, she simply pulled out her dagger, allowing it to make contact for a brief moment before she continued. The bodies she left behind weren’t on her mind for more than a second.

As she made it towards the end of the property, her eyes landed on Bucky. From the looks of things, he had finished clearing things out and was beginning to look for her. She knew he had to be seeing as she no longer had her earpiece. It was something he’d always do no matter what the mission was that they were on.

Y/N believed she had made it there on time. That if he was alone he’d be okay. If there were no signs of Hydra, Bucky would be safe. That getting him out of the area would ensure his safety. It was as she began slowing down did Bucky notice her.

He took off on a light jog to meet her halfway from that point. “What happened?” He asked, seeing the look on her face.

“We need to get out of here, now.” she said in between the breaths of air she was trying to get.

You should listen to her. Nat’s voice picked up in Bucky’s ear. This whole thing was a damn setup.

The moment the words registered in his ear, they both noticed the way a red dot appeared on Bucky’s chest. His first instinct would have been to grab the both of them and find cover. Before he could do anything, Y/N’s instinct kicked in and she pushed Bucky out of the way, just as the shot had been fired.

Both of them had fallen onto the ground but it was Y/N that cried out in pain. Her hands automatically tried to grab at her back to take in the injury she had gotten. To apply some kind of pressure to it or at the very least to see where it was.

Just as Bucky moved to look her over a jolt of electricity shot through her body. One that caused a loud piercing scream to pass her lips before she went silent. Bucky could only watch as her body convulsed from the electrical charge running through her body. The last thing Y/N heard and saw was Bucky reaching for her the moment the shocking stopped his voice calling out to her before she passed out.

The minutes after had gone in a blur to Bucky. The others all speaking at once trying to figure out their location. They all had heard her screams. May it have been through the comms or even the fact that they were close by and could hear it. The words mixed in with the emotions that were currently playing through him.

From the moment she passed out, Bucky had her in his arms. He hardly even remembered yelling at the others to shut up and just get to them. They needed to leave before Y/N bled out or even died there in his arms. He didn’t even want to begin to think about her dying there. Not when that shot wasn’t even meant for her.

He could barely remember how long it had taken him to get to the quinjet, let alone the ride back to the compound. The whole ride back, he never left her side. Even when Bruce helped to stop the bleeding for the trip back, he never once took his eyes off of her. Even after getting her to the Med Bay, he fought to be with her. But he couldn’t be.

There was a storm of emotions brewing within him as he watched from behind a glass window as the team Stark hired had begun working on pulling the bullet out of Y/N’s back. The wound was simple, but because of the electric charge that came from it, her skin looked fried around the wound.

Y/N wasn’t even supposed to be in there. She wasn’t supposed to be wounded and it was because of who he was made to be. That the very organization that he had once freed himself from was desperately trying to get him back. And in the process, the woman he loved was injured.

“She’ll get through this.” Steve said as he came to stand beside Bucky. Steve knew that Y/N had been shot at, broken, and bloodied with several of the missions that she had been through. The woman always seemed to pull through.

“That charge that went through her body, was meant for me.” Bucky said never taking his eyes off of Y/N. “My body would have taken that charge and it would have caused little damage. She’s not like us.”

“She may not be like us, but I’ve seen her take on world threats and she’s come out of them right by your side.” Steve needed Bucky to have some kind of hope.

Bucky’s forehead placed against the glass as he shook his head. “I can’t lose her Steve.”

Steve watched as tears slowly formed in Bucky’s eyes. He wasn’t sure if it was fear or anger that had caused the tears. He brought his hand up and placed it on Bucky’s shoulder. It seemed that the simple action had caused Bucky to let the storm inside of him be released.

He placed his arm around Bucky, allowing his friend to lean on him while he broke down. Steve listened as Bucky mentioned time and time again about it should have been him. That he should have been the one on the table. But if it hadn’t been for Y/N, Bucky would have been taken away.

Steve stayed with Bucky for the time it took to get Y/N closed up and have tests done to make sure the surge of power that went through her hadn’t damaged any of her organs. The testing is what took the longest. The needing to ensure that Y/N would wake up was something that held the heaviest weight.

Y/N’s eyes slowly opened and she found herself in a bed in the Med Bay. A confused look played on her face for a moment before her brain registered the pain her body felt in that moment. She winced as she began to look around before a small smile pulled at her lips.

Bucky had been by her side, his head resting on the space beside her. She could tell he had been sleeping. She could see it in the steady rise and fall of his shoulders as she watched him. Bringing a shaky hand up, she ran it through his hair. The action itself was comforting to herself and if she was being honest, she was sure that it would bring some comfort to him as well.

Her touch had caused Bucky to lift his head quickly. “You’re awake.”

The slight nod of her head had caused her to wince. “How long was I out?” Her voice was rough as she spoke.

“Almost a week.” She could hear the relief in his voice at seeing her awake. He sat up and moved his chair closer before he reached for her hand. “Have I ever mentioned how crazy you are?”

That caused a slight smile to grow on her face, her fingers tightening around his own. “We both know I’m crazy enough to take bullets for the people I love.”

“Doesn’t mean you should.” He said with a slight nod of his head.

“I couldn’t let them take you. Not after everything we’ve done to make sure you got better.” She wasn’t going to let him ‘win’ this argument. “The moment I saw their plans, I didn’t care about anything else. I just knew I had to get to you.”

Bucky sighed as stood up and moved to sit on the bed next to her. His hand came up and ran along her cheek, before bringing his lips to hers for a brief kiss. “I was afraid that you weren’t going to wake up. They kept saying that you were okay, that it would be when you were ready that you would wake up. All I could think about was how there was a whole day where I thought I was going to lose you. And I hated that feeling.”

“If you’re trying to say I shouldn’t go on-” She tried saying before he cut her off.

“No, I would never say that. Not when you know how to take care of yourself. I was just thinking it would be a lot easier and probably safer for the both of us if we stick together as a team.” His words had caused her eyebrow to raise.

“You mean babysit me.” It caused them both to chuckle.

“Is it really babysitting if we enjoy working together?” He asked with a smile pulling at his lips.

She shook her head slightly. “Fine. But even I know it might be a while before I’m out in the field again.”

“About that,” He said as leaned into her a little more. “During your time away from the field, I was thinking about a vacation for the both of us. Lay low while the others cut all the loose ends to ensure there’s no one coming after us.”

“A recovery vacation, while laying low? I’m definitely listening.”

The two of them knew things would never be perfect out there. Not in their line of business. Not with their pasts or even who they’ve become. There would be times where they’d be placed in this same position. They'd be willing to keep the other one safe, no matter the cost.

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#Marvel #MCU #marvel cinematic universe #Bucky Barnes x reader #Reader insert #Bucky Barnes imagine #Bucky Barnes fics #Bucky Barnes one shots #Bucky Barnes request #May madness day 8 #May Madness #Feedback is appreciated #Cause part of my brain is giving me negative feedback #But ya'll be the judge of it #Just help me #if it's crap say so #if not tell me what you like about it

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much-obliged-timothy · 3 years

Text

Whumptober #1

Devil May Cry - #1 - Bound

Vergil didn’t let his emotions show on his face.

He kept himself composed, pretending like this was a normal situation. Like there was nothing at stake for him here.

Nero looked at him with those expressive eyes of his- in this case, angry and impatient. He wanted this business done with just as much as Vergil did. He was embarrassed, no doubt. Anyone in his position would be.

He probably would’ve been cursing out his captors, but the gag in his mouth kept him uncharacteristically silent. Vergil didn’t think he’d ever gone this long without hearing the boy yell at him.

But vengeful members of the Order of the Sword, or what was left of it, gripped his shoulders. He would’ve fought back, no doubt, but he was securely bound and thoroughly disarmed.

“Come on,” one, a man, said. “The kid’s life for your sword. That’s all we ask, son of Sparda.”

Vergil simply stared at him with a cold expression, making no moves to turn over his sword. The man tightened his hold on Nero and pushed him forward a little more. Nero tried to dig his knees into the ground to stop from being dragged any closer to the edge, but he failed.

He was now one or two shoves away from being thrown into the lake.

“Even one with Sparda’s blood can’t survive underwater for long,” the other one, a woman, said. “The sword. Now.”

Nero shook his head furiously, struggling against them. The man struck a blow to Nero’s head, where a cut was already bleeding alarmingly. They’d lured him in using one of the orphans they’d all but indoctrinated after the death of the child’s parents in Fortuna. Distracted by the youth, they’d been able to strike Nero in the head hard enough to knock him out and bind him.

Vergil thought it was foolish. Both that Nero had allowed himself to be caught so easily, and that his captors had bothered wasting time bragging about how exactly they’d lured him in and caught him.

Nero suddenly jerked away from his captors. He was just about to slam into the man when the woman caught him by his hair and aimed a hard punch to his head wound. Nero swayed dangerously, kept upright only by the grip on his hair.

Something about the red blood staining Nero’s white hair made Vergil stiffen. Nero’s eyes were unfocused, and at this point Vergil wasn’t sure if it was because he was about to lose consciousness or because he was concussed from the blows.

Those unfocused eyes struggled to find Vergil’s gaze. Nero dragged his gaze to the water and gave the faintest nod.

Even about to lose consciousness, the boy could make a terrible, reckless plan. Vergil had the inexplicable urge to smile, but he kept his expression blank.

“Kill the boy,” he said, his voice cold. “The sword stays with me.”

“Don’t think we won’t,” the woman snarled, dragging Nero right up to the edge of the lake. From this angle, Vergil could see the cinder block they’d chained to Nero’s ankle to weigh him down with. “Last chance, son of Sparda. The sword, or the boy.”

“The sword. It’s much less of a headache,” Vergil said.

The woman glanced at her companion, who steeled himself and nodded. Doing this meant giving up their only leverage, but both seemed to realize that Vergil wasn’t budging.

“Very well. It’s about time the boy suffered his karma,” she said simply, and shoved Nero over the edge.

The moment Vergil heard the splash, he sprang into action. Damn fools; they actually thought they’d get to walk away from this.

He’d cut the man down before either had a chance to flee. The woman scrambled away, aiming a gun at him.

He jerked back as the bullet struck his shoulder, but shook it off and advanced at her. She fired again, missing this time. Vergil’s lip curled at the patheticness of humans. Couldn’t even hit a target right in front of them.

He knocked the gun from her hand and held the Yamato to her throat. “You did ask for it.”

“The b-boy,” she said, trying and failing to look stoic in her final moments.

“Will live,” Vergil. “I will see to that myself.” He pressed the blade so a thin line of blood appeared and she shuddered. “You mentioned karma. Here’s yours for threatening my son.”

He slit her throat just as his own words registered in his mind. No time to reflect on that- Nero was in the lake.

Vergil dove into the water, swimming down as fast as he could. The water was dark and murky, but he could make out Nero’s hair. His body was just starting to sink towards the block chained to his ankle.

Vergil reached out, devil trigger power coursing through him as he snapped the chain from Nero’s ankle with a sharp twist of his hand. He caught Nero around the chest and increased the pressure of his arm as he tried to swim upwards faster.

They broke the surface and Nero coughed weakly, which was a relief. He’d seemed unconscious when Vergil had snagged him.

Vergil dragged him onto the shore and rested him on his side as he coughed up water and gasped in air. Vergil gripped his shoulder to hold him in place as sliced through the bindings, then examined the head wound. They’d have to clean that fast. No telling what kind of infection he’d get from being thrown in that filthy water.

“You’re a reckless fool,” Vergil said.

“Plan worked,” Nero said, voice hoarse. He coughed up a bit more water and swiped his hand across his mouth. “They dead?”

“Obviously,” Vergil said. He let Nero rest a bit before urging him up. “Your wound needs to be cleaned.”

Nero staggered and caught himself against Vergil’s shoulder. “Shit. Concussed. Kyrie is going to be pissed when she sees me.”

“It was a simple trap. You should’ve seen it coming,” Vergil said.

“You’re right. Next time I’ll just shoot the helpless orphan and save myself the trouble,” Nero said. He rubbed at his arms, and Vergil realized they were badly bruised from how tight the bindings had been. “Let’s just go. You can bitch at me later. It won’t hold any effect. You just proved you don’t hate me as much as you pretend to.”

He staggered away with that, leaving Vergil to glare after him. But there was no retort he could offer, because Nero was right.

Vergil kicked the bindings at the two corpses before following Nero, speeding up a little to walk beside him. He glanced at Nero’s cut head and bruised arms and grit his teeth.

Foolish. Nero, for letting himself get captured. Vergil, for caring so much what happened to him.

They walked on in silence. But Vergil caught Nero whenever he lost his balance, careful of his bruised arms and swearing to himself to kill anyone who dared bind and threaten him like some helpless prisoner again.

#devil may cry #Vergil Sparda #Nero Sparda #whumptober2021 #no.1 #bound #fic #fandom #Vergil #dmc nero #dmc vergil #jtdoeswhumptober #My writing #dmc fanfic

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shyflameweasel · 3 years

Text

Itsy Bitsy

I remember a couple different people drew a spider Hank awhile ago and I really liked the concept.

This was not a situation that you had expected to find yourself in. Honestly, if there was an ‘expect a giant man spider’ warning you’d have to wonder at their sanity. Although this is Nevada that we’re talking about so maybe you should have believed that that could be completely possible.

Which led to your situation of being face to face with the red goggles of said man spider.

Let's turn back the clock slightly as to how you got yourself into this situation. It was another normal day spent savaging for some much needed supplies. Bullets aplenty but you couldn’t eat those now could you? Well you could but that wouldn’t be nutritious in the slightest So you were just looking for something edible.

The hot dog vendors were always a delight to meet but you didn’t have anything to pay them with currently. That fantasy of biting into a delicious hot dog would have to wait for another time. Unfortunately.

You checked the area around your current camp, which surprise surprise, turned out to be barren. A definite sign that you needed to find yourself a new place to live again. Ready to pack up for the night and head back to your tent emptyhanded, you spotted something in the distance. It was a bit too far to clearly see what it was.

So against any sane judgement, you decided to check it out. A faint smell of something familiar was carried by the weak breeze. As you got closer both the smell and the sight started to become clear. There was a lump of...something lying on the ground with the smell of blood coming from it. Most likely, you had just found some poor sap that got their ticketed punched.

You hesitated to get closer but with your lack of supplies checking the stiff for anything helpful was necessary. That didn’t help the unease that you felt though. Something seemed off about the body. Maybe it was one of those MAGs you heard about? It was definitely larger than the average person.

Making it to the body, you could tell that whoever it used to be would without a doubt be far larger than you. With all that black they had to have worked for the AAHW, why else would they be dressed like that. That pit in your stomach hadn’t disappeared at all as you were walking up to the corpse as something still didn’t seem right with it. Pulling your head back from the clouds, you reached a hand forward to start checking what they had.

Only to get your wrist caught in the steel grip of the not-so-dead dead guy.

“Shit!” you jumped, pulling your hand back. It didn’t budge in the slightest. Oh that wasn’t good. And it got even better when the not corpse sluggishly got to their feet and you were lifted at least a foot off the ground. And the icing on the proverbial cake was that you knew who this person was. You’d have to be either completely insane or living under a rock to not know Nevada’s most wanted.

Lifting you higher, you were face to face with the man. “Uh...hi?” you stumbled out. You could see your life flashing before your eyes as you looked into those red lenses. Except...a moment later you were dropped to the ground as the man collapsed. Rubbing at your stinging backside, you looked back over to the boogieman. When you were grabbed, you thought that blood smell was from his previous victims. Maybe you were partially right but right on his side was a large gash oozing bright red blood.

Taking your chance, you jumped up and ran back in the direction of your camp. Panting and out of breath, you counted yourself lucky. Not many people met the murder machine and came out alive. But...that gash looked pretty bad and you had no clue how he’d even gotten to your little corner of this hellscape. It didn’t matter, you were far away and safe. But...

Your mind spun back and forth for a while. “Can’t believe I’m about to do this. Thought I still had more common sense than this.” Grabbing what medical supplies you could and an extra blanket you sprinted back to where the downed killer was.

Finding him, he looked about the same as when you left. Moving towards where you hoped his line of vision was, you held up the supplies. Carefully stepping closer earned you a sharp hiss that made you jump. “Easy there big guy, I’m just here to help.” Finally close enough you were able to get a better look at the gash. It was gnarly and you didn’t really have all that much to work with. Not to mention that you were pretty certain that he would not let you remove his jacket enough to wrap it. But you didn’t really have a choice, you had nothing else big enough for an injury like that.

So, mustering up the courage, you looked back into their face. “You’re okay big guy. I just need to lift up your jacket for a bit,” lifting the bandages so they were easily seen “otherwise you’re gonna bleed out.” You could see the gears turning in how they tilted their head. A small eternity passed before they let out a grunt. Taking that as confirmation, you lifted the bottom of his jacket to get to work.

That’s when you noticed something else. Everything you’d heard about Hank, while somewhat farfetched, all said that they were a normal grunt (or as normal as someone like Hank could be). Well...that obviously wasn’t the case right now cause the lower half of their torso was what you would see on a spider. Large (butt?) bodied and eight legged. Did...was he turned into this? Pushing that thought to the side, you grabbed a clean rag and some rubbing alcohol.

With careful hands and gentle touches you wiped away the blood as you spoke softly, narrating what you were doing in between nonsensical words. Thankfully, the wound looked a lot worse than what it actually was. Not to say that it wasn’t bad but at the very least you wouldn’t have to sew it at all, you didn’t know if the manspider? grunt would tolerate being jabbed over and over. Reaching for the bandages you took a quick glance upwards towards their face. It was hard to tell what was going through their mind but you could tell that they were watching your every move. Makes sense, you’d be wary too of the stranger that found you bleeding out somewhere in Nevada.

You had to lean over them to get bandages around to the other side of their torso. All the while keeping up the stream of words, not really knowing anymore if you were talking for their benefit or their own. Finishing, you leaned back from Hank. They were still bloody (and apparently a spider) but they looked marginally better than they had before. “All right there big guy. You’re all patched up and ready to be on your merry way.”

There was no reply, so you took the chance to look up at the living nightmare. Chest steadily rising and falling. Was...was he asleep? A soft whistling sound confirmed that theory. The man was out like a light. Grabbing the blanket and carefully draping it over him, or just generally from his hips to his shoulders cause that holey blanket of yours would not be able to cover the spidery bits.

Gathering up your supplies you took one final look at Hank before turning around towards the direction of your base. Hopefully your ‘good deed’ wouldn’t be the death of you.

You returned back to the area the next day and found nothing, blanket and grunt gone. The only sign of anyone being there were a line of dots(?) through the dirt. Nevada was a big place, the likely hood of meeting again were slim. But just in case you got your stuff packed.

Definitely did not expect to be dropped upon sometime later by said spider man dragging you into a webby cavern. After that heart attack inducing moment you realized they were holding out some medical supplies and gesturing to a cut on their arm. Guess you’re now a spider doctor or whatever its called. At least you got a sweet new silky blanket out of the deal even if its a bit weird of where it came from.

Soon after that little experience, you noticed them appearing now and again at whatever area you made into your next temporary base. He seemed to like you and once you got past how terror-inducing they could be you enjoyed the visit. Whenever they had some free time or a mission in the area they would pop by for a visit or some medical assistance. Which eventually turned into spending time together. The assassin didn’t talk much if at all, but you did find out what happened to him which was a plus. It had taken them awhile to get used to walking with eight legs and the vision issues. You did love the purr-hiss sound Hank would make when you found out that scratching beneath his chin would have him melt into a puddle of affection.

#madness combat #hank j. wimbleton

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luimagines · 3 years

Text

You React to Him Getting Sick/Injured Part 2

Masterlist

Part 1

This one will included Wild, Legend and Warrior!

Content under the cut!

Wild

Wild came back to camp after hunting with questionable stains on his clothes. It was all over his wrists, all the way up to his elbows. It was all over his chest and it stained the entirety of his left leg.

Out of curiosity, you poke him as he passes you and quickly retract your hand by how slimey it felt. He pauses at your touch and raises an eyebrow at your actions. “Yes?”

“What on this sweet Earth is that?” You wipe our finger off onto your shirt and try to get the last of the residue off.

Wild blinks and looks down to where you’ve poked. “Oh. I didn’t realize it was that bad. I ran into some chu chu’s. They explode when you kill them. It’s fine.”

“Ok.” You hide your grimace at the information and nod. “Well, you might want to get that cleaned. ...Before it actually stains your clothes and all that.”

“Will do.” He grins and continues through the camp.

You bite your tongue at how the stains look from behind and continue on with your little hand held project.

The hours pass and Wild does eventually change out of his clothes and into some cleaner ones. You don’t know if he actually got around to washing them but you have faith in him to take care of himself.

Wild however, seems to be a little off as the day progresses. It wasn’t that bad in the beginning and was very subtle, but by the time it was time to go to bed, he checked out early and quietly got out of everyone’s way.

You had the second watch for the night and it all seemed normal. No monsters, not threats and all was quiet. Wild kept tossing and turning all night compared how silently he normally slept but it could have easily been a nightmare.

With your heart bleeding for him, you make your way over to him and shake him by his shoulder. “Wild. Wild. Wake up.”

Wild doesn’t open his eyes, his face contorted in discomfort but he does whine at your call. “Is it my watch yet? I was supposed to go after Twilight.”

“Are you ok?”

“I don’t feel good.” He groans and turns away from you, curling up into a fetal position.

You frown and place the back of your hand against his forehead.

It’s burning hot.

“You’re sick. You’re burning up.” You gulp and pull his blanket higher over him. “Don’t worry about your shift. I’ve got it covered.”

“You’re gonna go twice?” Wild is starting to fall asleep again even if he’s trying to keep a conversation with you.

“I’ll take an extra long watch.” You shrug. You go to move away to go get something to cool him down but you place your hand on his leg by accident.

It’s also burning up.

Now you’re even more concerned.

With Wild no longer being responsive, you move the blanket out of the way and check his leg. You realize he’s only changed out of his shirt and kept the stained pants from earlier. When you roll it up you see a long, shallow cut, right where the chu chu jelly was.

It’s obviously infected.

You bite back the scream of frustration that wants to build up within you and instead go to your pack. You try to find something to help fight the infection and also to help with his fever.

It’s a quiet endeavor as you tend to him. You take care of the leg first and wrap it up with your personal bandage roll. You go to place a wet towel on Wild’s forehead.

You also try to scrounger up a kettle or something similar to make him some tea to help. But at this point you’re a little louder than you’d like and you wake up Hyrule in the process.

Which is fine. Really.

His watch was up next anyway.

“What are you doing?” He rubs his eyes and sits next to you.

“Wild got himself sick because he let a cut get infected.” You sigh. “I’m making him some tea.”

“He’s sick?” Hyrule sits a little taller. “He’s hurt?”

“Not much we can do about it now. Just watch and wait it out.”

“Do you need help?”

You pause what you’re doing and look at him. Wild is actually being very mellow despite his condition, but he could also just be very exhausted from the day and his disease. You need someone to check up on the cut soon and someone to change the towel so he can keep cool. But you also need to keep an eye on the tea so that it doesn’t scorch and you’re pretty sure breakfast is going to fall on you since in the morning since the resident chef is out.

“Yes, I’d like that a lot actually. Thank you.”

Legend

There was nothing out of ordinary with the day but you couldn’t shake the sense of foreboding. Your stomach was up in knots and you had no idea why.

Something bad was going to happen.

You kept looking all around you, trying to spot anything in the distance that would be the cause for your discomfort. But you see nothing.

“Everything ok?” Legend tilts his head. “You’re spinning around like a concerned goffer.”

“I...Don’t feel good.” You admit.

“You can go vomit in the bush. I’ll watch over ya.”

“No, not like that.” You correct him, waving the idea away like a dog fart. “I feel like something bad is going to happen.”

“Why?” He glares at you momentarily. “Why would you tell me this? I was having a good day. Now I’m going to be paranoid with you.”

You snort. “Sorry man. That wasn’t my intention.”

“Well next time, think about it and we’ll have to- AUGGHHH!!” An arrow imbeds itself into Legend’s shoulder, knocking him onto the ground.

More fly after it, two more imbedding themselves into your friend before you’re able to lift up your shield and jump in front of him, blocking any more from injuring him. The shots rain down above you both and you’re forced to hunker down so the that the shield covers you as well.

You look down at Legend as he tries to get up his feet. There’s an arrow in his main shoulder, in his torso and in his thigh. You very quickly notice that he’s collecting a lot of blood on his clothes.

He’s in no condition to fight this.

He’s out before he can get in.

You groan and try to reach for your weapon. The others are quick to come over and help out. Wild retaliates with his own shots and Twilight and Time are quick to give the two of you cover.

“Get him out of here!” Time commands over his shoulder.

You nod and put your shield arm down, getting onto your knees and wrapping your arms around the Hero of Legend.

“I can stand on my own!” Legend snaps at you but he’s too locked with his own pain to do much to fight you off.

You growl at his rapidly growing blood stains and bite the bullet. In one swift move, you’re quick to pick him up bridal style and run away from the chaos.

“Forget about me! The others are going to need your help!”

You put him down behind a large enough tree and kneel next to him. “The others can handle themselves. You’ve lost your dominant arm and are bleeding profusely from three separate locations. I’d argue that you need the help right now.”

“I blame you.” He hisses, leaning back against the tree as you take out your spare health potion.

“Why?” You keep him talking, making quick work off the arrow in his leg and in his shoulder. “How is this any way my fault?”

“It’s- aaugghh - you’re fault because you- aaugghh- told me about your stupid accurate gut feeling of doom.” Legend pants and places his good hand by his shoulder. It’s not much but you can tell that he already feel marginally better about not having a piece of flint and a sharp stick stuck inside of him.

You uncork the potion and give it to him. He takes it although his grip is weak and there’s still one more arrow you have to go through before he can drink it.

“I’m not done. Just hold that, ok?” You move aside the folds of his tunic and can feel Legend tense up from underneath your hand.

“This is going to suck so bad.”

“It’ll be quick, then you drink the potion and you’ll be good as new again.” You take a breath and brace yourself against the arrow and his body, anchoring your weight onto the mossy ground. “On the count of three, ok?”

“I don’t trust you.”

“I don’t think you have a choice.”

“Ok.”

“One.”

Legend curses.

“Two.”

He takes a breath and you pull it you of him. Legend is quick to scream and fill the air with profanities even as you guide the potion to his lips. He drinks out of pure spite and rips himself away from you.

“What happened to three?!” He shouts, potion half gone and dribbling a little down his chin.

“I counted that in my head.” You shrug and begin to dig out a cloth and your water skin.

“I hate you. You suck. That was awful. I’m never speaking to you again.” Legend whines and keeps sipping the potion as you start to clean up the blood to the best of your ability.

“You don’t mean any of that. I know for a fact that you actually love me very much.” You try to grin and ignore how the sounds of battle are continuing on without you.

“I’ll never forgive you.”

“Let the potion do it’s job and then you can talk to me again.” You smirk and shift your weight to get onto your feet.

“Are you going to help the others finally?” He looks up at you, taking deep breath to calm his heart and blood pressure.

You bite your lip and think about it for a moment. “You’re not jumping into that fight.”

“Do you think I can?”

“After that potion, I don’t think I can trust to not do that. I’ll stay here. Someone has to make sure you don’t throw yourself head first into battle.” You take a step and move to sit by Legend’s side behind the tree. “I don’t know about you but Hyrule will have my head if we waste a potion on you, only for you to get hurt again.”

“He wouldn’t. He’s too nice.”

“Time will though. And I don’t think I’ll survive their collective disappointment.”

“I don’t need a babysitter.”

“All Links need a babysitter.” You counterargue. “It’s like herding cats. I’m staying.”

“Fine.”

“Good.”

A moment passes.

“...Thank you” Legend says it like you’re still fake arguing but you know he’s trying to be genuine.

You hold back a snort and only succeed by a hair thin margin. You copy the tone and grin to yourself. “You’re welcome.”

The others are fine.

Warrior

Warrior was a little more jumpy than you would have given him credit for. You had always considered him calm and collected- if only a little full of himself. But your consolation was that he could put his money where his mouth was. Whatever he claimed he could do- he proved it soon after.

So you let it slide most of the time.

Except for this.

“What is happening right now/” You ask him, eyebrow raised and full of judgement.

“Don’t question it!” He screeches and runs by your side in the opposite direction.

“Charming.” You deadpan. “The Hero of Courage, ladies and gents.”

You sigh and knock your arrow, aiming at the skulltula in front of you. You kill it in a single shot and wait for Warrior to make his reappearance.

“You killed it right?”

“Yes. I did.”

“Ok. Good. Cool. Thank you.” He takes a breath and comes back to your side, dusting the none existent debris from his tunic and scarf. “That’s great. Where do we go from here?”

“Are you actually afraid of spiders?” You frown and let him lead the way again. “Because this place is bound to be full of them. You shouldn’t be the one to take the lead this time.”

“Really?” He stops mid step to look at you. It’s the most panicked you think you’ve ever seen him.

“Yes.” You snort and move past him. “Just follow me Soldier Boy. It’s bound full of spooky scary scalies.”

“Don’t joke about that please...” Warrior grimaces and falls into step behind you. “Look I’m not afraid of spiders.”

“You’re terrified.”

“OK! No. I just... I just don’t like bugs... or things that can crawl on the wall.... Or just jump down on you with no reason or prior warning.”

“Spiders aren’t bugs actually.” You grin. “They’re arachnids. Only two body segments and eight legs negate anything they would have in the insect category.”

“Thank you for that unnecessary information.”

“It’s not that ba- LINK LOOK OUT!” You scream and are powerless to watch as a blue wizzrobe appears from the ground and fires directly at Warrior.

He’s quick to dodge out of the way but he’s misjudged the distance between him and the attack. While Warrior sends himself careening into the wall, head first, the magic shot goes straight to you and you’re quick to grab your weapon and parry it back in the direction it came from.

The wizzrobe makes the unfortunate decision to reappear right as it’s sent backwards and is stunned in place with its own magic. You jump over Warrior, who’s now slumped against the wall with a hand on his head, and slice at the magic creature before it shakes off the magical effect.

Your attack unstuns it but it disappears instantly and you’re left alone for the time being.

You don’t have a lot of experience with wizzrobes but you doubt they go down that easily so you stash away your weapon and make a mad dash toward your friend, aiming to make a quick getaway towards the end of the dungeon corridor. “Are you ok?”

“No.” He answer immediately and pulls his hands away. His gauntlets and fingertips are coated in blood and it’s beginning to slowly trickle down his face.

“Why on earth did you do that?” You scold and gently take his hands away, placing your own on his cheek to turn his head ever so slightly to the side to get a better look at it.

“And what would you rather have me do? Get hit by the magic bullet?”

“You didn’t have to ram yourself face first into the wall.”

“I wasn’t trying to.”

You snort and pull your sleeve up, holding it gently in your fist. You brush away his hair and dab at the wound. It’s mostly superficial and you doubt it would scar. But head wounds are always worrisome.

“Well at least you’ll get to keep your pretty looks. Legend would never let you hear the end of it. Your reputation is on the line.” You smile and poke his nose. “It’s nothing serious. Are you ok to keep going?”

“I think so.” He mutters and pushes himself off the wall and back onto his feet.

The wizzrobe comes back in tandem with Warrior’s movements and fires again. Warrior growls and blocks it with his shield. You attack again as it’s stunned and watch as it dissipates into the cloud of purple smoke they all do what they die.

“That was anti-climactic.” You mutter and kick the remaining cloths that it left behind.

“Please don’t temp anything else.” Your companion whines.

“Sorry.”

“I hate this.”

“I know.”

“Let’s go.”

“Ok.” You shrug and lead the way with Warrior quick on your heels and close by. But you don’t want him to go flying into another brick wall for any other reason so you grab his hand and together you walk further into the darkened dungeon.

He’s surprising a bit calmer after that.

Part 3

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #linked universe x reader #why does Legend's end up so long compared to everyone else?#I mean Warrior isn't exactly short either #hope this lives up to the other one #yell at me if it isn't

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permanentcrossfics · 3 years

Text

Twelve Hours in Miami // h.s. - Part 3

Read Part 1 Read Part 2

You held up the rubbery ring to him.

“M’not puttin’ that on,” he said.

You snorted. “Not even for me?” Even as a joke it felt demanding, assumptive, that he would do anything for you.

“I’ve got this,” he said, pulling the vibrator from your grip, “if I wanna do summat for you.” He frowned, feeling around, before he twisted it and it hummed to life in his hand. “Ahhhh,” he crowed. “There it is.” He grinned at you and you snorted.

“It’s weak,” you said.

“Sure about that?”

Read NOW on Patreon // Tumblr // Wattpad

Up later than intended here -- sorry! April was a very, very busy (but positive, mostly) month. Thank you for reading these unexpected pests -- I hope you enjoy. This is the last of their total twelve hour arc, but if you’re curious about an addendum, feel free to head on over to Patreon (however, it’s not necessary to enjoy this story, not to read at all if that isn’t for you). Happy reading, loves! x

1:11.

The harsh buzz of his phone vibrating on the nightstand made your eyes fly open, startled from your doze. Harry tightened his arm around you while his other hand shot out to grab it.

“What is it?” you asked drowsily, burrowing against his chest.

“Flight reminder,” he murmured, voice gravelly from his own doze.

Dread cemented in a lump in your stomach. Twelve whole hours together, and somehow it wasn’t enough. “You can use the shower, if you want,” you said.

“Probably a good idea.” He sighed heavily and dropped his phone on the bed. “Later.”

“Harry….”

“Later,” he repeated, wrapping his other arm around you and drawing you tighter into his chest. “I’ve got time.”

Not enough, you thought but didn’t say.

Four hours and a little bit to go, and they were going by much, much too fast.

Twelve hours. Twelve precious hours, and you were spending so many of them sleeping, too, with both of you falling in and out of it, curled up together under the thin sheet. Every time you’d opened your eyes and seen the clock, your heart had picked up in a spike of anxiety, but when you’d looked at him and seen him with his eyes closed, brow furrowed, whistling through his nose, you’d groggily laid your head down on his chest until you were pulled back under, only waking again when a panicked thought would remind you of the truth.

Twelve hours and time was running out.

Cheek to his chest, you closed your eyes and listened to his breathing. He was warm and familiar. Despite being a recent occurrence, nothing about being pressed against him, skin-on-skin, felt new, or strange, or indecent.

“Are you tired?” you whispered in a sandy voice.

“M’exhausted,” he said, equally as garbled and worn. “Couldn’t fuckin’ sleep last night.”

“Because of me?”

You were teasing him, but he grunted and didn’t say anything else, and you opened your eyes, this new information settling in and making you hyper aware of the fact that he’d agonized over his decision to come to your room this morning.

“Why?” you asked, soft enough that, if he wanted to, he could ignore it. You wouldn’t hold it against him.

“S’only twelve hours,” he mumbled at last. “Y’know? Not sure if that’s really fair.”

You noted the use of the present tense and burrowed your cheek closer, squeezing him around the middle.

The kit that had been delivered was on the table next to the clock radio. It was an embarrassingly lurid fucsia thing, and the man who’d delivered it had hardly been able to look you in the eye. Wordlessly, you reached across him and picked it up, resettling into his side to pluck at the plastic sealing it. He, to his credit, didn’t say any one of the smarmy lines that would be all too easy to indulge in, and when you popped the top off, the contents jumped out. Two condoms, which you pressed into his chest and he snickered under his breath, catching them. A packet of lube, a miniature bullet vibrator, and….

You held up the rubbery ring to him.

“M’not puttin’ that on,” he said.

You snorted. “Not even for me?” Even as a joke it felt demanding, assumptive, that he would do anything for you.

“It’s weak,” you said.

“Sure about that?”

You didn’t say anything, but your mouth went dry, and you shivered as he drew it up and down your arm and then across your chest and over your nipple lightly. Squirming, you grabbed his wrist, and he snickered, his voice breaking with exhaustion when he repeated, “Sure about that?”

“You’re an idiot,” you declared.

“Sure about that?”

“Yes!”

He laughed, but when you pushed away from him, he went after you and you shrieked, flattened into the bed, and you thumped his back. “Harry,” you said, grinning despite yourself, breathless from his weight.

He pressed scratchy kisses into your neck, and you could feel his chuckles against your skin as he peppered them up and down the column and then over the top of your chest. When he nuzzled your breast, though, your breath hitched, and his next kiss on your skin was more reverent -- a small touch of his tongue before his lips fell tenderly to complete it. Laughter fell away gradually, replaced by sighs and the gentlest moans from both of you -- his deeper and drowned in his throat and yours higher and unrestrained, urged on when he kissed harder, the vibrator abandoned somewhere neither of you cared about.

“Is this ok?” he mumbled without breaking away. He kissed the inside of your elbow and you gasped, fingers sliding into his hair as you nodded breathlessly.

“Please,” you said. “Please, Harry--”

He shuddered, then, and you jerked when he bit down sharply just under your breast. The jolt of adrenaline shot straight through you, and he kissed and nipped his way up your sternum, down over your belly, and then back up until he was at your shoulder, and it was then that you lifted your head and opened your mouth.

“Fuck!” His groan was deep and you could feel him tense under your touch, shuddering in your bite. Seconds later, you made a sharp noise when he returned it on your shoulder before turning your face into his cheek and nipping his jaw. He rewarded you with another groan and caught your lips in a kiss that quickly deepened and you whimpered, pushing your hands up his back to pull him closer. His cock was hard in the crease between your thigh and pelvis, and you moaned when he rutted his hips once, twice, instinctively seeking relief.

“M’gonna….” He swallowed hard and your hands simultaneously reached for the abandoned contents of the kit scattered in the sheets. You got a condom by your fingertips first, and you clapped your hand to the back of his neck to hold him in the kiss before letting go to fumble with the packet. You slid the latex disk out before he lifted up for you to roll it onto his cock in one quick motion, and you smoothed your hand down to finish the job.

“Good?” you whispered. He nodded, eyes barely open and his jaw tight and sharp. He exhaled with rattling force, then, and dropped his forehead to your shoulder. You kissed his at the same spot you’d bitten, and when he shifted, you opened your legs wider and swallowed back your beating heart.

“Ok, I’m…” he mumbled, turning his face into your neck. He peppered kisses up it and your jaw, and you inhaled sharply when he rolled his hips over yours, cock nestled over your clit. You whimpered and dug your left hand into his back while his own laced with your right next to the pillow your head was on. “Ok?” he prompted, voice strained.

You nodded quickly. “Mmhm.”

He kissed you through his first slow, sinking thrust, dipping in and out of you to give you time to adjust and open easily for him, swallowing up each of your noises and taking your deathgrip on his playing hand in stride. You were wet, and it wasn’t difficult or painful, but it was… he was… a lot. You pulsed with each bit more he stretched you, and you could feel him throbbing inside you, too.

“You’re ok,” he mumbled against your mouth. You sighed, parting your lips when his tongue dipped between their seam, and he took the inch you gave him without a moment’s hesitation. You groaned together on his next thrust, and you squeezed your thighs around his hips when he repeated it, finding his angle to glide in and out.

You huffed laughs and sputtered gracelessly against each other’s mouths, in a raw, unskilled and unpracticed way that was analogous to an inability to walk and chew gum at the same time but, somehow, held more primal appeal. You were robbing each other of finesse and patience, each one as guilty as the other, and there was some pride in that, too. If you focused and separated out each sensory experience, you could feel his necklaces dragging against your skin, back and forth in time with each roll of his hips.

His moans were what killed you, though. Soft, lazy rumbles trapped in his throat and smothered into your mouth, his own curved in unspoken pleasure. There was something selfish in the way he grabbed you, held you, kissed you, fucked you, trying to get everything all at once because he wanted it. He broke with one that went straight to your toes and pressed his forehead against yours.

“Look at me,” he pled. “Look at me, look at….”

You cracked your heavy lids open and caught his tremulous smile as he nodded. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes glinted under the shadow of his sweaty hair. “That’s it,” he murmured. “That’s it, honey… oh….”

His eyes fell shut with his groan and you had the distinct thought that he should be looking at you, too, if you had to keep your eyes open. Your mouth moved uselessly, though, yielding only whimpers and soft iterations of his name. You kissed his neck, his jaw, his shoulder, and his bicep, feeling borderline hysteria swell in you because nothing was enough. Nothing satisfied you, you wanted your mouth everywhere, your hands, his mouth and hands. Twelve hours wasn’t enough. It was almost over and you’d just gotten him.

“Harry….”

He must’ve heard it in the way you said his name, because he thrust harder, then, each fall of his hips heavier than the last and punctuated by grunts that were beyond man.

“Don’t stop,” you whimpered. “Please… please don’t sto-- oh!” Pleas turned to babbles and you clutched him closer, hands slipping and finding their place on his body again each time. Both of you descended into a language neither of you spoke but somehow understood, following a path made up of instinct and cues. When he rolled over and took you with him, you bore down on his chest and squeezed his hips with your thighs as he guided you by yours, restrained but encouraging, but it didn’t last long before he groaned gutturally through his teeth and his stomach tensed to pull himself up. You locked your arms around his neck as he found your mouth again, but you were just finding your rhythm when he broke with a shuddering breath.

“Over,” he whispered. “Over-- on your-- is that--?”

Between the both of you, you managed to clamber off him, and you melted from your hands and knees onto your stomach, holding the sheets in your fists with your cheek pressed into the mattress. You shouted wordlessly when he thrust in again, his hands on your hip and ass, and your eyes watered with the even, deep rhythm he found. You could see his lips moving and eyes rolling up in the mirror on the wall, and you stared, transfixed and with your abdomen growing tighter and heavier.

“Tight,” he said under his breath in awe. “Tight, tight, fuckin’... fuck….”

You turned your face into the bed and your pitchy moan echoed through the mattress.

“Lemme hear,” he said. “Oh, lemme….”

“I wanna--” You gulped, mouth dry. “Harry, I wanna--”

“I know,” he muttered, his thrusts rough and choppy. “Fuck, I know, I know….”

Whimpering, you lifted your hips slightly, and it was then he pulled out completely again and rolled you onto your back. “C’mere,” he said, pushing your knees apart. “C’mere, good girl.”

He pressed his fingers to your clit and your back bowed away from the bed as you cried out, throat tight. He stroked, and pressed, and teased until the room was spinning from how your head rolled from side to side. You were pretty sure he was inside you when you came, but your orgasm was so deep and powerful all you could do was hold onto him through it and cling to consciousness through endless pulses. You went lax with a wet, ugly sound, and he followed suit in seconds, trapping you against the mattress. You writhed together, seeking grounding relief, and he tucked his head into the crook of your neck as your knee went between his thighs, arms winding around the other and slipping on sweaty skin….

“You’re ok,” he groaned. “You’re o-ok.” He smashed a kiss to your shoulder and you absorbed every rattling breath he took. He sputtered laugh. “G-got you good there.”

You nodded and closed your eyes against the spinning room.

***

3:50.

You didn’t even remember falling asleep. One minute you weren’t and the next you were waking up to the sound of your shower running. You sat up with a start, hand flying out beside you, and you blinked, quickly doing the math. Just over an hour and a half left, and then he’d be gone.

“Fuck,” you whispered, dragging your hand down your face. You didn’t even know when you’d fallen asleep, so you didn’t know how long you’d been out or how much time was wasted just lying there unconscious. Your robe was on the edge of the bed and you eased closer, with sore limbs and joints, until you could grab it to pull over your shoulders. You nuzzled the collar and took a deep breath, catching what he’d smelled like before the sex on it. From the corner of your eye, you saw a tied up condom in the wastebasket, and you snorted, burying into the soft fabric. You didn’t even remember him when he came. Not his face, or what he’d felt like, or any of it. You’d been so far gone yourself, you’d missed it.

Everything that’d happened had been real.

The bathroom door opened and you looked up as he strolled out in a towel. He met your eyes and you blinked, noting the softness in his features. He nodded, a slight bob of his head, and you returned it. When he dropped the towel, your lips quirked in amusement. Just twelve hours ago, the sight would’ve scandalized you in more ways than one. Now, you’d had sex with him and it was like he did this every day.

Clothes on, he moved through your room in organized chaos, gathering up what he needed and double checking this, that, or the other thing in the process. Already, he looked a little less like Harry, and a little more like who he had to be. Who he should be, who people expected him to be. Not even an hour ago, he was in bed with you, naked and unguarded, and now he was sharper and looking from the corners of both eyes.

“Do you have everything?” you asked, finally breaking the silence.

“Hmm?” He looked up. “Yeah,” he said before you could ask again. “Yeah, I think… just feel like m’missing summat….” His brow was furrowed and again he retraced his steps through your room and bathroom and you stayed out of his way, curled up on the edge of the bed. You knew better than to get in the way of Hurricane Harry.

“I’ll keep it for you,” you said. “If you have. Or, you know—“ you went on, faltering when he looked at you— “send it on. Probably not to London, because you won’t be there for… but if you tell me where, or who, then I can.”

Where was he going? Who would he be with? Would he be coming home at all? Twelve hours had already been tight, but suddenly they felt scarce compressed between months of vague wondering and waiting.

“Thanks,” was all he said. “Ok.” He exhaled, smoothing his hands down his t-shirt. “I think that’s….”

You stood when he picked up his bag and followed him towards the door. Should you be? Was this pathetic? Trailing after him like—?

You squeaked when he stopped short and turned. “What’s wrong?” you asked reflexively. His eyes were wide and his jaw was set, sharp, and his face was a little pale even in the shadows.

“I’m gonna be back home soon,” he said. “Ok?”

“I know,” you said.

He licked his lips. “So when I get back….” he took a deep breath. “I’ll see you when I get back?”

You were working rapidly to fit the pieces of what he was saying together, and you nodded, although you weren’t entirely sure what you were agreeing to. How soon was soon? When would he be home? What would you be figuring out, and what did that mean in the meantime? Were you, even tentatively, starting something? What went with that, for him and for you? The idea of him even flirting with someone else made your insides molten. Before, the thought would tickle and prickle uncomfortably, but you’d had twelve hours with him where he was yours and vice versa. You’d slept with him -- knew things about him and what he liked, what made him feel good. He’d made you feel….

He exhaled, lips turning up at one corner, and he pulled his shoulders back. He looked simultaneously relieved and cocky. “Right,” he said, mouth still twitching. “I’ll see you when I’m back.” Before you could wonder, he slipped his hand over your waist and leaned in. The kiss was quick — not like most of the ones you’d shared over the course of the day — but he squeezed your cheek. “I’ll see you,” he repeated.

You smiled slightly and stepped back as he opened the door, and then… he was gone. Until he wouldn’t be again.

Twelve hours and everything had changed completely. Nuzzling the collar of your robe again, you turned and slowly padded back into your room.

#harry smut #harry styles smut #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry x reader #harry styles fic #twelve hours in miami #twelve hours in miami 3 #permanentcross fic #permanentcross #original writing

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sweetestlamb · 3 years

Text

You’ve Got a Friend in Me

Summary: You deserve to be my brother.

Author’s Note: I won’t go on a rant here many of you have already done so and much more eloquently than I can, Han Seo deserved to live and I think it would have been so much more original and refreshing if they didn’t kill the victimized character who was finally getting a second lease on life with his new family. If any of you read BMTL you know that I have a weak spot for abused characters and when they are treated this way I can’t stand for it. So join me here in this alternate reality where puppy does not die and instead he gets the love and rebirth that he deserves.

Everything is white hot pain, and he wonders if this is what death feels like and if so why must this suffering follow him even into death? When will he finally be free from agony if not now? There are a flurry of sounds surrounding him but nothing decipherable until he hears, “Clear!” a voice shouts in the distance but he doesn’t know who that is, where exactly would someone like him go after death? Surely he hasn’t atoned enough for his sin of compliance to be granted a passage to pearly gates or a gracious omnipresent presence, there is only one place for someone like him. Hell.

It doesn’t scare him, not with the life that he has lived. His hell started a long time ago, with a father that couldn’t be bothered with him no matter how many bruises and cuts littered his prepubescent body. Those very marks put there by the one person he desperately wanted to please, his hyung. That has been hell, a long enduring and never-ending hell and almost demonically poetic that was the cause of his very demise. The bullet through his ribs was nothing compared to every day of his life, up until he met Vincenzo and saw what living was supposed to be like. He had never truly lived before and the very moment he had started that had been snatched from his bloody hands.

Fuck it all. He was ready to go.

But regardless of his acceptance the pain sears on and he can see the ghastly face of Vincenzo peering down at him, eyes red rimmed and those words that he had longed to hear since he was born into his world and realized that there was someone whom he was supposed to call brother.

You deserve to be my brother.

“We’re losing him! Let’s do it again, clear!”

Electricity floods his body and its nothing like anything he has ever felt before and he can feel his consciousness fading away, his thoughts drifting away until there is nothing left behind, just silence and regrets.

Beep...Beep....Beep....Beep....

The constant sound jars him from his slumber and once again pain resurges in his body winding him before he can even bring himself to peel his heavy eyelids open, that battle almost enough to defeat him but he can feel a presence beside him and an unexplainable desperation forces him to see who it is. It feels like his very life depends on it.

Little by little, he starts to peer his eyes open feeling the strain as he tenses and squirms under the pressure and finally they are open and his vision swirls unfocused and dizzy, staring at a painfully white ceiling and one single yellow tinted light. His brain supplies his location, the hospital. And then it takes a longer moment to realize the implications of his whereabouts, but after a moment’s pause he gasps feeling the dryness of his tongue and the cracks on his lips. Everything hurts, every fiber of his being is in insufferable agony but he almost weeps because that only means he’s alive. Somehow he had survived.

With the minor strength he has he turns his head towards the figure next to him and his breath comes out in a shocked huff when he sees the dark figure in the chair, they had said their final goodbyes already and he had accepted that the only true brother that he’d had was taken from him, punishment for being born in this family. Yet, Vincenzo sits there sleeping looking pained even in his slumber a grimace across his face and his brows furrowed in distress. immediately he thinks about Ms. Hong, the blood staining her shirt and her body crumpling to the ground as she took a bullet for the man she loved. If Vincenzo was here with him looking like that did that mean she was...?

No. It couldn’t be. His brother had already taken away Vincenzo’s mother he couldn’t have stolen the woman he loved too. That was simply too cruel a fate for the man. But why else would the man be here? This thought drives him to move, only able to move his hand but it’s enough to knock the consigliere from his peace less rest, he wakes as if he was not sleeping in the first place eyes immediately blinking open and hyper focused. He vaguely wonders if that is a survival skill of all members of the Mafia?

They stare wordlessly at each other and before he can say a word Vincenzo is reaching across the small space and embracing him, his arms are ever gentle as they pull him in and his head is stuffed into the other man’s neck. He lays frozen unprepared for the sudden show of affection and still not used to hands on his body without the purpose of harming him but then his brain swirls to life and he pushes past the pain to reach up and clutch at the smooth material of Vincenzo’s suit jacket. At the first press of his fingers the other man grips him tighter, almost crushing him into his chest and it hurts, puts too much pressure on his wound but he won’t say anything doesn’t dare. This is the first time someone has hurt him because they cared about him. He wants to hold on to this precious moment forever.

“I’m so happy you’re okay. You lost so much blood and I really thought--”

“How’s Miss Hong? She is....Is that why you’re here? Please don’t tell me he really did it...Did he really kill her?”

He starts shaking at the notion, tears pooling in his eyes imagining the woman’s dead cold body.

It should have been me instead.

As carefully he held him Vincenzo releases him, those large gentle hands warm and soothing on his trembling shoulders.

“She’s fine. She’s in the room next to you. It’s all thanks to you, I can never thank you enough.”

Relief washes over him like a wave, he’s too weak to do anything but fall back into the plush bed beneath him.

She was okay. Thank goodness.

“What are you doing here? You should be with her. Go now, I’m not as important.” He means every word, he has never been anyone’s priority, no that’s for others he is nothing more than a nuisance and a punching bag.

“What are you saying? Do you remember what I said to you before you fainted?

He does. How could he forget? But that was merely something said in the heat of the moment. Or so he had thought but that thought was enough for him to welcome the hands of death.

“I see you remember. You are important to me. You’re my brother Han Seo-ah.”

He can’t fight the smile that tentatively crawls across his face, “You meant it? it wasn’t just because I was dying?” He asks sheepishly and he squeaks in pain when a finger flicks his across the nose, looking up affronted but giddy with the possibilities.

“I wouldn’t lie to someone on their death bed, I have principles you know.” Vincenzo huffs at him, striding across the room to pour a glass of water and he watches the liquid earnestly. When the older man pushes the tempting beverage in his direction he desperately wants to grab it but he finds that he can’t his body refusing to move.

“Can you help me drink it?” He watches the older man stare back at him, an eyebrow raised as he looks at him and peers back helplessly, “Please Hyung,” and surprisingly enough that’s all it takes for the Vincenzo to carefully cup his head and tilt the glass on his mouth, allowing the glorious nectar to soothe his parched throat. A dribble leaks out of the side of his mouth and he’s further floored when the other man wipes it away with a napkin, guiding him back against his pillows.

He tries to school his face into something less pathethic and pitiful but he knows that he’s not doing a great job, he can’t help it there has never been anyone like this for him. Never anyone who cared about him as Han Seo, not a pawn or someone to use or abuse, it’d enough to make everything he has gone through worth while.

He can’t contain his joy watching his brother tug up his sheet and tell him to get some rest, he’s never fallen asleep so easily and without a care in the world. He has nothing to fear, now that he has Vincenzo.

He gets more visitors.

People from the plaza that used to look at him with distrustful eyes, now they bring him food and one time when he needs to use the bathroom the lady from the pawnshop singlehandedly lifts him and carries him to the toilet, his cheeks hurt from blushing and he makes everyone in the room promise to never mention it again.

They mention it at least four times a visit.

Sometimes even re-enacting it for the people who weren’t there on the day.

Ms. Hong laughs the loudly, ignoring Vincenzo’s helicoptering and warnings of her opening her wound, none of it stops her and he watches with soft eyes as the woman easily rests her head on his shoulder when she starts to feel lightheaded.

They are so sickening obvious sometimes.

He gets used to the company so days later when he finds himself alone, his insecurities rear their ugly heads. Telling him that they’ve forgotten him and they were only being kind because of Vincenzo and Ms. Hong, they didn’t really care about him or like him and those thoughts muffle his awareness preventing him from hearing the door slide open or the almost unperceivable footsteps that follow.

“You look better than I expected.”

He freezes at the voice, staring at his fingers because he’s not yet ready to face her.

He tried not to notice that she never came with the others, but that was futile and the hole in his chest stretched wider and wider each time they would show up and her glowing figure was missing.

“Did you hurt your mouth?”

He smarts at the comment, hurt by her seemingly dismissive attitude to him laying in a hospital bed.

“Like you care. You never visited before.”

Instantly he regrets the comment, she owes him nothing. They are nothing after all, barely even acquaintances. This crush is unrequited and he has no right taking out his frustrations on her, he was being too greedy.

He opens his mouth to apologize.

“I....... don’t like hospitals. They feel too much like the end.”

He stills at her chilling words, mouth slightly gaped.

Was she worried about him? Enough so that seeing him in a hospital bed was too jarring?

That couldn’t be it.

Could it?

“I’m sorry I didn’t come earlier. I always asked about you.”

A frown is etched into her pretty face and he can’t stand it so much that he blurts out, “ The pawn shop lady carried me to the bathroom once! I have never been so embarrassed, why is she so strong?!”

She stares at him blankly before a beatific smile dances across her pale pink lips, and he hears her laughter for the first time.

It is melodic, like keys ringing on a piano and the sound is captivating enough to fill his entire room and he wishes he could bottle it up and listen to it whenever he wanted to.

She stays.

Longer than he expected and he tries not to smile too large but it’s hard when she’s shooting him that contagious smile. They watch game shows on a laptop that she pulls out of thin air and he laughs nervously as she explains how she once hacked and ruined the life of a man who wouldn’t take no for an answer when she was a waitress at a bar.

She’s scary, like most people at the plaza but he’s dangerously attracted to her like a fly to a light.

He doesn’t recall falling asleep but he mumbles contentedly when he feels her tuck the blanket tighter around his body, soft deft fingers running across his fringe before he succumbs to the pull of unconsciousness.

“Good night puppy.”

He doesn’t mean to overhear, wasn’t trying to eavesdrop at all but he saw the light on in Miss Hong’s room and immediately the worst came to mind.

Han Seok is here to finish the job.

So he races to the door, ready to defend her by any means even if that means putting his life at risk, again. His hand is on the door knob twisting and silently he pushes the door open, stepping in before realizing there is no danger.

At least not to them, he can’t say the same for the victims of his brother.

Vincenzo looks tired, achingly so.

He feels a pang in his own chest watching the sunken face of the other man as he watches Miss Hong, her eyelashes fluttering wildly in her sleep. He makes to exit the room but the low rumble of Vincenzo’s voice halts him in his track, he has never heard the other man sound so forlorn.

“This is all my fault. You would have been safe if you never met me.”

He blinks, taken back at the heartbreaking confession.

Did Vincenzo truly believe that? That they would have been safer without him? It’s the biggest lie he’s ever heard and he has to bite his tongue to stop himself from responding to the fallacy.

“You deserve better than me. I am a scum and you....you’re different Cha-young ah.”

He has never heard the older man call her that before.

“I should just disappear out of your life, that’s the best gift I could give to you. Leaving you alone and letting you live your life.”

No. He wants to scream listening to this and he realizes that these words remind him of someone, someone who has had all these thoughts before.

I am useless. Nobody wants me. It would be better if I disappeared.

Vincenzo sounds like all of his darkest thoughts, said aloud. He has to grip the door to stop himself from running over to the man and pulling him into a tight hug. He can feel his pain all the way across the room.

“That would be best for you. But I can’t,” his voice cracks, “Every time I think about leaving you, it hurts. It hurts Cha-young. I want to stay with you. I want to be the one who makes you smile,” He watches his brother gently pick up her limp hand, sandwiching it between both of his. It’s such a tender moment, he should leave.

“Everyone I loves dies, that’s my fate. My punishment. I had accepted that...before you and Han Seo and my...mom. Now I’m greedy and I don’t want to lose anyone. I don’t want to lose you, please...stay with me.” Vincenzo crumples at the side of the bed, his ungelled hair blocking his eyes now as he lays his head on Ms. Hong’s hand pleading with her and finally he pulls the door open and steps back into the hallway, he doesn’t realize he’s crying until he slips back into his bed.

When the knock sounds at his door, he calls out with no idea of who could be visiting him, a certain pretty pianist flashes in his mind but he pushes that desire to the back of his mind.

He sits up at the sight of Ms. Hong shakily entering his room, Vincenzo’s disapproving face flashing in his mind.

“Ms. Hong you shouldn’t be moving around, hyung would be upset if he saw you.”

She stares at him with wide eyes and he stares back placidly before realizing what he just said. He slaps a hand over his mouth, remorseful and ashamed. He has never called Vincenzo that in front of anyone else, too embarrassed to see the question on their face and terrified that the other man would deny him in front of others. Maybe Vincenzo wanted to keep this as a secret? Why would he want a needy idiot like him following him around and embarrassing him? His cheeks burn and he brings his gaze to the floor.

“Don’t. Whatever you’re thinking stop. He calls you his brother too, you are brothers now. Don’t doubt that Vincenzo always keeps his word.”

He feels naked beneath her stare, shocked at how easily she can see through him. Was he really that obvious?

“I wanted to talk to you.”

He gulps nervously, watching at the older women wobbles across the room before gracelessly falling into the chair beside his bed, he reaches out to help her smiling back when she grins at him, he tries not to blush when she pats his cheek in gratitude, the movement all too motherly.

“What did I do wrong?” He replies, and there is deafening silence before she answers, “You poor thing. Life must have been so hard before, you must have struggled so much.”

He is completely and utterly unprepared for the words and he cannot stop the tears that well up and collapse at her genuine concern.

“It's okay. You have us now and we’ll never let him hurt you again.”

He cries, harder than he ever has before. Longer than he has ever allowed himself to cry, he cries for his youth, for his innocence, for the young Han Seo who just wanted to be loved. His body shakes from the tremors of his sorrow, liquid pain streaming down his face.

“It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t deserve any of it. You did well, you did so well. I am so proud of you.”

When she runs a tentative hand across his brow, he chokes on his tears sinking deeper into the bed.

“I wanted you to know that you are my family too. You saved us both and I can never thank you enough, I would be honored if you considered me a sister too.”

He lays in disbelief, unable to fathom how he has gained a brother and a sister in such a short expanse of time. There are no words, he nods quickly. Letting his tears continue to fall.

She lets him cry, a serene smile on her face as he shakes apart in front of her. Softly whispering, “You did so well. I’m so proud of you.” Over and over again, tattooing it into his skin.

Words he has never heard before.

Words he has longed for all his life.

Time ticks by and before he knows it, it is nearing midnight. They had simply sat together in solace for hours.

“You should go get some rest,” he states quietly and for once she doesn’t argue nodding in agreement before squeezing his hand and standing up, only a little wobbly this time.

“You too. Sleep well Han Seo-ah.” He nods, watching her retreating form as she nears the door and impulsively he calls out, “Noona!” and it feels strange on his tongue, even newer than hyung but his heart warms at the brilliant smile she sends his way, turning back at his outcry, “Hmm?” she replies tilting her head curiously at him.

“You know don’t you?”

She stares, head tilting further and he knows she knows exactly what he means.

“You weren’t sleeping. You heard everything.”

She doesn’t bother looking surprised, he’s grateful for the lack of charades.

“You know how he feels. You feel the same. Why won’t you confront him?”

She stares at the ceiling before locking eyes with him again, “He’s been hurt before, he had a brother once before you know. He tried to kill him.”

He didn’t know. it’s too familiar. It's the last thing he wished they had in common.

“He doesn’t let people in because it’s too scary when they leave. You two aren’t so different, he just does a better job of hiding it.”

He has no comment, there are so many different layers to Vincenzo and he doubts he will never truly understand the enigmatic man.

“So this is enough for you? You don’t want more?”

He thinks of Miri and all the baggage that he’s carrying, he has no right to place that on her. It’s better if he stops this thing before it starts right? He has no idea what he can give to another person, is he even capable of love?

“Yes. This is enough. He is enough, every moment with him is enough.”

The wind stutters from his lungs, this is the second time he has heard a confession meant for another.

“What about me? Do you think I can be enough for someone too? Could I someday find someone who cares for me like you care for hyung?” He doesn’t know what has come over him but he waits anxiously for her response, every atom of his body shivering in anticipation.

“Silly boy,” his heart drops, “You already have someone like that. She comes to see you everyday even though she’s terrified of hospitals.”

“Wha--what?” He stutters out feeling all the blood race to his face, she only smiles broadly in reply mimicking fingers dancing across a piano before sauntering out of his room with a loud chuckle.

This isn’t over yet. Han Seok is still at large and more people could get hurt but he has never felt safer in his life. He has a family now, one that he fought for with more passion that he thought he had and he has no plans of letting that go, for anyone.

#vincenzo #jang han seo #vincenzo cassano #hong cha young #fix it #this is now my canon #I rebuke everything else #Miseo the crack ship I accidentally jumped on #this is where I live now #not edited yet so just ignore any typos for now

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hyuneytoast · 3 years

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✧Genre - Zombie Apocalypse AU, Angst, Fluff, A bit suggestive towards the end

✧Warnings - Blood, injuries, violence, swearing

✧Word count - 1.8k

[6:42 pm] “Dammit, Hyunjin! Hurry!” You shout over the bustling noises.

The sounds of the mortifying screams and bangs that leave ears ringing. Four more rounds with your handgun and two more zombies. They sprint after the two of you with mouth opens wide, blood stained teeth waiting for more, waiting to bite down on untouched flesh. Their white eyes and dark flayed skin only approaching closer. And damn, doesn’t matter if this world has been like this for weeks. You doubt you’ll ever get used to the petrifying sight and tense feelings; How death is waiting around every corner. It’s tough, needing to place such a confident mask over your own frantic, trembling soul. In situations like this, fear was to be avoided at all costs. Fear, as it only made one a more vulnerable target. Sadly, it’s something that often can’t be helped.

Hell, not even supply run can be left done in peace. Luckily for Hyunjin and you, your shelter— an abandoned cabin recently found— is not much further away. Just two more kills and a few more steps through this cursed oak forest. Certainly though, it doesn’t help with both your backpacks full of scavenged items weighing down your shoulders. Shooting a weapon while running to shelter, never gets easier.

Bang!

You watch a zombie collapse as it gets shot in the head by Hyunjin. “I’m out of ammo!” The boy alerts, hands left with a now empty handgun.

Your hands rest firmly on your gun as you pull the trigger, resulting in a bullet flying only to graze the last zombie’s shoulder. You pull the trigger again, not once but twice, and finally shooting its head with both aims. It’s knocked back with screams coming to an abrupt silence, falling limp and staining a tree with its blood. A wave of relief washes over you, like the world coming to a brief stop to catch a breath itself. It’s soon knocked out when you hear Hyunjin shout from behind and you’re harshly forced to the ground that scrapes your skin. “Shit, Y/N!!”

You let out a yelp from the sudden contact that spooks you, your heart skipping a beat. Chomping sounds and snarls are close to your ear, the weight of the unexpected zombie completely on your back and straining your ability to move. Its hands roam around you madly, desperate of any grip on you, but you’re quick to force them off. It didn’t help it was latched on your back where you couldn’t get a clear sight of him and what to do without getting bitten.

And there’s not a doubt Hyunjin’s heart skipped a beat too. He never ran so fast without thinking. He couldn’t lose you, he absolutely couldn’t. Not like that, not in front of his eyes and so easily. Never. Within seconds, he launches himself on the zombie, arms wrapping around the monster to yank him off. As he drags him away, and far away from your reach, he jabs his pocket knife repeatedly all over the squirming creatures head. It shrieks with limbs desperately flaring around. When death soon drowns it til it’s limp in hold, Hyunjin throws the body aside and runs back to you, kneeling down. The skin on his legs sting from the harsh force. Even his hands are covered in blood that drips from his previous kill. But he doesn’t notice as every part of him was focused on you, heart drowned in complete fright and worry.

“Y/N, hey, are you okay?!” Both hands and eyes frantically scanning over your trembling body in search for wounds, or more specifically, any infected bites. “Look at me, are you hurt? Please tell me he didn’t…” The fretting male couldn’t even finish his sentence. It’s a possible reality that he believes he’ll never be able to properly admit.

“I-I’m okay. I’m okay, Hyunjin. T-thank you,” You breath out, lungs catching up on the proper air that was at loss for the past minutes. You’re fine but don’t exactly feel that way. Body aching in different ways and not to mention, your shaken mind. Too close, absolutely too close of a call, and the two of you are more than aware. You were almost bitten just like that; Almost stolen away from Hyunjin just like that.

The boy lets out a relieved sigh before pressing a kiss on your forehead. His voice becomes softer, but worry still evident within. “Come on, we need to get to the cabin.”

“Ow,” You wince at the sting of the damp cloth rubbing your skin, cleaning the blood from your cuts and scrapes. You sit on the edge of the bed as Hyunjin kneels down in front.

“Sorry, love,” He mumbles, hands moving cautiously, afraid to hurt your fragile state even more. “Almost done.”

Perhaps Hyunjin is being a bit over dramatic, he thinks to himself. You’re fine and clearly stated it without a lie, just dusted in minor wounds. Still, the previous sight was more than enough to send his mind in overdrive. How could he not act so worried and cautious? He almost lost you. What if you did end up getting bit? You wouldn’t know what to do nor think and neither would he. He’s witnessed others before; Losing their loved one and being left not only alone, but with a need to kill that person before the virus took full effect. It brings pain to his heart and a situation Hyunjin will do everything he can to prevent from happening. You’re everything to him and the only thing, even before this apocalypse took place. If you were to slip away at his very fingertips, then there wouldn’t be any point in continuing to fight this wicked world.

Hyunjin finishes wrapping small bandages around your arm before pressing a light trail of kisses on it. “You sure you’re okay?”

You let out a breathy chuckle, your free hand coming up to tuck a few strands of his dark hair behind his ear. “I’m fine, thanks to you.”

He hums as he gets up on his feet, walking to a table where your stuffed backpacks rest. He reaches in the side pocket before going back to approach you, hand hiding whatever possession behind his back.

“Ta-da,” He softly cheers, hand now lending you a small bunch of daisies you assumed he handpicked on his way here.

“Mm, thank you, Jinnie. They’re pretty,” You helplessly smile. Things like flowers always give some sense of reassurance. Perhaps it’s because it shows that there are still things left around to be cherished. “I sure hope you didn’t almost get your ass killed just to get these.”

“Not exactly…” His voice dragging at the end.

“Hwang.”

“I just fell and they happened to be there,” He responds meekly. “It’s just, we haven’t seen flowers in a while and they reminded me of you.”

You let out a low sigh, and more of the fact that this isn’t the first time he’s used his own danger as an advantage. “You can’t be putting your life at risk like this, Hyunjin.”

“Yeah, but you almost died today!”

“That situation was different,” You mutter.

“I promised you I’d make this world worth living, even through the little things, didn’t I?”

How could you forget? And even more so, Hyunjin is a man who sticks to his words no matter what. “I remember, but it doesn’t mean you should unnecessarily go through more dangers. Everything’s already hard enough, losing you is the last thing I want. Anything else can wait.”

“I know.” He hangs his head low for a bit. He knows, he really does, but sometimes he gets so caught up in his emotional desires. And to be more specific, his love for you and fear. “It’s just, I want to give you everything and I can’t help it sometimes. I’m sorry.”

Hyunjin can’t help but feel like he’s not doing enough at times. In the end, he just dearly wishes to give you everything he has so you continue staying by his side. The fear of being left alone to fight follow him like a storm cloud. Hyunjin appreciates every moment with you and is willing to do everything in his willpower to make sure there’s no end to any of it. He wants to continue smiling with you even if the world itself is mourning. Hyunjin considers it selfish of him in a way, but how can he not the you are all he has left?

“There’s no need to apologize, Jinnie. I understand, but I just need you to also understand that you’re really all I need. Nothing else.” You’re still seated at the edge of the bed, looking up to the hovering male with an unreadable expression. Is he feeling hurt? Guilty? Confused? No, not at all. He’s just admiring you and doesn’t want to stop. That’s when he breaks out in a small grin and face now dusted in red. Placing aside the daises, you pull him down by the collar of his shirt, bringing his lips to yours. Not everything can be communicated with words, sometimes action is better. And you can tell how much he’s feeling from the way his lips are embracing yours, the way he lets his feelings and unspoken, loving words melt against you. He kisses you sensually, arms falling by your side and trapping you. You kiss him back with the same manner, fingers knotting themselves between his hair.

After a few, you pull away for a moment making the male whine, but your lips remain brushing against his. “Thank you,” You murmur. “I… Just so you know, you already make this world worth living in. So just please, stay by my side.”

Without another word, Hyunjin catches your lips once again, but this time more desperate, a silent way of thanking you. A silent way of loving you and promising you. He kisses like it’s the only way to pour his emotions out, like it’s the last time he’ll live under daylight. He kisses like he’s catching a breath he missed long ago. Leaning forward, he pushes you to lie flat against the mattress, one hand coming up to hold the side of your face and the other clutching the sheets. Neither of you want anything to come between, not even the world, not even the air between both your lips.

One touch like this can set your hearts ablaze, your minds and bodies trembling with a released desire. The two of you just don’t dare to pull away, letting yourselves suffocate in each other’s presence.

His lips leaves yours that lets out heavy breaths. You impulsively tilt your head once he begins leaving a trail of open-mouthed kissed on your neck. He presses his body closer, and you take advantage by bucking your hips up and against him along with giving his hair a tug, emitting a low groan from Hyunjin. “Fuck...” He breathes out, returning his lips on yours. “Promise me you’ll stay too, baby. Please.” He pleads in between.

“Yes, god yes. I’m all yours, Hyunjin.”

Because in the end, all you two really have is each other.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: SKZ Materialist*.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

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beskarberry · 3 years

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Bargaining with Beskar (The Mandalorian x f!reader)

Rating : Explicit

Word Count: 5.3k

Warnings: canon-typical violence (bounty capture) smut: captured bounty sex, rough play (soft choke), fingering, pent up sex.

Summary: You’re an ex bounty hunter just trying to escape the guilds radar long enough to spend a hefty reward, but a another bounty hunter has other plans for you. Can you convince him to let you go with only your charm, or will you find yourself in carbonite?

Authors note: I wrote this in a fury in the middle of the night so it’s messy and very very self indulgent. It’s been a long time since I’ve written anything so if I need to tag something tell me!

Edit: This fic started on another blog of mine but I moved it here to keep it consistent for when I add more chapters.

Next->

You'd had a good run.

It was a hard opportunity to pass up, the high profile bounty you had been charged to bring in had been able to contact their family shortly before you had captured them and the family offered to pay you handsomely for their return, easily triple what the guild was going to pay for this bail jumper. You’d taken the deal, but that meant you would be returning to the guild empty handed. Maybe if you laid low for a while they'd forget.

Of course that was a stupid thought, within weeks you had noticed rookie hunters on your tail. Word had gotten out that the bounty was walking free and a sloppy bounty hunter was a liability to the guild. After evading all of the green-horns for a time the more experienced hunters began tracking you, and your only choice with them was kill or be killed. They should have known you wouldn't go down quietly.

Months passed before you saw another hunter, hoping against hope that they had given up. It wasn't until you had gotten somewhat comfortable on Tatooine that the last one came.

You were far outside of Mos Eisly, the sandy city was barely a smudge on the horizon from where you were laying low doing repair work on a moisture extractor when he arrived. The machines engine was so loud in your ear you never heard him coming up over the dune, though through the scope of the pulse riffle he carried you wouldn't have heard him anyway. You cranked a ratchet against a stubborn bolt,

-crank.... crank.... c-CRZZT-!

Electricity coursed through you, your first thought was that somehow you had made a connection with a loose wire and shocked yourself, but it was soon obvious that whatever had electrified you was strong enough to paralyze you, causing you to drop down onto the ground. Your fingers were still twitching when you heard bootsteps coming over the sand, but you were unable to stand, instead you worked to shake the electricity running through you.

"Th-thi-think I hit a whi-wh-wire there, I- I- I- I'll get it fi- fixed." you stuttered through clenched teeth, thinking it was the moisture farmer that had hired you coming to see if you were ok. The pulse was wearing off quickly, and you were able to jerk your head enough to make visual contact with the boot of the man approaching you, but these were not the boots of a farmer, they were the boots of a bounty hunter.

"Oh fuck" you tried to scramble to your feet, but you were still jarred from the pulse bolt that had hit you. The man above you wasn't going to wait for you to get your footing, and kicked you over onto your back with one bandoliered boot, then kneeled into your gut with the other, knocking the wind out of you. Still twitching with electricity he snapped a pair of binders on your wrist before hauling you to your feet. You struggled in his grasp, a combination of convulsion and fear made you squirm like a womp rat in a trap, but his grasp was too strong. Suddenly there was cold metal pressed against your side, the barrel of a blaster digging into your ribs.

"Move it." A man of little words but quick and to the point, the blaster barrel forced harder into your side to accentuate his point. He ripped your supply bag off of your shoulders and stuffed a leather clad hand into the belt of your canvas pants to fish out your hidden blaster. Rude. He shoved you toward the barren wasteland of the dune sea, unable to argue with the barrel digging into your ribs you both set off in a brisk pace across sands.

"Whose p- paying you?" You sputtered, still feeling the after effects of the pulse bolt. "I can pay you m- more. I made three ti- times the bounty the guild would pay and I would g- gladly split it with you." Bargaining was your only option at the moment, arms and legs like jelly and unable to put up a good fight. The hunter said nothing, continuing to half march half drag you over the sands. "I bet half is still more than double what they're paying you now, so whad’dya say? Wanna go splitsies?" Still nothing. You huffed, dragging your legs in the sand as best you could to slow him down, but a quick jab with the blaster barrel had you singing a different tune.

The pair of you marched on for a couple hours through the dunes towards a rocky outcropping, you continued making offers of credits and services but never once did he respond, choosing instead to shank you with the blaster or shove a hand into your back to remind you of your current position as his prisoner, without letting you get so much as a peek at your captor. Before long you both had made it to the rocks, and hidden behind them was the saddest looking star ship you had ever seen. It was pre-Imperial you were sure, standing dusty and dented in the fading double sunset. The fact that it had survived atmospheric reentry was a surprise in itself. Like hell you were getting on that thing. The bounty hunter shoved you forward towards the ugly ship, letting go of you just long enough to press a couple buttons on his vambrace to open the entry ramp. It was now or never.

Tired and dehydrated as you were from your trek across the dunes you knew this might be your only chance. You tucked in your bound wrists and made a run for it, kicking up sand in your escape. You were fast but he was faster.

-fwip!- SNAP! Something had caught your leg, yanking your feet out from under you and forcing you to do a faceplant in the rocky sand with a thud. You whipped around to find that he had shot you with some kind of grapple, hauling you back towards him by your ankle you were finally able to see who had caught you.

Is that the Mandalorian? From Karga’s cantina? Of all the hunters you had seen in your travels, Mandalorians were a breed all their own. The stoic hunters had frequented the ramshackle cantina on Navarro that you had visited a handful of times in your earlier days of hunting. You’d started to recognize one in particular that frequented the guild post often. His beskar helmet was shiny unpainted silver, but the last time you had seen him the rest of his armor was a dingy reddish brown. The thought was fleeting as you struggled to escape being dragged by the grapple but once he had you back in his grasp there was no denying it was the same man. He was covered almost head to toe in bullets and beskar, all the way up to the familiar shiny dome of it that covered his entire head. You were able to get an excellent view of its craftsmanship as he pulled you back up to your feet and marched you backwards into the old ship, the black shimmer of his visor never leaving your face. You stumbled over your own feet, fighting with the last bit of your strength for one last chance at escape.

“Mando! Remember me? From Kargas? On Navarro? Yeah yeah heya buddy! Hey hunter to hunter you don’t actually want to bring me in, I just know how much you ~looove~ talking with that old cantina crook and the, uh, paper work! Yeah paper work is suuuch a headache! I’ll just slip on out of here and we can both avoid a bad time, sound good?” Though you knew who he was you’d never spoken to this man in your life, and he of course wasn’t going to entertain your pleas, but it was the best you had. You were pushed backwards through the ship, past supply crates and what looked like the guts of a protocol droid towards what you could only guess was a carbonite chamber. He tossed your supply pack somewhere into the bowels of the ship without ever taking his gaze off you. Panic found a few last drops of adrenaline to pump through your veins as you neared your impending doom. Your silent captor backed you into the chamber, puffs of fog billowing out from behind you as the machine fired up. You had to get out, thrashing in his grasp and kicking against the walls of the chamber with every last bit of strength you had, but just like the armor he wore, he himself was unbreakable.

The bigger hunter was becoming fed up, frustrated with your squirming and never ending bargaining; he needed you to hold still long enough for him to hit the activation sequence so this hunt would be over. He let go of your bound wrists and pushed a leather clad hand up against your throat.

“~Ahh~!”

The noise that escaped your mouth made you both freeze, you just as shocked as he was. Your cheeks flushed with heat, embarrassed that in your current state of capture such a filthy noise had been coaxed from you. You squeezed your eyes shut, just waiting for it to be over and let the carbonite freeze you into oblivion, but its chill never came. You slowly opened one eye to glance at the armored man, but he looked like he was the one that had been frozen.

“What was that?” His voice was like gravel coming through the modulator of his helmet, and you flushed red again at his question, looking between the corners of his visor where you thought his eyes might be.

“Don’t worry about it, tin man.” you croaked, “Just hurry up and let’s get this over with.” You squeezed your eyes shut again, hoping that the darkness behind your eyelids was enough for you to vanish into. But you felt the hand leave your neck, coasting down to your bound wrists and tugging you out of the carbonite freezer. Unable to really argue with him you followed his pull on shaky legs, looking at the unreadable face for a sign of his intentions. Once you were free of the chamber he pushed you up against the nearby wall and held you in front of him, completely motionless.

You were confused, embarrassed, and now suddenly frustrated. Was he really going to drag this out for stupid questions? He stood like a statue, the visor of his helmet felt like its gaze was trying to bore a hole through your skull. You stared at him, then to his hands, and last down to his blaster before looking back up to his visor. You watched as one leather gloved hand slowly made its way back up to your neck, giving it a firm squeeze like he had done before, but you wouldn’t fall for that trick a second time.

“Do it again.” came a rumbling voice from deep inside the beskar, but this time it was lower, more measured and full of something that made your heart do flip-flops in your chest. A sinful thought came to you, maybe you would be able to escape after all.

“You’re going to have to work for it, no more freebies” a sly smile crept over your face, earning a tilt of the helmet that made you feel like you were being inspected by a large bird. Your hands were still locked together, but you brought them both up anyway to wrap your fingers around the armored wrist that still leaned against your throat. Immediately his other hand went for the blaster and its barrel was trained on you in a heartbeat. “Easy...” you whispered showing both of your raised palms in a sign of peace. He kept the blaster trained on you as you gently grabbed his wrist with both hands, pulling on it to guide it down the front of your shirt. When his hand reached your breast, you pushed his palm into the supple mound, rewarding him with another breathy sigh.

Something like a huff whispered out though his modulator, so quiet you almost didn’t hear it over the whirring of the ships innards, but you knew what you heard. The blaster in his other hand dipped away from you slowly before finding its spot back in its holster. Once it was safely away his free hand came up to grab at your other breast, earning him another encouraging sigh. Without letting go of the front of your shirt he carefully spun you away from the carbonite freezer and walked you backwards towards one of the supply crates that littered the hull until it bumped up against the back of your knees; prompting you to plop down on it. You leaned back, arching your bound arms over your head to give you some kind of leverage while he toyed with your breasts.

“Y’know they’re even more fun without the shirt.” you chided. The mandalorian took the hint and ghosted down to the hem of the tunic you had worn to blend in with the other farmers. It was thin and yielded easily as he pushed it up over your breasts, the flesh of your nipple puckering in the cool air of the ship. The shiny black of his visor never left your chest, only tilting side to side as he took both of them in. His leather gloves were soft and warm on your skin, gently pinching at your nipple and pulling on them just enough to cause your breast to bounce when he let go. He grabbed at the pillowy flesh, groping and rolling your sensitive buds between the knuckles of his pointer and middle fingers. All the while you made good on your word, making soft sighs to edge him on. Though you knew this was supposed to be your escape plan, you couldn’t help the way heated pooled in your belly, making you squeeze your thighs together and rock your hips. The armored man noticed the way you were squirming and let his hands wander down from your breasts to the hem of your canvas pants.

“Well? Don’t leave a girl waiting.” You rocked your hips up at his hands, trying to get him to take the hint. His expert hands that had wielded fierce weaponry so well now seemed to falter at what he was supposed to do next. His fingers were slow undoing the button and zipper as if he'd never taking someone else's clothes off before, before pushing them down until they were around your knees. The sudden hit of cool air made you instantly aware of just how hot you had become under his groping. You used your knees and heels to push your pants all the way off, kicking your muckboots off with them and opening yourself up for him to get a good look at you.

His body was stiff, the visor of his helmet staring down at your heat, he was so still you could swear he was holding his breath. Suddenly his gaze made you feel vulnerable, as if he didn’t like your display. You moved to start closing your legs when a strong hand shot out to grab your knee and hold it in place while he continued to gawk at you. He likes what he sees you realized, heat flushing to your face and your cunt. Again you rolled your hips from side to side, trying to entice him. What’s he waiting for?

“Please...” you gave him your best impression of a needy virgin and saw his shoulders immediately go even stiffer, the black visor snapping up to meet your eyes. “Take your gloves off.”

He cocked his helmet at you, and you were starting to get the hang of reading an unreadable face. “Just trust me, we’ll both enjoy it more.” At that he tugged the glove off of one hand and tossed it somewhere behind him in the ship, exposing bronze skin of a, thankfully, human hand. He reached down between your legs at the hot core of your body, slowly moving his fingers down your slit. You sighed and arched into his touch, begging with your body for something more tangible. His other hand came up to grab your thigh and steady you, but the hand tracing your heat was shy and ghostlike, almost like he wasn’t touching you at all. “Please Mando...” you begged again, hoping he would get the damn hint.

He pushed one finger experimentally into your folds, dragging the wetness that had accumulated there over your opening and making you hum for him. He moved from the bottom up until his calloused hand found the sensitive little nub you had been waiting for him to find. The roughness of his skin caused you to convulse and cry out, making him tear his hand away as if he’d been burned.

“It’s alright! Please touch me there.” Who is this guy? What’s he never seen a pussy before? You thought to yourself, surprised that such a big scary man would be so jumpy. You arched your back and was rewarded with his hands back where they belonged. He pushed his thumb up against your aching clit, drawing lazy circles with it while another finger began pushing its way inside you. This time you let out a ragged and dirty moan to let him know he was doing a good job. He pulled his thumb away from your engorged nub to push a second finger up in you, making you whine. He found a spot in you quickly that was starting to make you shake again, but this time he knew not to foolishly let go. Your legs were quaking, head lolling to the side and making those sinful sighs that you could tell he liked. He was getting you close, your muscles squeezing around his rough fingers as he worked you to your climax. When his thumb found your clit again you came undone, your cunt fluttering around his fingers with your orgasm. He rode it out with you, pushing up against the coiled muscle to milk every ounce of pleasure from you that you could give on his hands alone. You could feel your own cum leaking down your thighs and around his hand, now realizing how pent up you actually were. What a mess you would be.

You were nearly gasping but you knew you were far from spent. He pulled his hand from your dripping cunt and you watched him stare at the slick on his hands, sticking and unsticking his fingers just to watch the glimmering trails. Cute, you mused to yourself, he really might not have seen a pussy before.

“Alright, space cowboy, your turn.” You nodded towards the bulge that had made his baggy canvas pants grow tight, and he followed your gaze with what you guessed was surprise. “Let’s see what you’ve got in there, hmm?” With one last glance at the prize on his fingers, he took a moment to reach them up underneath the edge of his helmet, greedily getting a taste of you, before straightening up and undoing his own buttons. You were not prepared for the monster that flopped out of his pants, his cock full and engorged all the way to its hot red tip. Thick veins wound their way up its length and you swore you could see them pulse even from your vantage point on the crate. A soft drop of precum was already forming at the tip and you licked your lips involuntarily, feeling a fresh rush of heat pooling between your legs. “I’m all yours.”

The hunter grasped his aching cock and used his thumb to glide the precum up and down it’s length before he angled himself between your legs. You arched your hips to give him the best angle but he wanted to take his time. He dragged the head of his cock up and down the length of your slick opening, gathering the cum he had earned for himself. When he bumped up against your clit you moaned a breathy and sinful sound that made him shiver. He slid back down again and you pushed your hip towards him, forcing his tip to notch and he almost doubled over from the sensation, giving you a ragged groan in response.

“Did that feel good?” you asked, biting your lip with a devious sneer. “It’ll feel even better inside.” His gaze was fixed on where the two of you were connected, his hands like steel on your thighs. Another tilt of your hips was enough to turn the cogwheels of the metal man and he pushed his length into you with a shuddering gasp. Your own breath caught in your throat at the size of him breaking you open. He pulled himself back out achingly slow before thrusting into you again and earning himself another round of pleasured cries. It took him only a couple more thrusts to find his rhythm, bottoming out against your cervix with every thrust. Your head was cloudy and a fearsome heat was building in your belly, threatening to burst every time he pounded into you. You could hear him now, the once silent bounty hunter was panting ragged puffs of air and if it had been any cooler in the ship you swore you would have seen steam coming out of the helmets vents.

He slowed his feverish pounding just long enough to release one of your captured thighs and bring a thumb down to your clit, pushing against it in a way that was rougher than what you would have liked but nevertheless sent your head spiraling and forcing a pitiful mewl to escape your throat. It wasn’t long before another round of lightning crackled through your body and sent another orgasm crashing through you. The force of it made him choke and stuttered his perfect rhythm hard enough that he fell forward onto you. Your hands were still locked together but you wrapped them around his broad armored back as best you could, pulling him close enough that you could feel the heat of his breath coming out of the bottom of the helmet. He groaned and pushed his head into the crook of your neck before finding his filthy cadence again. He was close enough now that you could catch the scent of him, a mix of sweat and metal and gunpowder and something so primal it made your eyes flutter.

“Let me feel that again.” His ragged voice in your ear sent you spinning, and you could only answer with choked cries. The hand he had used to work you into a frenzy before now snaked it’s way up to your throat, giving it the exact gentle squeeze he had earlier that started this whole twisted tango. This time you gave him precisely what he was asking for, your tongue peeking ever so slightly past wet lips in between soft choked gasps. His pace quickened by your edging and his grasp tightened on your neck, drawing an ugly -urk- noise that had you patting his back in protest. To your relief he respected your gesture and let go of your neck entirely. Interesting...what a sweet, thoughtful murder machine he is. He grabbed ahold of the abused crate that held you both up and ground his hips into you, fucking you so hard you swore it would break. It wasn’t long before your overstimulated cunt gave him exactly what he asked for, crying out into the silence of the hull and clamping down around his cock.

That was the last thing he needed to push him over the edge. A few more messy thrusts and a modulated roar accompanied his climax while he pumped you full of cum. He pushed himself as deep as he could go and you felt his cum start to pour out of you, mixing with your own as it trailed down from the intersection of your bodies and onto the cold metal of the ships floor. You were both panting, his weight on you making it almost hard to breathe. With great difficulty you pulled your bound arms over top of him and dropped them back behind your head so he could get up, but he just laid on top of you while his cock slowly softened and released itself from you, sending a fresh wave of cum flooding down your legs.

Carefully he pushed himself up, grunting and groaning the whole way. He stumbled to his feet, resting an arm on one of the crates next to you to steady himself and the other on your quaking knee. You glanced down at him and was bemused to see his glossy black visor staring down at your dripping cunt. His hands made their way back to you, gently pushing at your folds to watch the delicious mess he had made trickle from you. You couldn’t hear much over the blood pounding in your ears, but you could have sworn he said something with fondness in a language you didn’t know.

Releasing you from his grasp he walked up your side, dragging his ungloved hand over your disheveled body, devouring your naked form with his visor like a starving man watches a feast. It was now that you remembered why you had let him fuck you in the first place, but your body was limp and your legs shaky. He ran his hands up your chest and over your exposed breasts, then up your arms, grabbing the magnetic cuffs he had put there. Great. Back to the carbonite chamber for me.

But instead your ears were graced with the metallic click of the unlocking mechanism and the restrictive cuffs clattered to the floor. You sat up immediately, rubbing at the bruises on your wrists and staring at your captor with mix of bliss and confusion.

“You’re letting me go?”

Mando was working to put his clothes back in order, the sound of belts and snaps shuffling into place echoed in the ships hull. “Last I heard you had fallen into a sarlacc pit on Tatooine. Can’t collect a bounty on the dead. Pity too, I’d heard you were such a great hunter.” The man who had been your captor was now leaning against the hull wall, his visor still locked on your mostly naked form. “You can go back to doing repairs on moisture farm equipment, or...” he tilted his helmet towards the back of the ship “You’re welcome to use the fresher.”

You blinked at his uncharacteristic generosity, though you supposed you didn’t actually know anything about him. Shifting off of the crate sent another gooey wave of cum dribbling down your legs and flushed your cheeks red. Maybe the fresher wasn’t a bad idea. The metallic man turned on his heel towards what you could only guess was the cockpit.

“Alright, but no peeking.” Like I could stop him. The thought made you laugh, it was his ship after all. You tossed what was left of your clothing onto the floor and made for the tiny alcove that passed as a bathroom and the even tinier shower; but the water was hot and that was enough. It had been so long since you had felt running water on your skin that you didn’t even hear the engines firing up and the rickety ship begin to take off. There was a bar of military grade soap on the ledge that you decided to help yourself to, it smelled surprisingly nice for something so plain. It smells like he does. You shook your head at the intrusive thought. It was just soap.

When you had finished your wash you stood in the fresher trying to squeegie water from your hair, now noticing the rumbling of the ship under your feet. Well, goodbye Tatooine I guess. The ugly dust ball had done you no favors, but this wasn’t exactly the way you had guessed you were getting off of it. He had set out to capture me, and he succeeded. He’ll probably grow tired of me and throw me in the carbonite anyway, so one way or another I would have ended up on this ship. You opened the shower door and saw something on the counter that hadn’t been there when you got in.

Two gray-brown towels were folded neatly on the fresher sink, as well as your clothing and something that looked like a black knit sweater. You hadn’t even heard the door to the fresher open, let alone him coming in to drop the items off.

“Sneaky Mando!” You hollered out into the darkness of the ship, though you guessed he probably couldn’t hear you from where he was at. The idea of him creeping in the bathroom to bring you a towel made you chuckle. “I told you not to peek!”

“I didn’t.” A modulated voice right in your ear made you jump backwards into the safety of the fresher.

“Fucksake man! Scare a girl to death why don’tcha?” You wrapped your towel tighter in indignation, surprised that your nudity would make you embarrassed after what had just happened between the two of you.

He sighed a long, exhausted sigh. “After you went rouge you took out three top tier bounty hunters and not once did you try to beg the guild to stop hunting you. There’s a pretty hefty price on your head, but I think your skills could be put to better use.” The Mandalorian cocked his head at you, “Think you can do that again?”

The audacity... You huffed and put your hands on your hips in a stance of mock fury. “So you kidnap me and now you’re going to put me to work? Great. Thanks pal. Really know how to take a girl out on a date, huh?”

He shrugged. “Do you want to go back to the carbonite freezer? I’m sure Karga would love to part with all those credits for your capture.”

No... No you did not want to go back to the freezer. You glared down at the floor with raised eyebrows, pretending like you were mulling over the idea like it was a job offer and not literally your only option.

“Alright... fine fine you talked me into it. Let’s go hunting, captain.” You snapped a damp hand out for him to shake, but he just shook his shiny metal dome in what you might have guessed was a laugh. He pushed himself away from the wall and climbed back up the ladder to the cockpit without a single word.

You watched as his boots disappeared into the ceiling and shook your head, wondering now if when you woke up this morning you had any idea that the day would take you on some wild bantha hunt though space with a well-hung mystery man. You tightened your towel and tucked back into the still steamy fresher to put on the clothes he had left you. The farming tunic was in a sad state, but the knit sweater looked snug and inviting. Pulling it over your damp hair your nose was flooded with that same delectable scent that you had gotten to indulge in earlier. When he was pressed into you.

“Hoo boy...” You finished getting dressed, rubbing your hair with one of the towels Mr. Mystery had left for you. I hope he’s got travel scrabble somewhere in this rust bucket, or you’re going to have to find some more... physical... activities to pass the time. Your lips turned up in a mischievous grin at the idea.

What a strange trip this will be.

Next ->

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #self insert #smut

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wiener-soldiers · 3 years

Text

so, you’re real - tommy shelby

summary: while high off his ass, tommy shelby is approached by a mysterious woman offering him something more valuable than drugs: information. your services become essential to how tommy conducts business, but your anonymity means he can’t help but fall in love with you from a distance.

words: 5.4k

pairing: tommy shelby x fem!reader (race non-specific)

warnings: tommy shelby. that’s the warning.

a/n: first tommy fic :D he’s one of the most beautifully complex characters ever in television imo but that also means his kinda nightmare to right. so,,, he might come off a little ooc because he’s very soft!tommy in this. i also wanna write a tommy fic based off ‘why’d you only call me when your high’ by arctic monkeys for obvious reasons.

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Tommy Shelby could count the number of people who’s seen him high as a kite on opium with three fingers. Arthur was the first; he drukenly stumbled into Tommy’s room instead of his own one night and the smell of the pipe sobered him enough to start asking questions. Tommy shoved him out and by the morning, Arthur was too hungover to remember a thing. The next was Polly; Tommy stumbled down the stairs as he was high around three in the morning once as he searched the house for more booze. Polly watched from a distance as he sat himself on the kitchen table and wept, squeezing his eyes shut and covering his ears with his hands. She chose not to mention it the following morning, but a perscription for morphine found its way to Tommy’s desk a few days later.

The third person... was you.

You didn’t know the Shelby’s personally. You were the assistant of a local Small Heath accountant that dealt with Birmingham’s most infamous clients: local coppers, factory owners, politicians, even gangsters. Your boss was known as the Devil’s Safe—nothing that came in went ot without the client’s consent.

But you weren’t a saint. Being so close to his office at all times and knowing far too much about where the most influential people in Birmingham got their money and where they spent it, it was nearly impossible to keep your mouth shut.

So, you didn’t. At a price, of course.

You quit your job and created a small network of spies that could feed you information about anyone or anything at anytime, using your knowledge about the Devil’s Safe as leverge. You charged whoever could afford for your services, coppers and criminals alike. Some self-righteous copper tried to shut you down once. Keyword: tried. There were too many spies all over the city to try to arrest (that is, if he could find grounds to arrest them), and you were too important to too many important people that arresting you would likely have him assasinated.

That, and you tipped him off about a corrupt police captain who had been trading orphans for cash. It got him a promotion and you a protective shield over your dealings from the coppers.

Tommy first met you at the races. You were hanging off the arm of Roberts, Billy Kimber’s advisor, and he briefly caught your eye before returning his gaze to Grace who stared at him lovingly. He didn’t know it then, but you were analyzing him. His posture, his facial expressions, how he spoke to Kimber, and most importantly, his books that Roberts happened to have a copy of. Nothing went unnoticed by you. The Shelby’s were starting to cause ruckus all over the city and you were interested. But, to maintain your facade, you snuck a few kisses to Roberts’ neck to distract him from your snooping.

When Tommy returned to the table with the bag of cash his brothers had collected from the Lees, you were gone.

---

The second time he sees you, he isn’t even sure if it’s you.

It’s late at night as he approaches The Garrison when he notices Polly standing with another figure in the alley. He slows his steps and silences his breathing, trying to catch the end of your conversation.

“You’re sure this is where she is?” That’s unmistakingly Polly’s voice.

A soft chuckle rips through the air and Tommy suddenly wonders what your voice sound like. “There’s only so many women carrying a newborn and looking that terrified of what may be behind her,” the other voice says. It’s not soft or angelic, Tommy notices. Nothing likes Grace’s. It’s deeper, smoother, and he can almost hear the smirk in her voice.

“How do I know you’re not lying to me?” Polly asks back skeptically. Tommy has the common sense to realize she’s talking about Ada who had gone into hiding after Freddie was arrested. Polly hadn’t been able to stay in the same room as him for very long since.

You pull out another envelope from your coat and teasingly dangle it in front of her. “Here’s the list of all of Ada and Freddie’s known addresses. The Communists have them move every few weeks; the address I gave you is Ada’s current address. Go there tomorrow from seven to nine in the morning. Ada’ll still be in bed and Karl will still be asleep. Then, you’ll know I’m right, you’ll give me the full payment, and I’ll give you the rest of the addresses.”

Tommy is slightly stunned at what he’s hearing. They had been trying to look for Ada for nearly two weeks to no avail, but this woman was able to find her that easily?

The woman turns to walk away before Polly can respond and in the street light, Tommy can make out the outline of your face. It was so brief that he couldn’t tell if you were actually there or if he imagined your face in the darkness.

Polly doesn’t notice him as she makes her way back inside the pub. The following afternoon, Polly is pounding on his office door saying she’s found where Ada had been hiding.

---

The third time he sees you, he’s sitting in the empty Garrison with a bullet wound in his shoulder, whiskey coursing through his veins, enough meloncholy and anger to swim in, and a broken heart.

Billy Kimber was dead. Campbell was gone. But, so was Grace.

It was a series of emotions he hadn’t felt in a long time: relief, then anger, then happiness, then frustration. Then the shovels started. Then, it all got too loud and he slipped his opium pipe into his coat pocket before going to The Garrison to drink his sorrows away. He had never taken the pipe out of his room before. In that state, he didn’t care.

He doesn’t really know how you got in; he had angrily yelled at everyone to leave the bar when the night was late enough for him to feel emotion and locked the door behind him. Maybe I didn’t lock the door right, he thinks. In reality, you had picked the lock.

“I could’ve told you she’d been working with him,” your voice calls behind him. He’s still hunched over his drink, the pipe lying next to a nearly empty bottle of whiskey. He didn’t need her to clarify who she was talking about.

“You could’ve, eh?” Tommy mumbles dangerously. He felt light, but his eyes and his heart felt heavy. He hated the feeling. Oh god, he hated it.

“Hmm,” you hum back, taking a seat next to him. You reach behind the bar and pull out a bottle of gin and poor yourself a drink. Tommy watches you do so. You don’t look like you pity him, in fact, you don’t even look at him. Instead, you focus your attention on the drink.

After taking a sip, you reach into your coat jacket and pull out an envelope, slidding it over to Tommy. You had clearly seen the opium pipe that still had smoke coming out of it, but you gently pushed it out of the way so the envelope rested in front of Tommy’s drink.

“What is this?” he asks, still too high to think straight.

“Consider it a resume,” you quip back, taking another sip of your drink as you study the collection of liquor and spirits on the back shelf of the bar.

“For what?”

“My services.”

“You a fuckin’ whore? You think that’s what I need right now, eh?”

“What I think you need right now, Mr. Shelby, is a sense of security. To be ahead of the enemy. I can give that to you,” you reply smoothly, barely flinching. Tommy notices your voice doesn’t falter even at his jab. He begins to sober up, finaling looking at you.

You had an air of mystery and intrigue. Your eyes looked all-knowing and the corner of your lip was quirked. A white blouse was tucked into a deep red skirt with your black wool jacket overtop of it all. If he was a different man, he surely would have taken you home.

“Why are you telling me this?” he finally asks.

You look back at him, the smirk on your lips growing. “Because I quite like your family. Polly is quite intelligent and Ada is a delight. I also know far too much about you, so it’d be a shame if someone paid be good money to tell them everything there is to know about you. But if you came to me first, there wouldn’t be much of an issue. The rate for ratting out one of my clients is ridiculously high.”

So, it had been you with Polly that night, he thinks. “You’d work for me?” he asks again, tone getting more serious. The last time a woman worked for him, it didn’t end particularly well.

You laugh and Tommy is momentarily stunned. It’s a beautiful laugh that appeared in an awful moment. “I don’t work for anyone, Mr. Shelby.”

And then you left. Tommy stares a the door for a few minutes after you’ve left, wondering if he had imagined your visit the whole time. When he turns back to his drink, the envelope you left behind is a sign that you had been real. He hesitantly opens it and his jaw unhinges at the contents inside: there were several documents, reports, and even pictures tying Grace Burgess and Inspector Campbell together. It seemed so plain and simple once it was laid out in front of him.

Under the flap of the envelope was an address as well as a rate of service. It was high, Tommy couldn’t deny it, but he also couldn’t deny how the pressure on his chest eased for a moment when he was with you. Even more so when you had left the address.

The next morning, a wad of cash from Shelby Company Limited shows up at one of your drop locations. It’s more than you asked for and quicker than you expected it to come. You smirk softly and get to work.

---

Tommy doesn’t see you again until he pays a visit to Sabini’s club a few years later as he works on his London expansion. He had been a client of yours for nearly two years now and he was continuosly impressed with your work. You literally had eyes everywhere; there wasn’t a place between Manchester and Brighton that you couldn’t get to. You had been the one feeding him inside information about Sabini’s operations in London, as well as how to get Alfie Solomon’s attention.

Despite all this work, he hasn’t seen you since you approached him when he was high in the empty pub. He gets all his information through courriers, telephone calls from messengers, and packages from drop locations all over the city. He asked a courrier once why he hasn’t seen you since.

“No one really sees her, sir. We just get orders in one way or another, we excecute them, and then money shows up. She doesn’t want anyone to tie her to her clients or the boots on the ground.”

“She’s clever.”

“She’s bloody brilliant, is what she is. She’s set up this system so bloody tight that no one really knows how it works except her. One lad up in Coventry tried to turn her in. Went missing a few days later.”

He doesn’t think about you often, but when he does, he’s reminded of that night in The Garrison; how mysterious and beautiful and dangerous you looked, how his chest seemed less tight with you around. Maybe he’s imagined it. Maybe it was the opium clouding his vision. So, he pushes those thoughts away because as far as he’s concerned, you’re an enigma. Hell, he doesn’t even know your name and he’s been paying you big money and giving away too much of his plans.

But he sees you that night when he and his brothers storm Sabini’s club. You’re sitting on a fancy velvet lounging chair, tucked under the arm of what Tommy assumes is a wealthy banker or socialite. You don’t see him (not yet, at least) but Tommy sees you. All Tommy sees is you. The smoke that flows out of your nostrils as your lips curl at whatever attempt at humour then man with you made draws Tommy in. So does the cut of your deep blue, satin dress. He knows it then, that you’re real. That you’re not a figment of his imagination.

“This place is something else, innit?” Arthur remarks as they make their way deeper and deeper into the club. Tommy is still drawn to you as his brothers gawk at the permiscuous behaviour around them.

The party atmosphere doesn’t last long however, as the boys make a show out of trashing the place. Tommy makes sure to put on a performance, to play up the fear. When he shouts something along the lines of being on a holiday, he happens to catch your eye and the first thing he notices is the smirk playing on your lips. He’s first confused as to why but he understands: you had a large part of the London expansion and you also likely knew that Tommy was going to be there that night. You weren’t there with a man. You were there to see him. You were there to see his reckoning.

The image of you tattooed itself onto Tommy’s brain and the feeling he felt in his chest was something he craved to feel again.

---

The next morning, the brothers stumble into Ada’s home, uninvited. Their younger sister begrudgingly lets them in, still clad in her nightgown, and hastily tells them to keep their noise level down as Karl was still sleeping.

It doesn’t last very long.

“You shoulda seen their bloody faces, Ades!” John hollers, mouth full of biscuits and tea. Ada hisses at him for spewing food across the table.

“Didn’t know what was coming, the lot of them,” Arthur adds, already taking a sip from a flask. He was barely sober from the night before and it wasn’t even eight in the morning. “Fuckin’ Sabini, Ada. He won’t know what’s bloody comin’.”

“Sabini, eh?” Ada plays along, still slightly annoyed but now intriguied. “You didn’t happen to hit up his club last night, did you?”

“’Course we did!” John snickers. “What’d you think we’d do, start small?”

Ada’s facial expression suddenly changes into one of slightly more concern. Arthur and John don’t notice, but Tommy does. “I was hopin’ you would,” Ada plays it off but Tommy notices.

“Ada?” he asks, voice stern but eyes curious. His sister was intelligent, so much so that her mouth was as good at getting her out of trouble as it was getting her in it. Tommy was sure that there was more than what she let on.

“Tom?” Ada says back, not meeting his gaze and instead taking a bite out her toast and jam.

“Why’re you so hung up on Sabini’s club?” Tommy asks directly, slowly getting tired of his sister’s semantics. He mommentarily understands how Polly feels when he keeps things from her.

Ada sighs, having also attracted attention from her two other brothers. She sets down her toast and looks directly at Tommy. “You saw her, didn’t you?”

“Saw who?” Arthur asks, booming voice too loud for the sudden change of tone in the room. Ada grimaces but still stares at Tommy.

Tommy knows exactly who she’s talking about. But he wonders how Ada does.

“I did,” he says simply.

“Who’re you talkin’ about?” John asks next, looking between his siblings. Arthur shrugs at him.

“Did you say anything to her?”

“No.”

“Good,” Ada says too quickly. Tommy narrows his eyes at her.

“For God’s sake!” Arthur says again, slamming his tea cup back down onto the table. “Who in the bloody hell are you talkin’ about?”

Ada rolls her eyes and continues eating and Tommy is left to stare at his brothers. He wants to answer. He wants to answer so badly. But he doens’t even know her name.

“I—” Tommy trails off. He’s rarely rendered speechless, but he is when it comes to you. Who were you? Why did Ada know you? Why can’t he get you out of his head? Why does he hope you’re standing there in the shadows every time he steps out on the street?

“You? You what, Tom?” John asks this time, equally as exasperated.

“He doesn’t know and it should stay that way,” Ada says simply. “She offers you a service, you pay her, end of transaction. Stay away from her Tommy, I mean it.”

“What service?” John asks again, still getting more questions than answers.

Tommy sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “After Grace, she offered me a service. Cash in exchange for information. Said she knew that I needed a sense of security.” She was right, Tommy thinks but doesn’t dare say.

“Information about what, exactly?” Arthur asks, voice dropping an octave as he leans forward.

“Everything. Anything and everything. She knows everything. I don’t have the slightest clue how,” Tommy answers honestly, his own disbelief being obvious for the first time.

“She can betray us...” John warns, skeptical especially after Grace.

“She won’t,” Ada says simply.

“How do you know?” John challenges.

“She won’t,” Ada reaffirms with a glint in her eye. John immediatley backs down. Ada doens’t trust easily, especially after Freddie.

Tommy believes her. You know too much, far too much. More than he or you had bargained for. You also gave too much. Tommy asked for one thing, you gave him what he wanted and more. Tommy wanted a brief description of the shipping business in Bristol, you gave him an itemized list. Tommy asked you to keep an eye out for any potential threats, you gave him incredibly precise weekly reports. He asked people what your service was like as if he didn’t already know himself: you were never this thorough. He knew you wouldn’t betray him because you would have done it already. The question is, why did Ada trust her?

“You know who she is, don’t you?” Tommy asks his sister once again, doing his best to intimidate her. It’s no use.

“I do,” Ada says simply.

“Even her name?”

John scoffs. “You don’t even know her bloody name and you’ve got that look like you’re in love? Jesus, Tom! You need a good fuckin’, I’m telling you.”

Ada ignores her brother’s comment. “Even her name.”

Tommy gestures for her to elaborate and Ada hesitantly continues, “Polly paid her to find me after Karl was born. She found me personally, not through a messenger. We got along quite well, she was very honest about what she’d been hired to do. She gave Polly that information she was looking for, but we kept in touch. Personally, I mean. I like her.”

“Tell me her name, Ada.”

Ada makes a face of fake appeasement. “Can’t do that, sorry Tom.”

Tommy’s jaw clenches. “Ada...” he warns.

Ada’s glare mathces his own. “Her identity is all she’s got Tommy. The minute a client knows who she is, it all falls apart. For the love of God, for your safety and hers, don’t find her.”

And hell, does Tommy want not to listen. He wants to find you again. To see you. To speak to you. To learn your name. To feel the weight in his chest lighten once more.

But you remained impossible to find. Even with his London expansion, he wasn’t any closer to finding out who you really were than the day you first spoke to him at The Garrison.

So, he tried to push his thoughts away. He didn’t get so lucky.

---

He was used to receiving messages from you on Sunday evenings before the week began and Thursday mornings before the week ended. Sometimes, they’d be in the form of a phone call from a messnger reading a message written by you. Other times, he would visit a drop site where he picked up parcels of information and evidence you had collected. Fridays were paydays, so he’d get a Blinder to drop a parcel of cash (though they never knew it was cash) at a drop site and wait for a courrier with a blue ribbon pinned under the lapel of their overcoat to retrieve it.

All your foot solidiers and clients wore the ribbons. You avoided paper trails so everything was with symbols. Ribbon colours were a discrete way for both the client and the courrier to tell who was who. Clients wore white ribbons, courriers wore blue ones, messengers wore green ones, and red ones were used for emergencies.

That’s why Tommy panicked when a man burst into his office late at night the day before he was set to take down Sabini, urgently lifting his lapel to show his red ribbon.

“What’s happened? Are we in danger?” Tommy asks immediatley, standing up from his chair.

“No, sir,” the foot soldier said. They were never allowed to say the names of clients, only sir and ma’am. “I have a message from her. It was urgent and couldn’t have waited until Thursday.”

The man gives him a sealed envelope before bowing and leaving as quickly as he came. Tommy checks to make sure that he is alone before ripping it open. It wasn’t a message, but a phone number and the word clairvoyant scribbled quickly with fancy ink.

Tommy furrows his eyebrows but picks up his phone and dials the operator. The other end picks up immediately. He hastily says the number he wants to be patched through to as well as the word scribbled below it. The operator says nothing else and he hears the phone ring again before a female voice finally picks up.

“Mr. Shelby, I was waiting for your call.”

It was you. Tommy’s heartbeat quickens. You continue to speak, oblivious to his shock, “I don’t make calls myself unless absolutely neccassary. You don’t need to worry about privacy; I have connections with the operating center that patched you through. They won’t say a word to anyone, telling them that you called and they won’t be listening.”

Truthfully, Tommy hadn’t even been thinking of that. He was still slightly shocked that he was hearing your voice, the same voice as nealry three years ago. The opium fucked with a lot of things, but not his sense perception. Your voice was as beautiful as he remembered it to be.

He forces the thoughts out of his head and finally speaks. “What’s happened? Is there an emergency?”

“You aren’t safe at the races tomorrow. There will be an attempt on your life.”

Tommy is not entirely surprised. “I’m sure you can put two and two together; what I plan to do at the races is practically a suicide mission, dear. Of course there’ll be an attempt on my life.”

You scoff at the other end of the line. “Mr. Shelby, I’ll rephrase: you may succeed in your plan tomorrow, but something will catch you off-guard. Something big.”

“What is it, then? If you’re so sure,” Tommy challenges, but is taken aback by the silence.

You sigh, defeated at the other end of the line. “Mr. Shelby, I’ll be honest. An Inspector Campbell approached me this morning, asking for my services to give him everything I knew about you plans tomorrow. I took his money.”

Tommy’s jaw clenches. “You called me to tell me you’re a fuckin’ conspirator against me now, eh?”

“I resent that. There’s a reason I ask you not to tell me anything about your business aside from what I need to know to do my job,” you snap back. “Campbell gave me money to tell him information I didn’t have. So, I took the money and told him lies. He didn’t pay enough money to turn me against one of clients anyway and I don’t negotiate.”

Tommy laughs in slight disbelief, “You clever bloody woman.”

You can’t help but grin at the other end of the line. “He let it slip that he had something planned, though. That you weren’t getting out of this alive. Thomas, I don’t know what and I don’t have enough time to find out, but you needed to know,” you say before soflty adding, “I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I didn’t tell you.”

Tommy nods solemnly before saying, “That’s the first time you’ve called me Thomas.”

You laugh and Tommy’s heart clenches at the sound. “Is that what you choose to focus on?” you ask, amused despite your worry.

“I’m not afraid of death. Not anymore,” Tommy answers.

“It’s a shame. There seems to be a lot in your life that’s worth living for,” you reply, your voice softer that Tommy’s ever heard it.

“Will you do me one final favour? Take it as my dying wish.”

“Thomas—” you start before he cuts you off.

“Can you tell me your name?” he finally asks, but he’s met with silence. He clears his throat and adds, “Please?”

You sigh at the other end. This is not how you were supposed to conduct business. Anonymity was the only thing keeping you from being excecuted at the hands of the Crown or a crime-boss. But here the feared Thomas Shelby was, asking as his dying wish to know your name. You don’t know him aside from your brief interactions and stories from Ada. But strangely, you trust him with the key keeping your identity safe.

“Y/N. My name’s Y/N.”

---

The following evening, Tommy trudges home covered in mud and blood. His encounter with the face of death was anticipated, but still left him scarred. Despite his success against the races and against Sabini, he felt trapped. With a success in the business, he still finds himself indebted to Winston Churchill. He’s exhaused of this cycle and in the moment, he embraced his fate just a little.

As he pushed the door to his home open, his eyes are immediately drawn to crackling fire. He hadn’t expected anyone to be home, as the family was staying in London with Ada to celebrate their successes.

So the sight of you, sitting on his couch and staring into the fire shocked the life back through him.

He takes of his hat and stares at you in slight disbelief. “So, you’re real.”

You turn to face him and the tension previously present in your features fell and the corner of your lip quirked upwards. “You’re alive,” you state the obvious.

“The Devil’s tried too many time to kill me, I’m starting to wonder if God does exist,” he says plainly, taking off his coat and taking a seat on the other end of the couch from you.

A small laugh escapes you. “He has jokes, does he?”

Tommy smiles softly but shakes his head and stares at you. “You’re really real. I was starting to think I was imagin’ ya.”

“Ada says you’ve been asking about me.”

“I have. She wouldn’t tell me your name, though.”

“You got it anyway.”

“Who’s to deny a man his dying wish?” Tommy darkly jokes again.

“I can’t go back to operating how things were. Even you knowing my name is too much,” you say softly, turning back to the fire. You were slightly frustrated with yourself. Years and years of building a network built around your anonymity destroyed by one man. Deep down, you felt that it was time.

“I wouldn’t tell anyone,” Tommy says simply.

“But you’d want to be in my life,” you say back, still not looking away from the fire. “I’m a woman, but I’m not stupid. I know why you tried to look for me.”

Tommy sits back and watches her. A woman’s never been more direct with him before. Even Grace, who had just asked him to lay with her one final time before moving back to America at the races, had never laid out what she saw so simply and bluntly before. She was right. Tommy wouldn’t tell anyone your name if you asked him to, but he would still want to see you. The only thing more painful than not knowing who you were was knowing and still not being able to see you.

“You could start again,” Tommy says. He barely recongizes the softness in his own tone, but he decides the change is good. “You could work for me, have your men join the Blinders if they wanted.”

“I don’t work for anyone, Mr. Shelby,” you say again cheekily, reminding him of the first time the two of you spoke. You turn to face him and stop to admire his beauty—how the fire cast beautiful shadows across his face, how the moonlight sparkled in his eyes.

“That you don’t,” Tommy hums in agreement, still looking at you. His gaze hadn’t left you since he came home.

It’s silent for a few moments before Tommy says, “Stay.”

“With you?” you ask in slight surprise.

“With me, in Small Heath, with the company—whatever you want. Just stay.”

“You barely know me.”

“Then let me get to know you, Y/N,” Tommy answers, finally saying your name for the first time. He loves the way it spills off his tongue and you equally adore the sound of his voice when he says it.

You nod softly, agreeing with his hearfealt proposition. The two of you spent the rest of the night staring into the fire, allowing your heartbeats and breaths come into sync as you slowly fell asleep.

---

It’s been five years since you had started working for Shelby Company Limited as Tommy’s senior advisor and security specialist, four years since your network of spies had merged with the Peaky Blinders, three years since you and Tommy got married, two years since you gave birth to a set of twins named Benjamin and Mae Shelby, and one year since you had also become a political advisor to your husband and his allies in Parliament.

With your years together, the Shelby family found you to be an intriguing, fascinating, and intimidatingly wonderful woman. They couldn’t comprehend how right you seemed with Tommy. They also couldn’t comprehend how involved you were in their success without them even knowing who you were. However, they love to poke fun at Tommy for basically falling in love with from two interactions.

You were currently at the Arrow House doing the final touch-ups to your makeup for the gala you were hosting in your home. It was a typical charity ball that made sleezy politicians look good in the eyes of their constituants, but you had pressured Tommy to allow you to host it on behalf of the Shelby Family Institute. He had been skeptical, but relented when you reminded him that it wasn’t about giving them a platform to look good, but using their ego to benefit the institute.

“I’ve put the children to bed,” Polly announces as she walks into the master bedroom. The room is obscenely large with a king sized bed in the middle, but Polly can’t help but feel pride every time she visits. It was the both of your hardwork that you got you here and she was proud. “Ben passed out almost immediatley, but you’re right about Mae. She’s a trouble maker.”

You give Polly a smile through the mirror of the vanity you sat in front of, “Thank you, Pol. Really.”

“Where’s that bastard husband of yours?” Polly jokes as she stands behind you, inspecting her pearls in the mirror.

“His study, no doubt,” you joke with a slight smirk.

“The faith the two of you have in my is astounding,” Tommy says sarcastically, immerging through the en-suite dressed in his tuxedo.

Polly rolls her eyes and leaves the room, leaving the couple to stare at each other.

“You clean up well, Mr. Shelby,” you state, smiling as he approaches you. “Though I’m not sure if that’s because of you or your OBE.”

“Sometimes, I wonder if I should have continued loving you at a distance,” he comments humourously.

You laugh—a real laugh—and wrap your hands around his neck while his arms immediately find themselves around your waist.

“How’re you feeling, darling?” Tommy asks, referring to the mental and emotional preparation for the event that was about to start downstairs.

“I’m not the biggest fan of a lot of your colleagues, Tom,” you say honestly. “Their wives however...they give me thousands of pounds worth of information every sentence.”

“You never cease to amaze me with that mind of yours,” he tells you honestly.

“And you never cease to amaze me with how verbally affectionate you can be,” you quip back lightheartedly before Tommy softly kisses your lips.

“How ‘bout this?” he says once you pull away. “I take care of getting donations, you take care of getting more leverage on the labour bill I’m looking to pass.”

“Done,” you say with a smile before Tommy kisses you again. You begin to hear cars pull into the driveway when you try to pull away, but he keeps you close.

“Tom,” you giggle, breathless. “Tom, the guests are arriving.”

“I’ve waited for you for years, they can wait for you a little while longer,” he replies with a smirk before kissing you deeply once again.

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