#ch: wade

[hanasnx]

x gon' give it to ya.

MINORS DNI 18+ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ NOTES: @fuckmyskywalker introduced me to the concept of talking to a pussy i think via an anakin smut post and it changed my life so i'd like to dedicate credit to the idea. WARNINGS: fem reader | sex in the suit | deadpool calls himself daddy ironically and talks to your pussy.

A deep groan reverberates from low in DEADPOOL's throat. "Baby, I can't believe how good you look right now, seriously never looked better." he praises, commending the space between your legs as she's stuffed full of every inch of his dick. Another inexplicable thing about his mutation—he grew.

"'Talking to my pussy again, Wade?" you scoff, amused and breathless as you rock back on him, tossing a glance at him over your shoulder. Your spine is in a deep arch over the bed, and the nine inch heels you're wearing are the only reason you're able to compete with his height bent over like this.

"She needs to know what a good job she's doing otherwise she'll get discouraged. Poor thing needs a lot of love." he refutes your judgement, however playful, lovingly stroking the flesh of your ass with his glove. "Give us some privacy, please. Jesus." he tsks, shaking his head at you while you bury your face in the mattress. If his dick wasn't yanking your brains out along with it, you might have more to say. He turns his attention back where your bodies conjoin. "Thank God I put zipper on this thing. Who knew a onesie would be such a hassle to take a piss in?" The sounds of the room are filled with him running his mouth and your cunt's wet responses when he pulls out and shoves back in. "Now look at us." A particularly moistured sound squirts out, and he laughs knowingly, like your hole's said something entertaining at a tea party. "Zipper makes it too easy, you know? We've gotta stop meeting like this, maybe next time we can just sit and talk—"

"Wade!" you giggle, banging your fist onto the mattress. "Just fuck me, already!"

"Don't worry about her, she's just jealous." he tells your cunt, "You and I have something special, don't we? 'Specially when Daddypool says to christen the suit." A wave of wetness wells up from his comment, and he gasps in pleasant surprise. "Oh, you like that, you dirty thing. Next time I crotch-shot a bad guy he'll smell you all over, is that what you want, you freak? C'mere, I'll give you something real to leak about." Big rough hands grip on your hips, slamming into you so hard your ass ripples from the effect, and your happy pussy gargles around the dick it chokes on.

#[🃏] #indy: drabbles #ch: wade #wade wilson drabble #wade wilson smut #wade wilson x reader #wade wilson x fem reader #wade wilson x you #wade wilson x y/n #wade wilson imagine #wade wilson fic #wade wilson fanfic #wade wilson fanfiction #deadpool smut #deadpool x reader #deadpool x fem reader #deadpool x you #deadpool x y/n #deadpool imagine #deadpool fanfiction #deadpool fic #tw daddy kink

[mxrvelouscreations]

[thenexusofsouls](for Violet) Wade found the boy wandering and crying in the woods late at night and knew something was wrong. He'd gotten lost while out with his class and didn't know how to get home. He knew how to get to school, though, once Wade led him out of the forest. Staying with the boy while he slept, Wade waited for dawn and for people to show up. He donned a hood in the sun as he walked the boy to the doors, letting him run inside on his own. With a smile, he then turned to leave.

@thenexusofsouls

Violet and the other staff had been panicking all day. They had taken the kids out for a trip to the park and one of their new starts, Thomas, had ran off. They had searched high and low for him and somehow, couldn’t find him. She had stressed over it all night, since it seemed not even his parents could find him, feeling like it was her fault. As a result, she had decided to stay the night at the school, just in case Thomas showed up.

It has been early morning when she heard the sound of the boys voice. She had rushed to the door as he made his way in, looking him over to make sure he was ok. When she asked him where he had been, her heart sank at the mention of getting lost in the woods and a strange man. Peering round, she caught sight of someone standing outside, hood up.

“Hey! Why did you take him? What’s your deal?”

#thenexusofsouls #ch: wade

[clonehub]

Please spread and donate.

#ch posts #yes i am putting this here im incredibly worried + stressed right now #and yall are generally more active than my followers on main #roe v wade #abortion #abortion rights

[endless-oc-creations]

Mimi's Endless Ocs

↳Re-Introducing Marvel Oc: Robyn Hammer Series: The Merc and The Knight

Summary: Robyn works alongside her brother at Sister Margaret's School for Wayward Children. She's busy ensuring things run as smoothly as they can and supplies are in stock. Just a normal life for a mercenary and weapons dealer.

Sister Margaret's School for Wayward Children was a bar, but also a place where mercenaries accept and cash in on private jobs, this life was normal for her at least. It was a place run by Robyn and her brother Weasel. Over the years, Robyn has met a lot of fun and fascinating people but no one was more fascinating than Wade Wilson.

From the start Wade and Robyn had hit it off, even referring to each other as husband and wife as their nicknames and banter with each other. The two quickly began a friends-with-benefits and maybe something more relationship.

Then, Wade met the one and only Vanessa Carlysle, an escort and friend/occasional fling of Robyn's. The two hit it off instantly and began their relationship with each other.

Robyn was happy for them, those two were honestly the only closest friends Robyn had ever had. But, she also couldn't help but feel lonely and lost since she had grown feelings for both of them.

However, not long after Vanessa and Wade got together as an official couple, they decided to ask Robyn to be with them two. Since they both loved her as well. Robyn was more than happy to say yes.

The three then enjoyed each other's company and only grew closer. Everything was great, Robyn felt like she could finally be happy. But then everything changed when one day Wade fainted and they all found out that he was diagnosed with cancer. He was dying.

Everything was turned upside down, Robyn did her best to support both her lovers while trying to accept the fact that Wade would most likely die.

Then one night Wade disappeared, seemingly without a trace. Robyn saw firsthand how devastated Vanessa became. She then found out from her brother about a Grim Reaper type of character wanting to recruit Wade for something.

Robyn became worried about Wade's safety and wanting to help get Vanessa to truly smile and be happy again she decided to do something extreme.

She would use her skills as a mercenary and go deep undercover, becoming an anti-hero known as The Black Knight. But as the years ran on, Robyn figured that at this point it was most likely that Wade was dead. His cancer was already terminal by the time he left, so after a few years and adding onto the fact he left with sketchy people, Robyn would never see him again.

So, Robyn decided to hide her recent activities from Vanessa, even though her lover could see that she was coming home with more cuts and bruises, and continue on the search for the people whom Wade left with and find out what they did to him.

Robyn was determined to find these people and make them talk, so she was going to take out whoever she needed to that stood in her way. One of those people who constantly got in her way, killing most of the people she was after, was another mercenary wearing a red suit that reminded her entirely of Wade. But it couldn't be him though...could it?

💕 Everything Taglist: @bravelittleflower​ @sunlitscribe​​​ @eddysocs​​​​ ​​​@decennia​​ @hiddenqveendom​

@aaronhotchstuff​ @foxesandmagic​ @booty-boggins​​  @asirensrage​​  @connietheecunning​​ 

@lucys-chen @arrthurpendragon @daughter-of-melpomene @thatmagickjuju @ginevrastilinski 💕 

#Mimi’s endless Ocs #series: the merc and the knight #oc: robyn hammer #robyn hammer #bless my friend ky for helping me make that one dp gif to night time #so it can match the other scene #give all the blessings to ky #marvel oc #fandom: marvel #oc appreciation #marvel #fandom: mcu #mcu ocs #deadpool #deadpool oc #ch: wade wilson #wade wilson #ocappreciation #type: gifs #mine: edits #mimi edits #mine #allaboutocs #my ocs #ocsnetwork #occentral #queerocs #deadpool x oc #marvel ocs #fyeahmarvelocs

[puffywiz]

I'm fighting bitterly with art block but I have a lot of thoughts 🥲 I want to draw Johnlecto

#I tried #I did a little doodle #its like wading through mud #but today I got some tailwind ch.4 sketching done so 😭 small victories

[brw]

Compilation of Vision just fucking leaving mid-conversation.

#brieuc.txt #the vision #wade wilson #pietro maximoff #← tagging so I can find this post again if need be to update it (i can never find my own posts even via my own tagging system :( ) #ch: far superior to flesh and blood #anyway Vision is just like me for embodying ''if it sucks hit da bricks '' #The Vision has autism. 2 ME!!!!!

[cometchasr]

i occasionally forget bopomofo is not in fact a romanisation system and that this is why all the taiwanese names are so fucking irritatingly inconsistent with the mainland when written in english

#mine #at least once ive accidentally put “ch” instead of “q” into the pinyin keyboard #“ch” WG can represent pinyin zh ch j or q #(because they omit the apstrophes) #so. yes #wade giles fucking SUCKS #update: yes i was trying to write 書齊's name how could you tell

[devilsmenu]

@hiddenpxpercuts cont. from here because beta editor

"Excuse me? Are you really the one telling me I'm always in trouble when you're the one that is the king of trouble?" Felicia asked Wade in disbelief. "You have a lot of people on your ass because you're a troublemaker!" she pointed out to him. "Actually I have great news! Do I wanna hear it? I know you want!".

#hiddenpxpercuts #feat wade #ch: felicia #swearing tw

[dr-archeville]

On Sunday [2022 July 24th], UNC students participated in Redirect the Rage, a rally hosted by the UNC Undergraduate Student Government and several other student organizations to protest the overturning of Roe v. Wade.

The rally was originally planned to be held on July 9 but was rescheduled due to inclement weather.

Students made posters at the Old Well and marched down East Cameron Avenue and Raleigh Street to the Pit.  Chants such as "My body, my choice," and "I've been mad for too many days, time to redirect the rage!" rang out through the streets.

UNC Student Body President Taliajah "Teddy" Vann led protestors in chants through a megaphone.  She said that students from other colleges in North Carolina, such as those in Duke's Black Student Alliance, are involved with Redirect the Rage.

"This is the beginning of this grassroots effort," she said.

Vann further explained that this rally was meant to help get people familiar with and involved in the movement.  She said Redirect the Rage will be a series of events, with the next event planned to take place closer to the election.

Rising UNC junior and Undergraduate Senator Pallavi Maladkar said that even though Gov. Roy Cooper signed an executive order protecting access to abortion in North Carolina, it was still just as important to her to attend the rally.

"Gov. Cooper is governor now, but the second that we get a Republican governor, or we get a few more Republican seats in the Senate and the House of Representatives at the state level, abortion rights are gone," she said.  "So it's really important that we make sure that we know our voices are being heard and we tell our representatives that we care about this issue, because sure it's protected for now, but it can just as easily go away."

Maladkar added that when she first heard that Roe v. Wade was overturned, she had to take several hours off of work to fully process the decision, most of which she said were spent crying.  Following the decision, she said she experienced little to no consideration about how she was feeling from the men she is close to in her life.

"I am tired of living in a world in which men simultaneously don't care about us and want to control us," she said.  "I am surrounded by men whose only reaction to the Supreme Court's decision was essentially just, 'that sucks.'"

UNC Women's and Gender Studies Department Chair Ariana Vigil read a statement from a group of Women's and Gender Studies departments from across the state in the Pit. 

She said that the department is teaching a new course on reproductive justice this fall.

"Our students will explore the root consequences of the court’s decision, including the history of the anti-abortion movement and the reproductive justice advocacy, led by Black and queer and trans people of color, which affirms that all people have the right to choose to have children, to not have children and to parent the children they have in healthy environments," she said.

Compass Center Executive Director Christian Adams said that the overturning of Roe v. Wade will have an even greater negative impact on victims of domestic violence during her speech.

She said that victims who become pregnant may feel that they do not have the opportunity to escape.

"Often we see that when there's violence in the home, if mother or father or whoever it may be has children, they're not gonna leave," Adams said.  "You realize you will do a lot of things that you often wouldn't do for the sake of those kids."

Adams added that fighting for reproductive rights does not necessarily have to take the form of being on the frontlines of a rally.

She said that actions such as phone banking and writing to representatives are important work as well.

"When we talk about redirecting the rage, find the things that you can do," Adams said.  "It doesn't have to be something great.  People often say to me, 'Oh my god, it's so overwhelming.'  Yes.  And guess what?  Find the one thing you could do."

Vann said that her administration will continue to engage with leaders in the state and collaborate with the Women's and Gender Studies Department to figure out what else can be done to continue to support students on campus.

An executive order passed by UNC's Executive Branch on July 6, states that the branch is required to use sellers and contractors that publicly support reproductive rights.

"We are so passionate about this work, and we understand that it's our responsibility to fight for our rights," Vann said.  "There are people who fought for this right in 1967, and now the mantle has fallen to us.  That is not something that we are happy about, but it is not a challenge that we are going to shy away from.  This fight is only just beginning."

---

#UNC #UNC CH #Roe v. Wade #abortion rights #reproductive rights

[lilredghost]

(whispering) oh no what the fuck do I name the emperor obi-wan au

#ch 1 is like halfway done but ummm #I know it'll take me atleast 2 days to name it #Maybe I need to wade through a bunch of poetry for some vibes #Red speaks #I mean its not personal but its not content either idk

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 27

part 1 | part 26 | ao3

cw: recreational drug use. short, fluffy update today to round out ch. 6; be back after the weekend to start ch. 7

In hindsight, accidentally hot boxing Eddie’s van while they were all already drunk was… maybe not the best idea.

Steve has no idea how they got here; blinked and time did the thing again, but now it’s three in the morning and Gareth’s conked out with a black eye in the front passenger seat and the rest of them are sprawled on top of each other like puppies in the back of the van — Eddie with his head in Robin’s lap so she can braid his hair, Steve using Eddie’s chest as a pillow, Max curled up like a sleeping cat in the crook of Steve’s bent knees.

With his eyes closed, Steve feels like he’s fallen into some dark, glittering void, purple-blue-black swirls of light dancing behind his eyelids to the syrupy beat of a metal ballad Eddie’s playing at the lowest volume. Eddie hums along in a low, soft rasp, and Steve’s head moves with the swell of each breath; gentle rocking rise and fall, luring Steve away from shore. Somewhere curious and strange. Deep ocean, dark waters. His thoughts float by like jellyfish.

Eddie’s warm through his t-shirt.

“Still alive down there, Sneeze?” Eddie asks. He’s carding his fingers idly through Steve’s hair, rings catching on the strands, tugging a little on his scalp.

“Feels good,” Steve hums. Wait a minute. “Did’you jus’ call me Sneeze?”

“No?” Eddie snorts. “Just called you Steve, sweetheart.”

“I’m absolutely gonna start calling you Sneeze, though,” Robin chimes in, pitching her voice all low and stupid. “‘Yes, hello, I’m Robin and this is my very best friend, Sneeze Handkerchief.’”

Eddie lets out a cackle and immediately joins in on her game of royally fucking up Steve’s name.

Steve closes his eyes again, lets himself drift out into the weird purple-blue-black-glitter magic slime swirl situation. Sloshy and dark and warm and nice. It’s just nice: Eddie’s breathing, full and slow; Robin’s laugh like cracked church bells. He likes hearing them get along even when he can’t make out the words.

He likes it less when he can make out the words. He wades back to himself for a moment, cracks one eye open and finds them red-faced and crying laughing over “Edgy Mustard and his neighbor, Sven Hamburger” and mumbles, “You’re both such fuckin’ dorks.”

“You’re a fuckin’ dork, you fuckin’ dork,” Max mutters in response, turning over with a soft snore.

“Oh, my god,” Eddie whispers, “did that kid just shit talk you in her sleep?”

“She’s incredible,” Robin coos. “Sven, we may have to reassess your status as my best friend; I’m obsessed with her.”

Steve rolls over and faceplants into Eddie’s stomach with a pouty harrumph. “Leamme alone, you bullies, ’m sleepin’.”

—

part 28

tag lists in separate reblogs with the tag "#trailer park steve au taglist" if you'd like to filter that content, comment if you want to be added (21+ only, please confirm your age if you're asking to be tagged; if you’re already on the list you’re good you can ignore this message lol)

#trailer park steve au #steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #max mayfield #gareth stranger things #this was supposed to be a little cut content bonus scene but i like it too much it’s staying lol #we’ll get angsty and struggly again in ch 7 don’t worry just let sven hamburger have this #my writing #my fic

[hanasnx]

MINORS DNI 18+ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ WARNINGS: fem reader | dirty flirting | suggestive material | it’s not dubcon, it's just you and deadpool's dynamic.

Like a stray cat, a mercenary hangs around your neighborhood. At first he was cute, you'd leave some food out for him, he'd hit on you shamelessly and in a million different shades of dirty, and then you wouldn't see him for six months. It got old quick, especially because he didn't care that you weren't interested. As if flirting with you was a hobby, he didn't mind that he wasn't getting anything out of it besides your irritation.

It's late, but you might as well take your trash out. You didn't bother to cover up when it's hot and humid out. In a crop top and the littlest shorts you own, you step out, immediately greeted with the familiar tune of DEADPOOL's voice.

"Braless—brave." he notes, and you slump in place, turning to see how he lays precariously on the railing of the fire escape. He gestures to his own chest with a flourish of gloved fingers, "Me too. Burn 'em, I say. The 70's were good for something." He nods his head.

You sigh through your nose, dropping your bag to let it sag pathetically on the asphalt. "What do you want, Red? Blowing through my part of town coincidentally again?"

"Oh, no coincidence, sugar." he tsks, and wags a finger at you before gracefully swinging off the railing to flip to the ground. You roll your eyes at his showmanship, and retreat to the backdoor of your apartment building, followed leisurely by the Merc. "Can't a guy say he missed you? Visit suddenly without calling? Golly, a man can't partake in a little light stalking these days."

You round on him, pointing a warning finger in his mask when you catch him watching your tits swing under your shirt. "Nips are hard. Excited to see me?" he asks with enthusiasm, meeting your gaze and you guffaw at him, taken aback with a hand on your hip. "Turn around, lemme see the back again—"

"'Excited?' What part should I be looking forward to? Your outdated jokes or when you make passes at me until you get it all out of your system?" You lean forward, gesturing to your enunciating mouth. "Read my lips, Red, it's- not- happening." Unknowingly, you'd lowered your voice, that sultry tone lulling Deadpool into your direction like a pie on a windowsill.

"Oh, baby, if you could see my face, I'm grinning under this mask right now." he confesses, chuckling under his breath. "Love it when you play hard to get." He straightens to his full height, sighing with relief. "Your place or mine?"

"Red—"

"Seriously, you gotta give me a twirl or something, I'm getting blue balls over here. You take a little stroll in your little jammies and I've got a halfie, throw me a bone."

You scoff at his audacity, as fat and veiny as always, and back away. "I'll see you next time, Red."

"Hopefully you'll see this boner next time, it'll be waving to you like a flagpole flying my tighty-whities." he calls after you. He knows he's exhausted his welcome this time, there'll be another opportunity soon enough.

#indy: drabbles #ch: wade #wade wilson drabble #wade wilson x reader #wade wilson x fem reader #wade wilson x you #wade wilson x y/n #wade wilson imagine #wade wilson fic #wade wilson fanfic #wade wilson fanfiction #deadpool x reader #deadpool x fem reader #deadpool x you #deadpool x y/n #deadpool imagine #deadpool fic #deadpool fanfiction

[spacecowboyhotch]

In Plain Sight, Ch 1: Docile Pyre

summary: nathan tries his best to wade through the sea of feelings you’ve brought up in him. he’s kinda shitty to you while doing it.

pairing: nathan bateman x f!reader

contents: this entire series is 18+/NSFW/MINORS DNI, enemies to lovers (sorta), boss/employee dynamics, nathan is a pining asshole, reader is so competent and cool

wc: 2,200

AN: BE NICE TO ME PLEASE GOD. i don’t know where this came from. on christmas eve morning, nathan bateman himself walked into my apartment and made me write this. who am i to argue with a man who looks like oscar issac?

in plain sight masterlist | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5

Nathan learned quickly that his usual backhanded compliments and intelligent snarkiness don’t work for you. You don’t care enough to let him get under your skin, don’t care enough to be baited into an argument. It gets under his skin.

You make him sick. Sick in a way he’d never felt before. He thought he was the epitome of unbothered and unchanged until he met you. He feels like a fucking teenage boy, wiping his sweaty palms and reminding himself that he’s in control. He’s the boss. So why does his heart flutter when you look him in the eyes so intently as he gives you task after task to do?

You never complain. You never say much at all. He wishes that you would say something. That you would lash out or fight back— give him something. He wants to see you.

But you’re prim and perfect. All “yes sir” and “no sir”. Mr. Bateman this and Mr. Bateman that. No one calls him Mr. Bateman. It’s fucking silly, the way it affects him when you do. You handle each task he gives you with ease— even when he has you calling the most difficult of his colleagues. In meetings, they mention how charming you are, sweet and charismatic. Nathan doesn’t even get that. For someone who’s all about AI, blank stares, and obedient droids, your likeness to them is driving him crazy. He knows that you’re a person with emotions, desires, and opinions. So he picks and picks and picks, hoping that one day you’ll break.

Why won’t you show him? Why does he care so much? Why is he completely enamored with you anyway?

Being around you starts to confuse him. Nathan hates that feeling. He likes to be the smartest in the room— he needs it or he starts to feel small. Like he’s that little boy he was all those years ago, staring up into the angry eyes of his parents as they spew insults at him. But, he can’t seem to find a balance when he’s around you, he hates the feelings you invoke but can’t seem to work himself out of the tangled mess in his heart. Before you, he was sure that he didn’t have one anymore.

“Can you work overtime tonight? I need all of this sorted and filed,” He gestures to stack upon stack of paperwork in the corner of his lab.

“I just need to make a call, sir.”

Nathan knows that you have a life outside of him and this job— any normal person would. But, he’s not normal, is he? It reminds him that despite these harbored feelings, he’s not compatible with you. You deserve someone normal. Maybe that’s who you need to call, maybe you already have someone. Jealousy courses through his veins.

He raises a brow at you, his voice cool, “A call? You have something more important to do than your job?”

You give him no information. Just a polite smile as you head towards the door, “I’ll just be a moment, sir.”

Nathan pretends to tinker around with his synthetic brains and limbs and skin until you’re finished filing. He thought it’d take longer, but you finish in a couple of hours. He’s always impressed with you and your performance but it goes sour the moment you reach for your bag.

“If that’s all Mr. Bateman, I’ll see you at 9 a.m.”

“Wait,” He says, trying to prolong your time together, trying to see if you’ll give him any sort of reaction if he gives you more work. But no. You turn to him with ease, a polite and expectant look on your face. He gives up. “I’ll send you a grocery list. You can be here at 10 a.m.”

“10 a.m.,” You repeat with a soft nod.

Then Nathan’s all alone again. He heads into his bedroom, opening one of the closets. He needs to get lost for a while. He needs you off his mind.

—

Nathan tries. He really tries not to watch you so closely. He tries to distance himself from you. He stops giving you the tasks he used to give you just to hopefully piss you off. His attempts are useless though. The only thing that could keep him from watching you is firing you. He doesn’t have control, he feels powerless in the face of your docile stare.

He starts to notice things. That your hair is a little out of place. That your clothes aren’t as crisp and clean as usual. He sees the bags under your eyes. He sees you sleeping during your lunch break instead of eating. Your work doesn’t suffer and neither does your attitude but the subtle light in your eyes gets dimmer and dimmer as time wanes on.

Nathan had wanted to see you, sure, but he didn’t want to see you like this. Something’s wrong. He’s not sure has the courage to ask you about it. He feels guilty when he has to ask you to work late on a Thursday afternoon. It feels like it’s festering inside him and he almost forgoes asking. It gets what he’s wanted for months and months on end. You finally crack.

“Hey, I need you to work late tonight,” He murmurs, more gently than he’s spoken to anyone…ever. Fuck, you make him soft. It’s disgusting. It’s unfair. It’s blasphemy.

You continue to type when you respond, “I can’t, sir.”

Nathan freezes, unsure if he’s just heard you correctly. “Excuse me?”

You inhale a soft breath, your gaze airing on slightly apologetic, “I said that I can’t. I can’t work late tonight, Mr. Bateman, I’m sorry.”

“And why not?”

“I’m not sure that that’s any of your business. Sir,” You add respectfully.

“Any of my business?” He repeats, incredulous.

“Yes, sir.”

He stares at you for a handful of seconds, weighing his options. The tasks he wants to give you could wait until more— he’s simply impatient. But, he’s got buy-in now with your disagreement and secrecy. He could push…and he does. “I didn’t ask, I ordered. I need you here for a few more hours.”

It works. For the first time since you started working for him a little under a year ago, you finally show him something. You’re angry, he can tell by the way your brows knit together and your mouth twists. It thrills him.

You stew for a few beats, no doubt deciding if you should voice your rebuttal or go on as usual. Nathan watches you eagerly, hoping of course for the latter. It doesn’t come. Instead—

You close your eyes, growing statuesque. Nathan can only tell you’re still breathing because of how close he is, and how intensely he’s watching you. You open your eyes after a moment and say easily, “Then I need to make a call. It’ll just be a moment, sir.

You work diligently that night, finishing up in just half the time he suggested. He’s almost tempted to give you more, but he knows that would just make things worse. Despite your cool collected manner, the air in the room feels heavier, the energy shifted. He knows he’s fucked up. And if he wasn’t sure, he is when you get up to leave without your usual goodbye or so much of a glance at him.

It’s only after you’ve gone that Nathan takes a good look at his calendar. It’s New Year's Eve. He’d made you stay late on New Year's Eve. That guilt from before rears its ugly head, more gut-wrenching than before. He makes his way to the kitchen to drink it away. It’s replaced with alcohol, hot jealousy, and a hint of sadness. You’d had plans for New Year's Eve. You weren’t going to be lonely like him, if you still made it to those.

Fuck and who were they with? Some guy? Some woman? Did it matter? Not really. The only thing that mattered is that you opened up to them. You show them who you are. Nathan sits hunched over on the couch, bottle in hand staring into the fire.

No, I’m not sorry, he thinks drunkenly to himself. If keeping you late kept you with him and away from whoever was in your life then he wasn’t sorry. He was selfish and unkind, but not sorry. Assholes like him don’t get to be sorry. He’d be a monster that would keep you as long as he could in any way that he could.

—

When you come in on the second, you look exhausted despite the day off. It almost sets him off, but he’d spent most of yesterday thinking about you. The drinking had taken away his guilt, his jealousy, or that unworthy feeling he’s been running from all his life. You…well you make him want to face. Dig to the root of it and cast it out of himself, but he knows he’s not strong enough. The most he can do right is an apology.

Nathan comes to sit on the edge of your desk, blocking the screen so you have to look up at him. “Hey.”

You look up at him with those soft, tired eyes. “Yes?”

He shifts, scratching the bare patch atop his head awkwardly, “I uh— the other night, it was shitty of me to make you work late on New Year’s Eve.”

“I made it work, sir.”

Fuck him, you’re making this hard. His silly little anger about your disposition isn’t justified, he realized that when he sobered up yesterday but he feels ready to explode with it. Spending New Year’s Day alone had never bothered him until yesterday. He had never himself alone, given his bots, until you. You’re screwing with his head, making it all fucky.

“Mr. Bateman?”

A small shiver runs down his spine. He nods, clapping his hands together before hopping off your desk. He needs space and air. “It won’t happen again. On any holiday.”

You fix him with a polite smile, nodding, “Sure.”

Nathan avoids you as much as he can for the rest of the day. Maybe that’s his only option now. He knows that there’s no point in fighting this. Once he feels a certain way it might as well be set in stone. It’s hard to accept that. Even if it wasn’t, he doesn’t want to.

He runs into you on his way out, and before he can think better of it, he’s talking, “Hey, wait up one second.”

“I can stay late, it’s not a problem,” You say mechanically.

“No, I’m not— fuck I’m not asking you to stay late again. I’m an asshole but Jesus fucking Christ.”

“Did I make a mistake then, sir?”

He can’t help himself— he laughs. It dissolves into a maniacal giggle, his hands rubbing at his eyes. “Fuck’s sake. No, sweetheart, you didn’t make a mistake. What I meant to say earlier was I shouldn’t have made you work late on New Year’s Eve. I shouldn’t make you work so late any day, I don’t know your life, I don’t know you.”

“Alright.”

“And what I mean by that is— you know that this is me saying sorry? Right?”

“Yes, Mr. Bateman, I understand what you’re saying completely.”

“Great. Well?”

You tilt your head at him— it’s almost unsettling. “Well?”

“Usually someone apologizes, says it won’t happen again, and then the other thanks them. Accepts the apology. All that jazz. That’s how it works in the movies at least if I’m not mistaken,” He grins, leaning up against the wall with his arms crossed.

“Yes, sir, I know how apologies work.”

He nods his head at you expectantly, “Then it’s your turn.”

You do that thing again from the other night, where you go so still you could be made from stone. He watches you with curious eyes, and when your gaze meets his, he can see it— the fire. He’s cracked you again. This time he hopes for a better result.

Shoulders squared, clutching your bag tightly over your shoulder you say, “With all due respect and complete honesty, Mr. Bateman, I don’t accept. I don’t care to. While I appreciate your attempt, none of what you said was a true apology. That almost means that well, there was nothing for me to accept. I’ll see you at 7 a.m., sir.”

Nathan watches you leave, his mouth slightly agape. You had just, so politely and succinctly told him off. He feels like his world has been turned upside down like he’s been bitten by a snake he was told wasn’t poisonous. And he wants to be bitten again. Again and again, he wants to stoke that fire in you until it’s an uncontrollable rage. A forest fire with no end in sight. He wants to be engulfed in it, willing and ready to suffer the burns of handling you. Where he’d been prepared to give up on you after apologizing— okay with sacrificing you to someone who might actually have a chance at deserving you— he refuses to now.

This feels like a challenge. You want him to be better? He’ll do it. He’d do anything for you. And he will.

nathan taglist: @missdictatorme, @hon3yboy, @runa-falls, @campingwiththecharmings, @toracainz, @steven-grants-world, @clemdango04, @faretheeoscar, @jdbxws, @crispysublimecupcake, @sub-aro, @faretheeoscar, @cupidysm, @whentheskyispinkandabitblue, @nova-ivy541, @kotaropuppy

#im impatient and posting this todayyyyy #nathan bateman x reader #nathan bateman x f!reader #nathan bateman x fem!reader #nathan bateman fanfiction #ex machina fanfiction #nathan bateman #ex machina #in plain sight #not sfw #arson writes

[guess-that-ship]

S10 Finals

Lightning Strikes Twice

The Blade has known only violence their whole life. Raised from childhood to be a weapon, they're an efficient, brutal killer. They strike like lightning, swift and deadly, with no room for anything besides the bloodshed they've spent their existence wading through. And they're perfectly fine with it, until they meet the Rope, who looks at them and sees something no one else has: a person, worthy of attention for more than the violence they reap.

The Rope is a cunning man, charming and roguish with a quick smile and a quicker trigger finger. He has big dreams for how to fix a world that's rotten to the core, but no means to accomplish them… until he meets the Blade. What starts as fascination turns to admiration, as he realizes this broken person raised by death might be exactly what he needs to burn away the rot.

Lightning strikes and a fire ignites. The Blade cuts down anyone the Rope asks them to, and the Rope lavishes them with love and praise for every life they take in his name. He gives them purpose and identity outside of what they were created for, and for that they are determined to always stay by the side. They say love changes you for the better, and the Blade is inclined to agree.

The Time Goddess and the Time Traveler

cw: spoilers

The goddess of time manifests herself on the mortal plane to take care of a problem with a villain who is messing with the fabric of time. While making her way to fight this villain, she meets a time-traveler who is also out to stop this villain. Though they are on the same side, her frustration with his flippancy around the time travel causes her to snap at him, but… he reacts unexpectedly by flirting with her. And she's never been caught by surprise like that before, being used to seeing all of time at once.

When the villain is defeated, the time-traveler should be erased from the timeline, since the future he traveled back from no longer exists. However, the goddess decides to keep him in the timeline as she's grown fond of him, though it is to her detriment, because she wants to keep being surprised. This unstable arrangement continues as the two of them grow to love each other, and she grows to love the life they have together… until the time-traveler begins to fade from the timeline anyway. To save him, the goddess ultimately decides to give up her godhood to remain with him, and to truly live a mortal life with the people she cares about.

friendship in solitude

cw: bullying, suicide implication, spoilers

ever since he was a child, K has been shunned. everyone at school saw his ideas as dangerous, and him as weird. A is in the same boat. their way of dressing was thought to be weird since childhood, too. at home, K had his mother and the kid next door, and A had their family. but at school, both were alone. until junior high school.

one time, in junior high, A went up to the rooftop for "no reason", and found K. the two became friends, and when they were at school, they would meet on the rooftop. they kept each other alive. while they were alone for the most part, they had each other. everyone else thought of them as freaks, but they thought of each other as friends.

however, K was a year older, and so eventually, he graduated from junior high without A. that year was awful for both of them. A would go to the rooftop, and remember… their only friend had already graduated. K wasn't better off, as nobody in his new school would be friends with him, either. they were both back were they started: friendless. shunned. alone.

the year had passed, and a new one began. A had now graduated from junior high. K moved schools. it just so happened that they were now in the same high school. they'd changed quite a bit in that year, but now, they had each other once again. they had other friends, as well, but what's important is that, while they were still seen as weirdos by some, they had reunited with the one who had once been their sole comfort at school.

#s10 #tournament poll #s10 finals #spoilers

[knuckle]

This is on the wiki but like I feel the need to say it here too. In Chainsaw man there is an inaccurate romanization/ transliteration of the lesbian devil hunter. People translating from Japanese romaji to English approximation then to Chinese assumed that Quan has a different vowel + consant sound than it does likely from not understanding pinyin (closest English for quan is that it starts with ch the second part sounds like when). Her name in the Mandarin translations is 光熙 or Guangxi (guang rhymes with song - the g is said basically the same as English - think gwong). There's some fake translation of 泉溪 going around idk where it came from but it doesn't show up in Baidu or Google searches in Chinese. Her name is Guangxi not Quanxi. Sad I don't think this will ever be fixed but they really are said completely differently

I'm not an expert on Chinese naming but from what I gather the incorrect translation of Quanxi 泉溪 means something like "springwater creek"- the correct translation: Guangxi 光熙 means something like "radiant light"

the two names have nothing to do with each other and invoke very different imagery

It's actually sad to me that my sister told me this months ago when I first started getting into the fandom and I had no idea that it's really 99% of the fandom that calls her the wrong name. It's not pinyin vs Wade Giles or Mandarin vs Cantonese. It's literally the incorrect name improperly translated by some people who didn't care to look up how Chinese works

#chainsaw man #quanxi #光熙 #guangxi #if i catch up and talk about this series again i will write her name right even if all of you think it's quan=kwan 😔 #meanings of these are different too #csm

[avastrasposts]

The Pilot and his Girl - ch. 15

Sorry about the last chapter, I don't think this one is any easier, we're moving through some heavy angst territory here. But it is a crossover with The Last of Us and I did warn you 😋

Warnings have their own post and contain spoilers. Please read them if you know you might have a bad reaction to a sensitive topic.

Word count: 7.8 k

Series Master List

You’re honestly not sure how you keep him alive for the next few months. Frankie is with you, but he’s not with you. He doesn’t eat if you don’t put food in front of him. He doesn’t drink unless you give him your water bottle and tell him to. He doesn’t sleep, his nightmares are worse than ever. Not a night goes by without him waking up in a panicked cold sweat. More often than not he wakes up screaming too, waking you when the pain cuts through his subconscious. His screams are almost inhuman, ripping like a desperate wail from his throat, leaving it raw and ragged the next day. But you don’t hear his voice much now, he barely speaks, just a silent presence next to you as you go about your daily routine to keep you both alive for as long as possible. For what you're staying alive, you’re not really sure of any more. 

You’d managed to drive the truck all the way back to the cabin, finding a detour past the blocked bridge, avoiding any towns, crossing over open fields when you could. Frankie had been in the passenger seat next to you, his eyes on the blood on his hands, rubbing it into his skin as he tried to wipe it off, his hands never stilling. As you pulled up to the cabin, your hands shaking in relief as you let go of the steering wheel, he wrenched the door open and strode down to the lake. You grabbed your gun and the rifle and ran after him. He walked straight into the water, stopping only when it came to his chest, washing his hands, scrubbing them together frantically. He ripped his shirt off and then his t-shirt, letting them fall into the water, as he scrubbed his arms, his chest, clawing at the skin. 

“Frankie!” you called out to him, you longed to go to him but he was deep in the water and you didn’t even know if there was someone at the cabin yet. You held your gun by your side as you glanced back towards the dark house.  

Frankie turned and looked at you for the first time since she’d died. His face was unreadable, as if you didn’t even recognise the man as he stared at you without saying anything. 

“Frankie,” you said softly, calling out to him with a plea in your voice. He moved then, wading slowly through the deep water, back towards the shore, then he stumbled and fell to his knees, hands in the water, his head dropped down between his shoulders as they began to shake, sobs racking through his body. 

“I can’t! I can’t!” he heaved, as you ran to him, holstering your gun and kneeling down in front of him, your arms wrapping around his shoulders as he grabbed onto you. Water seeped into your boots as your pants got soaked but Frankie’s hands dug into your back, his sobs making your body shake under him as he clung to you. You pushed your hands into his damp hair, raking your fingers through the curls, as he buckled around you. 

“I can’t,” he sobbed, “I can’t. I can’t.” 

You lost track of time that evening, you don’t know how long you sat with him on the shoreline, the chill went into your bones, your body shivering underneath him as you held him up in the water. Eventually, you both went numb. 

And he stayed numb. 

There was no one at the cabin when you came back that night. And no one came as the days slipped into weeks, months even. In the beginning you looked out the window almost all the time, listening for someone approaching when you went down to the lake for water, always on guard, but also always hopeful. But as time passed you stopped, it became too painful to hope that anyone of your friends had made it. And the worst thing was that you didn’t even know what had happened to them. 

You grieved for Lucía too, going down to the jetty where she’d been fishing with Pope in July, putting the last wild flowers of the summer in a glass jar and then, when they wilted, the bright fall leaves. Frankie watched you pick the flowers and the leaves, but he never went down to the jetty. He just watched you from the steps of the patio, you'd usually find him there in the morning, the rifle across his knees. 

When he couldn’t sleep, after waking from another nightmare, he’d go outside when you’d fallen back into an uneasy slumber, and watch the silent night slip away while he guarded the house. Guarding the one person that he still needed to keep safe. 

He didn’t tell you, but often he thought about walking into the lake and swim in the cold water until he couldn’t keep himself afloat anymore, just let himself disappear. But then there would be no one left to keep you safe, so that was his mission, for now. Keep you safe. 

You’d wake up and find the bed empty, and the first time you came running out, looking for him in a panic. So he tried to stay in bed. But the walls closed in on him in the dark room, the small bed where she’d slept only a few feet away. His mind pushed him out of the bed and he’d tuck you back in, pull his boots on, and go sit on the porch with the rifle across his knees. After a while you got used to it. If you woke up you’d wrap yourself in a quilt and sit next to him as the dawn broke. Sometimes you’d fall asleep again, leaning against his shoulder, needing to be next to him as much as he needed to be under the open sky to not suffocate when something inside him threatened to cut off his breathing. 

During the days he forces his mind to just be numb, using bad tactics he’d learned in the military, compartmentalizing all the pain, all the fear. If he’d had coke on hand, he knows he would’ve been deep back into his old habit. He works himself into a stupor every day and crashes into bed at night. But it doesn’t help, at night, at night he can’t shut it out. You wrap yourself around him, after setting up the alarms around the house, and tuck your nose into the crook of his neck. He holds you, tangles his legs in yours, hangs onto you like you’re a life buoy, but it’s not enough at night. You fall asleep and then he lays awake, seeing the tendrils creep under her skin, the brown eyes that look so much like his own, broken in her perfect face. 

He feels himself grow distant from you, he still needs you close, still needs to keep you safe, but his mind has nothing to say, nothing to give to you. You still put your arms around him, kiss his cheeks, his lips, the top of his head, lightly scratch his scalp, dragging your fingers through his hair in that way that used to make him melt into you. It still feels nice, it eases some of the tension in his body, but he’s still just numb. He doesn’t remember the last time he kissed you back, he doesn’t chase your lips the way he used to. He wraps himself around you at night but his body doesn’t respond, he just needs you close. And he knows you feel how unresponsive his body is, you never try to deepen your kisses or caress him the way you used to. Sometimes he wakes up, not from a nightmare, but with his cock hard, pressed up against your back. But as soon as he thinks he wants to wake you up, the heavy weight in his mind catches up with his body and everything goes dark inside him again. 

He wonders how long you’ll put up with him in this state. Sooner or later you both have to leave the cabin and then, perhaps, he’ll find somewhere safer and then you can leave him. Or he’ll just walk away, save you the pain of having to put up with his broken shell. Because he is broken, now more than ever. If he thought he was messed up before, he knows it’s nothing to what he is now. He can’t give you anything anymore, nothing of all the things he knows you deserve. So he vows to keep you safe until you no longer need it, then he can take himself away and let you find a better life without him. He keeps the photo of you, him and Lucía in the front pocket of his flannel, he can’t bring himself to look at it, but feeling the stiff paper of the print as he moves, reminds him of the little trinity he used to belong to. And how he failed to keep it safe. 

The leaves fall from the trees, heralding cooler weather and gray days. Your supply of food is running low, Denny kept the cabin well stocked but it’s not endless. You’ve been rationing it since you got back but now you’re down to about two weeks worth of food, three if you go hungry. Sitting back on your heels in front of the pantry you decide that Frankie and you need to leave the safety of the cabin and find more supplies. You’re also desperate to find out what’s happening in the world. Sometimes you nurture a small hope that things have gone back to normal, or at least less horrifying. 

You find Frankie out back, chopping wood from the generous supply Denny had stored behind the garage. He’s stripped down to just a flannel shirt even though it’s nearly below freezing outside, sweat pouring down his face under the cap, and you can see steam rise from his body as he bends to pick up another log, placing it on the chopping block. He chops wood almost every day, the exertion and precision needed fits his mood, he can chop for hours and not have to think about anything but splitting the log in front of him. The first weeks he had blisters on his hands and his body screamed in protest from the exertion of swinging the heavy ax into the logs. Now his hands have healed, rough calluses on his palms, and his muscles don’t ache the same way, instead it craves the hard work, the exhaustion it brings at the end of the day. 

“Frankie,” you say, to stop him before he lifts the ax again. He straightens up and turns to you, a questioning look on his face. Your heart aches as you see him, every time you speak to him now you’re reminded of the loss and what it’s done to him. Before he would’ve turned to you with a smile, his warm brown eyes would’ve crinkled at the corners, welcoming the interruption as he put his hand out to you, beckoning you in for a kiss before you even had a chance to tell him why you called his name. 

Now his eyes are just black, dark circles under them, and no trace of a smile. He wipes the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand as you come closer. The rifle is propped up against a log next to him. 

“I’ve been counting our supplies, the cans and the dry food,” you say, handing him a water canteen that he takes with a low grunt. “We have two weeks left at the rate we’re eating now, three if we stretch it. I think we need to see if we can find more supplies, and maybe find out what’s going on with the infection.” 

Frankie nods and takes a long drink from the canteen, wiping his mouth before he drops his chin to his chest, thinking. You wait, looking at him as his fingers drum on the canteen. 

“We take the truck and head towards Franklin,” he says finally, handing the canteen back to you. “There are small towns on the way, we can stop there and see what’s going on.” He bends and picks up the ax and as you step back he lifts it over his head and brings it down in a powerful swing, cleaving the log in two neat parts. 

The next morning you don’t find Frankie out on the patio, instead he’s in the kitchen with your backpacks, packing them with necessary supplies, first aid kits and ammo. He’s got the truck loaded with extra supplies, treating it as a mobile camp for you both. The rest of the supplies he’s already hidden behind the big log pile in the shed, under a tarp. He reckons anyone desperate enough is going to find it if they come looking, but hopefully not at first glance. 

You’ve got nerves swirling around the pit of your belly as you eat a can of chicken soup for breakfast, watching Frankie eat mouthfuls between restless checks of the packing. Triple checking your gun, putting into the leg holster, and making sure it’s tight, you grab your bag and bring it out to the truck. Frankie’s already put his in the back and as he locks up the cabin, you put yours there too. You wait for him by the front of the truck, testing something, and when he comes round and opens the passenger side door for you, you can’t help but smile. It’s like a small piece of the old Frankie is still there at least. He takes your hand and gives you a hand up the step and you squeeze it. 

“Still not gonna let me touch that door are you, Frankie?” you smile at him and you see his eyes soften just a little as his lips curl up. 

“Never, cariño,” he says, giving your hand a squeeze back, before he closes the door and rounds the truck. It’s tiny, but you’ll take it. 

The truck is deafening when it rumbles to life, the quiet of the cabin and the forest has been all you’ve heard for the past few months. It’s strange not being able to hear your surroundings anymore and it makes you feel uneasy. You’re both on high alert as you scan the trees around you. Frankie makes the turn towards Franklin, aiming for the first small town a few miles away and you start hoping for cars, normal cars with families just driving along. But as Frankie drives, you meet no one. Whatever is going on in the country, it’s not back to normal. You pass by a few abandoned farms, you can see broken windows, some boarded up, and, in one farm yard, a charred pile of bodies. You quickly look away, looking over at Frankie instead. By the look on his face you can tell he saw it too and he reaches out and takes your hand, giving it a light squeeze.

“Don’t look, just keep your eyes on the road,” he says in a low voice. 

The truck rolls through a small town, just a collection of houses on either side of the road, and there’s no one around as far as you can see. Frankie slows down as you leave the town behind and pulls in on a side road, turning off the truck. 

“We’re gonna see if anything is moving” he says as he rolls down the windows, letting the cold winter air in. The first few houses of the town are just a few hundred yards away and you both watch them in silence. Twenty minutes pass and nothing stirs, no people, no infected and no cars. Frankie starts up the truck again and slowly drives back into the small collection of houses and pulls up next to the small gas station. Leaving the truck running, and you in the driver’s seat, he gets out and carefully steps through the broken door. You wait, anxiously looking around the truck, while you hear Frankie rummaging round the shop. It doesn’t take him long to come back with a handful of items, some candy, a couple of tubes of toothpaste and two cans of peaches. 

“I’m gonna siphon some gas,” he says, putting the things in the back, and pulls out the rubber hose. Nothing stirs as he fills two spare gas canisters and the truck and after a quick stop at a small convenience store that’s been thoroughly looted you leave the small town behind you.

“The next town is bigger, hopefully we’ll find something there, I don’t want to have to go too far,” Frankie says as you pass him a chocolate bar and grab one for yourself. The chocolate is overly sweet after so long without any candy, Denny didn’t have a sweet tooth and despite there being a generous stash of potato chips at the cabin, there had been no chocolate, not even cocoa powder. 

“If we find more chocolate I’ll be very happy,” you say, savoring the flavor, “didn’t think I’d miss it as much as I have.” You lick your sticky fingers as the next small town rolls into view. 

“Gonna do the same again, drive through and then we wait to see if anything moves,” Frankie says and glances over at you, “And then I’ll find you some more chocolate,” his smile is small but you see it and you have time to think that this was maybe what Frankie needed to distract himself, a mission, something concrete to do, when the car suddenly jerks to the side and you feel the seatbelt dig into your chest. 

“Fuck!” Frankie shouts and you see him tug at the wheel, outside the car several men have appeared out of nowhere and thrown several spike strips over the road in front of the truck. Frankie’s turning shapely to avoid them and twists in his seat, checking behind him but strips have been thrown out behind them too. 

“Hold on,” he grits, gripping the steering wheel with both hands and flooring the truck, careening over the spikes, the truck jerks as the tyres blow but Frankie manages to hold it steady until a school bus suddenly rolls out from a side street. Frankie swerves to avoid it, the bus scrapes the back of the truck, making it skid sideways but Frankie parries and gets the truck back on track, speeding up, glancing behind him. He sees the men running after the truck and he pushes the truck faster, the rubber from the broken tyres flapping and bumping underneath. You look up ahead and see the main road barricaded at the end of town and as you gasp, Frankie curses next to you. The metal of the rims screech across the asphalt when he hits the break and makes a sharp turn onto the side street, the truck nearly topples but Frankie gets it back down again, slamming the breaks as you’re met by another barricade. 

“Get out!” Frankie yells and yanks out your backpacks as you unclip the seat belt and throw open the door. He grabs your hand as you hear shouts go up from the main street and without turning he kicks in the door of the first house, pulling you into it. Holding on to him so hard it hurts, you run behind him, through the house, out into a backyard and across a small alley. Frankie stops for a second, scanning for the best way out, before he tugs your hand again and heads into a second house. Coming out on the other side he turns the corner into the next alley and before you have time to react a baseball flies up and hits him across the side of his head. His grip on your hand goes limp immediately as he crumples to the ground and you stumble, still holding on to him. A sharp pain shoots through your head and everything goes black. 

The floor smacks the air out of you as you’re thrown into an unknown room and you cough, trying to catch your breath, as your muddled mind tries to shake the tendrils of unconsciousness. Before you can peel your eyes open, you’re yanked up off the floor and thrown on to a bed and someone tugs your arms together behind your back, and the sharp bite of restraints cut into your wrists. You force your eyes open and in the dim light you see a man bending over you as he grabs your ankles and pulls out a cable tie, securing it around your legs. He’s dressed in what looks like army surplus fatigues and biker gang gear, a revolver in a holster around his bulging waist, and greasy looking blonde hair in a ponytail. Your head is pounding, your vision seems misty, but as the man steps away from the bed you struggle to sit up, wincing in pain. He gives you a sneering grin as he notices that you’re regained consciousness. 

“How’s the head, sweetheart?” he smirks, “You should’ve just stopped running, ya know?” He steps back towards the bed and watches you struggle to sit up against the headboard, your arms painfully pinned behind your back. 

“Why..” you croak out, “why did you attack us?” 

This makes him chuckle, “Because we can, sweetheart, and we want your shit.” He grabs your chin between his thumb and fingers, gripping it so hard it makes you wince, and fear pools in the pit of your belly. Forcing your face up towards his, he bends closer, “Incase you didn’t notice, the world’s gone to shit and it’s survival of the fittest, and we take what we want. Including you, sweetheart.” He pinches your face harder and you grit your teeth at the pain in your jaw. That seems to amuse him, a grin creeping across his ruddy face. His other hand suddenly shoots out and palms your breasts through your flannel shirt, squeezing hard as you kick your bound legs up to get away from him. His grip on your jaw is so hard you can’t get any sound out but in the back of your throat you growl, bucking your body away from him, and he laughs, sending chills through your bones. 

“I like when they put up a fight, sweetheart, I’m gonna have fun to breaking you in,” he gives your jaw another sharp tug, forcing you to look at him as he starts working his way into your shirt, cold sweat breaking out on your back as you feel the rancid smell coming off him. “Yeah, we’re gonna have some real fun, you and me,” he leers as he bends closer to your face, “you’re gonna take my cock so well, might not even need to lube you up.” You feel yourself freeze up with fright as he roughly grabs your breast over your bra, giving it a painful squeeze and he cackles, leaning in as if to kiss you. 

“Hey, Larry! Stop fucking the girl and come down here already, we need to deal with the guy first.” A second man has put his head around the door and is looking at the scene with impatience. 

“She’s feisty this one, she’s gonna be a lot of fun,” the first guy, Larry, says, grinning back at the man at the door. But he does let go of your jaw and stands up, giving your shoulder a sharp shove so that you topple over on the bed, before he leaves the room, throwing you a final predatory look before the door is closed and locked. 

Frankie comes to, as he’s dragged across a dirt floor, the toes of his boots catching on the threshold of a building, jolting him awake. His shoulders are protesting at the harsh angle as two men hold him up by the elbows, his hands tied tight, sharp cable ties cutting off his circulation. The side of his head is throbbing and he can feel sticky blood in his ear and on his cheek, it’s dripping down onto the floor. Gingerly he lifts his head and catches a glimpse of what looks like the inside of a barn before he’s hauled onto a chair and a ratchet strap is put around his torso, tightening until he can just about draw breath. He scans the room, looking for her, but she’s nowhere to be seen and he bites back the panic in his throat, bracing as a blonde man in army surplus clothes steps in front of him.

“Looking for your girl, huh?” he leers, giving Frankie a smug smile, “yeah, we got her too, don’t worry. We’re gonna deal with you first though.” 

He gives Frankie a sharp back handed slap, stinging across the cheek, jolting his head to the side. Frankie draws a deep breath, willing his mind to calm, this he knows, this he was trained for. If they’re after the supplies then they will beat him up a bit first, then start asking questions, threaten him, ask again, beat him up and then continue the circle. He lifts his head and assesses the three men in the barn, all in surplus army fatigues and biker gang gear from the looks of it. Whatever they have planned, he’s pretty sure he can withstand it a lot longer than they realize. The question is how long she can, if they start beating her up, he hopes you just give them the information they need. There’s nothing at the cabin worth protecting, at least not with your life. 

As if on cue the blonde man steps up and backhands him across his cheek again, following up with a clumsy punch to his gut. The slap stings but the punch is just a dull thud, bouncing off Frankie’s flexed core. As long as he has time to prepare for the punches, those weak hits won’t do any damage there. The punch is followed by another punch to the face, closed fist this time, but Frankie almost grins as he sees the man wince when he pulls back his hand. Hitting someone’s jaw bone with knuckles is a lot more painful than people think. 

The man steps back and growls at Frankie, trying to intimidate him, but Frankie keeps his face impassive. 

“You had a lot of good supplies on that truck, where’s the rest?” A man behind the blonde man steps forward, Frankie’s rifle in his hand. 

“That’s all we had, we ran out, we were looking for more food,” Frankie says, “but you’re not gonna believe me so just get on with it.” 

The blonde man grabs his gun and wacks Frankie over the cheek with the butt of it and Frankie feels the iron taste of blood in his mouth as something splits. 

“You’re right, we don’t believe you,” he snarls, throwing another punch to Frankie’s belly. Frankie coughs, firming up his core just in time as the fist connects. 

“Get his girl down here, he’ll talk if we hurt her,” the man with Frankie’s rifle thumbs in the direction of the barn door. 

“Maybe, but I’d like to keep her unharmed for now,” the blonde man says, locking eyes with Frankie, “I don’t want her bleeding all over me when I fuck her later.” Frankie fights to keep his face impassive but he knows he fails, the blind rage that bubbles up inside him is clear on his face and the man opposite him sees it and grins. “Yeah, that got to you, didn’t it?” he cackles. “Why don’t you sit here and think about all the ways I’m gonna fuck that pretty girl of yours, and then maybe you can tell us where the rest of your supplies are.” He steps closer to Frankie, leans down, and Frankie can smell the unwashed body under the army surplus jacket, “I hope your girl’s a fighter, I like it when I have to pin them down. But I’ve already got her trussed up like a turkey, so maybe I’ll just flip her over and fuck her from behind, does she like it in the ass?” he leers. When Frankie tries to fight off the restraints the man cackles again and stands up, “Oh yeah, pal, you’ll talk soon enough.” 

“I’m gonna fucking kill you in the slowest possible way just for talking about her.” Frankie spits out, venom thick in his low voice. 

The man flinches as he sees the rage in Frankie’s eyes and takes a couple of steps back, Frankie grins without a trace of mirth at the man’s reaction as the barn door opens up and a fourth man steps over the threshold. 

“We need the space, gonna divvy up the loot,” he calls at the three men, “the boss says to secure the guy in the back room for now.”

“Alright, we’ll get him in there,” the man with the rifle calls back and steps behind Frankie. “Come on, enough messing around,” he says to the blonde man, he’s still standing a few steps in front of Frankie, “we’ve got shit to do.” 

The ratchet band around Frankie’s torso is loosened before he’s dragged, his hands and feet still tied together, to a small room off to the back of the barn. It has no windows and looks like it used to be a storage space, there’s a heavy iron bar in front of the door, locked with a large padlock. The men unceremoniously toss Frankie onto the floor and he hears the bar come down with a clank before the lock clicks. He quickly scans the room and rolls over to the wall, using it for balance as he stands up. His hands are tied in front of him with cable ties so with his mouth he tightens them as much as he can, before bringing his arms over his head and slamming them back down onto his hips, the cable tie snapping clean off his wrists. The impact smarts through his wrists but he wastes no time in working his way out of the ones around his ankles too, they come off easier. Quickly he tries the door, it’s locked tight, of course. He leans against the wall next to the door, waiting for an opportunity. 

There’s noise outside as he hears a truck being driven into the barn and several men talking while unloading it. After about an hour the truck is driven away and the barn goes silent for a while until two pairs of heavy footsteps approach the door to the storage room. A key clinks in the padlock and as the heavy iron bar is lifted from the door Frankie presses himself to the wall next to the door, he’s only got one shot at this. The door swings open and the first man steps in, looking round for Frankie, the second man right behind him. Before he has a chance to react, Frankie grabs the second man's head and neck and twists violently, dropping the man as his body goes limp. The first man spins around at the sound but Frankie is already on him, grabbing the hand holding a gun and twisting it behind his back as his other hand covers the man’s mouth. The gun clatters to the ground and with a sharp crack, the neck is broken and the man drops to the ground too. 

Frankie picks up the gun, getting a second one from the other man, and checks the both for extra ammo, slipping a vicious looking hunting knife from the first man’s belt. Waiting a beat to check if the scuffle attracted any attention, he stands pressed against the wall next to the door again, but the barn is silent. Quickly looking out through the door he scans the area but all he can see are a couple of oil lanterns hanging on the wall by the chair where they’d had him tied earlier. Moving silently through the dimly lit barn, it must be night out already, Frankie grabs a lantern and throws it against one of the wooden walls. The flames almost immediately start licking up the structure, the fire catching fast in the old wood. Frankie slips out through the barn door and into a dark farmyard, there’s no electric light, just a dim light from some of the windows of the main building on the other side. Skirting around the edges of the yard he hides behind one of the cars parked to the side of a tall fence. Soon a shout goes up from the house and he sees four men rushing out, running for the barn that’s now ablaze, casting a bright orange light over the surrounding area. 

As the men are distracted by the fire, Frankie slips round to the house and finds the back door. With a swift kick he manages to break it open, the noise hidden by the flames and the shouting men. He moves quickly through the house, checking rooms for other people, working his way upstairs. The house is fairly large but at the end of the landing he finds a locked door that he quickly kicks in. You’re propped up against the headboard on the bed and as the door flies open you flinch, your fear giving way to intense relief as you see Frankie. You can only gasp out his name, tears welling up in your eyes as he moves across the room. 

“Are you hurt?” he whispers, kneeling by the bed and pulling out the hunting knife, making quick work of your restraints, “Did they hurt you?” You shake your head and choke back a whimper as he frees your poor wrists, blood flows back into your arms and hands as you can finally move them again. Pulling you in for a quick hug, Frankie’s big hand clasps the back of your head, pressing you against him, before he pulls back. 

“There are four men outside, I set fire to the barn so they are distracted, but I need to take them out. Stay up here, hide in the closet. I’ll come get you.” 

“Frankie, you’re bleeding!” you choke out, your hand going up to his temple where his hair is clumped together, dark blood on his cheek and jaw. 

“I’ll deal with it later, we don’t have time, I need you to hide now.” His voice is firm, pulling you to your feet, “do you understand?” 

With wet eyes you give him a shaky nod and you let him lead you over to the big closet at the back of the room, handing you one of the guns. 

“Be careful, Frankie,” you whisper, squeezing his hand before he lets go. 

“Don’t worry,” he gives you a grim smile, “these hillbillies fucks are a piece of cake.” He gently shuts the door and you back into a corner of the closet, the gun tight in your hands. You hear his footsteps retreat from the room and out into the hallway, after that you can’t make them out anymore. Straining your ears you listen for any movements for several minutes, until sudden gunshots make you jump and grip the gun tighter. More shots ring out, there’s shouting and you can hear people running, more gunshots and then a man howls in pain. There’s another gunshot and the man shrieks and wails for a few seconds before another shot rings, seemingly drawing fresh shouts of pain from the unknown man. Lastly, a final gunshot rings out and the man falls silent, cut off in the middle of a scream. After that everything is quiet and you sit and wait, not daring to move from your spot. It feels like an eternity has passed when you finally hear footsteps coming down the hallway and into the room. You recognise Frankie’s steps and lower the gun as he opens the door to the closet. 

“You ok?” he asks, holding out his hand for you, and you gratefully take it, stepping into his arms as he pulls you close. You nod against his chest, grabbing hold of his shirt as he presses his lips to the top of your head. 

“We need to get going, cariño,” he mumbles, stepping back and pulling you out of the closet. Together you make your way down through the house, it’s lit with the eerie light of the flames engulfing the barn on the other side of the yard and you can see it spreading to the other service buildings. Frankie leads you to the backdoor and out into the yard in the back, he’s got his gun up, alert, as he moves you to a couple of cars parked to the side of the yard.

“Check this one for keys,” he says, pointing to the closest one, “I’ll check these two.” 

You quickly move to the sedan and pull at the door, it’s locked, and so is the passenger side door. Frankie’s had no luck with the second sedan but calls you over when he checks the third one, the door is open and under the sunshield he finds the keys. 

“Get in,” he calls to you, and you hurry over. 

“What about our things?” you ask, “Did you see our bags anywhere?” 

“No, and we don’t have time to look. This fire is bound to attract attention either from infected or other people. I took out the guys I saw but I don’t know if there are others nearby.” He’s started the car and is hastily reversing out, turning the car towards the gate in the wire fence. “Hang on,” he says and accelerates. The small car jolts from the force when it hits the gate but the lock snaps and the car shoots through the opening, onto the dark road. Frankie holds the car steady as it wobbles, keeping it on the road and floors it. You glance behind you, the barn is swallowed by the fire as the flames move towards the main building. Turning back to Frankie you exhale slowly and lean back against the car seat. 

“How are you doing, cariño?” he asks, his hand finding yours and squeezing it tightly. “Are you sure you’re not hurt?” 

You tilt your head to look at his profile as he keeps his eyes on the road, “I’m ok,” you draw a shaky breath, “but I was so scared.” You feel fresh tears well up in your eyes as you try to not think about the blonde man and the way his hands grabbed you. Frankie glances over at you and his eyebrows knit together as he sees your tears. 

“Talk to me,” he demands, gently squeezing your hand again. 

“Not now, later,” you say, dragging the back of your hand across your eyes, “did you kill them all? A blonde guy with a ponytail?”

“Yeah, him I got for sure,” Frankie growls, “what did he do to you?” 

You just shake your head, “As long as he’s dead I’m good, Frankie.”

He takes his eyes off the road long enough to study your tear stained face as your jaw clenches and his grip on your hand tightens. 

“He died painfully, I made sure of it,” he says, looking back at the road and you nod, pushing back the memory of  his groping hands to the back of your mind.

You sit up straighter and look over at Frankie, suddenly remembering his blood stained face. “What about you, are you ok?”, you ask, inspecting the side of his head. In the dim interior light you can make out much except that his hair looks wet and sticky. “Shit, Frankie, we need to clean your head and your face!” you wince as you realize he has several fresh cuts on his cheek and jaw too, moving in your seat you try to see more of his face but he keeps his eyes on the road.   

“We have no supplies, no first aid kit and no extra ammo,” he says, his tone defeated, “I’m taking you to Franklin, to the quarantine zone.” His grip on the steering wheel is hard, white knuckled. “I can’t keep you safe, I was an idiot for thinking I could keep you safe out here.” 

“Don’t say that, Frankie, you’ve saved my life so many times, you’ve kept me safe at the cabin for months.” You put your hand on his leg and you can feel how tight his muscles are as you look over at him, trying to catch his eyes, at least for a second. 

He sighs, biting back the anger inside him, anger at himself for not being able to keep you safe for even a day away from the cabin. The memory of what the blonde man had said he wanted to do to you, fresh in his mind. “It’s the truth, I can’t keep you safe, not while trying to keep us both alive out here.” He rubs a hand gingerly over his bruised jaw, feeling the tenderness, “I should’ve taken you to Franklin months ago, let you be safe there, be protected, I can’t do it out here. I’ll get you to Franklin and then you’ll be safe. The military must have some sort of safe zone setup, once you’re through quarantine.”

“Why are you talking like you’re only taking me there, Frankie?” you ask, frowning at him, “I am not leaving you, you are not allowed to leave me behind, you hear me?” You’ve turned yourself fully towards him but he’s refusing to take his eyes off the road. 

“Frankie?” you say again, a sharper tone to your voice. 

“I can’t keep you safe, I couldn’t keep Lucía safe and I can’t keep you safe,” he says, his jaw clenching around the words. It’s the first time he’s said her name out loud since that day. “It’s the only way.” 

“No!” you shout, the sound jolts around the confines of the small car, “That is not an option. You are the only person who can keep me safe, you are the only person I want with me in this shithole of a world now. If you’re not with me, then why the fuck would I even bother?!” You stare at him but he remains silent, gritting his teeth, you see the muscle in his jaw working under his blood stained skin and scruffy beard. 

“Frankie!” you blurt out, wanting to grab him and shake him, force him to react, but all he does is grip the steering wheel with white knuckles and stare at the road. 

“You proposed to me, even after the world went to shit, you proposed to me and gave me a ring and said you wanted to spend the rest of your life with me. Does that not mean anything to you anymore?!” Tears are welling up in your eyes again, spilling over your cheeks and your voice breaks, “You said- you said, you wanted to spend every day trying to be the man I deserve and now- and now you’re bailing on me?” Your breath catches in your throat as you feel a thick lump threaten to cut off your windpipe as you gasp for breath between the words and your tears. Frankie shoves his hand through his hair and inhales sharply, squeezing his eyes shut for a second before looking over at your tear stained face. 

“Frankie…” you plead, “you can’t leave me, I don’t want you to leave me and I don’t want to survive if you’re not with me.” 

Frankie pulls in a loud, shuddering breath, his eyes back on the road and then pulls the car over to the side of the road, turning to you before the engine even quietens down. His hands are on your shoulders, pulling you across the center console and wrapping his arms around you, his hand grabs the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. You pull him in, your arms around him and he’s shaking under you, his shoulders heaving as the first cracked sob breaks from his throat. His grip is as hard on you as it was when he first clung to you in the lake the night Lucía died, his body is shaking, racking with strangled sobs as he holds you as tight as he can. 

You can feel his tears soak through your flannel shirt, your own dripping hot onto the skin of his neck, and he gasps for air as the sobs force their way up through his body, his large shoulders convulsing under your firm grip. You move your hand up, tangling your fingers in his hair and caressing his scalp, he shudders under your arms, inhaling as if he’s coming up for air as his fingers dig into your flesh, sobs wrenching their way out of his chest in a fresh wave. 

You hold him, never letting him go. You’re never going to let him go, no matter what he says. 

It passes slowly, Frankie’s sobs quieten down and he falls silent. You can feel his hot breath against your neck, his wet eyelashes are brushing over your skin and his lips press against it. With a long exhale he pulls himself away from you and loosens his grip on your body. You look up at him, cupping his cheeks with your hands, rubbing thumbs over his wet beard and he inhales deeply, a sigh escaping as he drops his eyes, looking down at your lap.

“I don’t want to leave you,” he mumbles, his eyes still downcast. “I don’t want to survive if you’re not with me either. But I don’t know how to keep you safe.” He jaw clenches under your palms, grinding down on something, biting back words or a sob. 

“Frankie,” you say softly, trying to stop fresh tears from spilling over, “I don’t know how to keep myself safe, and I don’t know how to keep you safe either.” You pull his head up so that you can look into his red rimmed eyes, still so soft and warm after all they’ve been through. “All I know is that I have to be with you, and you have to be with me, or there is no point in even trying to stay safe.” You lean in and gently press your lips to his, tasting the salt of his tears and iron from his cut, “I love you Frankie, stay with me,” you whisper as his hand finds your cheek and cups it, stroking his thumb over your skin as he sighs, exhaling slowly. 

“Para siempre, mi amor, forever, I promise.”

Chapter 16

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