#horizon being my number one tag hell yeah hell yeah | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tothemeadow · 3 years

Note

THE REQUEST ARE OPEN AGAINN!! AHHHH CONTINUATION OF PILLAR BODY SWAP THANKYOUUUU

‘switch ‘em up pt. 4′ / Pillars x Reader (now with the Kamaboko Squad!)

warnings: none

words: 2,243

(a/n): I just wanna thank the lovely anon that gave me the idea to this plotline; it helped a lot!

for reference: Giyuu/Shinobu | Gyomei/Mitsuri | Obanai/Tengen | Sanemi/Muichiro | Kyojuro/you

“I’m not sure I understand entirely,” Tanjiro confesses, his eyebrows furrowing. “So you’re looking for some special type of herb?”

“Precisely,” Shinobu says.

Overhead, birds chirp and flood the skies, hopping from branch to branch and competing each other with their harmonies. A delicate breeze sweeps through the area, carrying loose leaves and the crisp smell of nature. On any other day, you’d love to come back; however, considering the circumstances, you’d rather not be here.

After much discussion on what should be done to return everyone to their normal bodies, Shinobu voiced an idea that may work – finding a special herb and using its medicinal properties. It’s a bit of a longshot, but it’s not like anyone else has any other better idea. And whether the others voiced it or not, everyone is secretly wishing that this magical plant will bring a miracle.

As such, you and the rest of the Pillars take the trip to Mount Sagiri; Tanjiro insisted he tag along since he knows the area well, plus he wanted to help. Of course, this meant traveling with his two friends, Zenitsu and Inosuke. Truthfully, it’s quite a crowd you’re traveling with, but it should prove to be useful to have extra eyes searching for the herb.

“Giyuu knows this area as well, so it shouldn’t be too hard to find it!” Tanjiro chirps, looking to his friend. Although Giyuu is still stuck inside Shinobu’s body, he looks away, a light blush dusting his face. “Plus, Urokodaki-san should be able to help us!”

“Wait, that old man who used to be the Water Pillar?” Tengen questions.

“Don’t disrespect him,” Giyuu abruptly snaps. The muscle in his jaw ticks. “That is all I ask.”

At that, Tengen lets out a drawn-out whistle. “Damn, alright. Don’t tear my head off, waterworks.”

“Waterworks? What kind of name is that?” Sanemi speaks up. “I think you’ve been inside of Obanai for too long, Tengen. Your insults are starting to turn lame.”

“Fuck you,” Obanai mutters.

“It’s not my fault Obanai doesn’t possess a flamboyant sense of humor!”

With a sigh, you watch on as Tengen, Sanemi, and Obanai start bickering. Frankly, you don’t know why they’re even putting in the effort. Everyone is stuck in a situation that they don’t like, so what’s the point?

Beside you, Zenitsu wrings his hands, an uneasy expression crossing his features. “Uh… Kyojuro? Wait, wait, sorry – (y/n)?” You hum in response. “Are all the Pillars this… tense? Like, normally?”

“Heh. Well, not really. Sanemi’s always got a stick up his ass, and Obanai’s just naturally edgy like that,” you tell him. As you look to him, it strikes you as odd to have to look down at him. You’ve otherwise grown used to the height difference, but it still takes you aback sometimes.

Zenitsu snickers. His unease melts away, his shoulders visibly relaxing. “When you put it that way, it sounds just like that moron Inosuke.”

“Oi! Who the fuck are you calling a moron?!” Inosuke barks.

Quirking an eyebrow, Zenitsu shoots you a bored look. “See what I mean?”

“We’re here!” Tanjiro exclaims.

Having been distracted from the short conversation with Zenitsu, you’ve completely ignored your surroundings. Cursing yourself internally for being so careless, you look ahead, taking in the sight of a small home with an even smaller garden next to it. So this must be Urokodaki’s home, huh? How quaint.

“This doesn’t really look like much,” Muichiro voices. Shifting his attention to Giyuu, he cocks his head. “So this is where you were trained?”

Giyuu nods stiffly. The look on his face – Shinobu’s face – is, well, vulnerable. You haven’t seen him show so much emotion before, and it’s a bit startling. If you’re being entirely honest, it looks as though he’s ready to throw up everything that’s inside his gut.

“It’s just as I remember!” Tanjiro chirps. “It’s nice up here, don’t you think? The air gets thinner from here on up, so please be careful when scaling the mountain.”

As if on cue, the door to the house slides open, revealing an elderly man with a tengu mask adorning his face. The air about him demands respect; it’s more than obvious that this very man was a Pillar, and a strong one at that. You watch on as Tanjiro and Giyuu step up towards the house before dropping into respectful bows. Tanjiro’s movements are much more fluid, more comfortable. Giyuu’s are more… wooden.

“Tanjiro, my boy!” Urokodaki greets. Ushering Tanjiro closer, he greets the young man with a hug. “…Who’s this fine lady with you?”

Tengen laughs.

“Urokodaki-san, it’s me,” Giyuu grumbles. “Giyuu…”

Although you can’t see Urokodaki’s face, you have a pretty good idea of what it’s like. The man falls silent, glances from him to Tanjiro, then he scans over the group behind him. Sure, you can’t blame him for being skeptical; a random swarm of people showing up to your house unexpectedly is bound to raise some questions. However, these are all Pillars he’s dealing with. This isn’t something to take lightly.

“Urokodaki-san,” Tanjiro begins, “we need your help. We’re not entirely sure how, but all the Pillars switched bodies with each other. It’s been like this for a number of days now, and we don’t know how long it’s supposed to last.”

After another moment or so of silence, Urokodaki sighs and crosses his arms. “Listen, kid, that seems a bit… much, don’t you think?”

“It might be some sort of Blood Art!” Tanjiro rushes. “Please, Urokodaki-san!”

Again, another sigh. “So everyone is in another body than their own? Haven’t heard of an ability like that before, but that doesn’t mean it’s not possible.” Nodding in Shinobu’s direction, he says, “So, that’s Giyuu’s body, but it isn’t him?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Shinobu tells him. “Believe me when I say I don’t want to be in Giyuu-san’s body more than I have to.”

“Ehhh?! What’s with all the talking!” Inosuke bursts. “You guys said you wanted to find a plant, not talk to some old coot!”

“Inosuke!” Tanjiro scolds, but he’s too late. In a blink of an eye, Giyuu practically materializes right before Inosuke, his fist colliding with Inosuke’s gut. There’s a loud groan of pain as Inosuke drops to the ground, his hands clutching onto his stomach. To the side, both Zenitsu and Tengen break out into fits of laughter.

“I told you not to disrespect him,” Giyuu grunts.

“Ohoho!” Kyojuro booms, just as loud as always. At this rate, he’s going to blow out your vocal cords before you can get them back. “How loyal, Giyuu! I’m impressed!”

Rolling your eyes, you break away from the group, opting to join Tanjiro. “Urokodaki-san,” you greet, giving a polite bow, “it’s a pleasure to meet you. Listen, I know this is a complicated situation, but we really need to find this plant. It’s crucial that we do.”

Urokodaki hums. “I know you – you’re Rengoku Shinjuro’s boy, aren’t you?”

“Huh? Well, technically – but I’m not Kyojuro. I’m (l/n) (y/n), the Wild Pillar.”

“You’re not? Figures. This whole “switched body” conundrum is making my brain work in ways it hasn’t worked in years.” Urokodaki waves a dismissive hand at you. “Whatever. If all of you are willing to look for such a plant, feel free to scale the mountain to your heart’s content. I’ll get dinner started.”

“Thank you so much!” Tanjiro chirps. After Urokodaki slides the door shut behind him, the two of you turn back to the others, smiles plastered on both of your faces. “Everyone – it’s time! Let’s turn you all back to normal!”

After hours of searching, no one has come up with anything. Granted, a vast variety of edible plants line the mountain – all of them useful in one way or another – but it’s not the dreaded silva you’re looking for. Shinobu said it was vine-like, with delicate leaves shaped like bells. The only you found worth of any interest was watching Inosuke eat almost every mushroom he could find and crack open acorns like they were nothing.

Soon, the sun began to dip below the horizon, painting the sky with hues of peach and berry. The view was simply breathtaking, and you had to stop to take it in for a few moments.

“It’s always been like that,” Giyuu says quietly. Stopping next to you, he gazes at the setting sun, a wistful gleam in his eyes. “Most of the time, we were too busy training to watch it, though.”

Now that you think about it, Giyuu has been acting weird ever since arriving. Call it intuition, but you’re almost positive that he was feeling guilty about something. And he said we instead of I, so that only confirms your suspicion. Glancing around, you imagine a younger Giyuu descending the mountain, panting like crazy in the thin air, narrowly avoiding the numerous traps Urokodaki set up. If he experienced anything like the pain roaring in your back and sides right now, you’re amazed he dared to set foot back on this very mountain.

“Thinking back to simpler times, huh?” you ask, voice soft.

Giyuu scoffs. “The training was far from simple, but yeah. Things were a lot more different then.”

As if acting on its own, your arm slings itself around Giyuu, tugging him closer and holding him against your body. With him in Shinobu’s body, he’s so small, his head nestled against your chest. At first, he tenses up, but then slowly relaxes in your hold. Ever since switching bodies, you’ve noticed Kyojuro’s personality starting to bleed into yours. Hell, even his body is trying to one up you.

“I miss him,” Giyuu whispers.

Your heart drops to your stomach at his tone. “…Who?”

“Oi! Are you two just gonna stand there or are you coming back down?” Sanemi snaps.

Muttering a curse under your breath, you pull away, but you keep a hand on Giyuu’s forearm. “You’re helping me down, got it? This mountain gives me the creeps and I don’t want to get rammed by another damned log. Seriously – how did Urokodaki-san even set them up?”

Despite the saddened glint in his eyes, Giyuu manages to crack a smile.

The inside of Urokodaki’s house is cramped, but it’s also very homely. Scattered around the living area, each person more or less sticks to themselves, too much in pain to engage in lively conversation. Shinobu treats to the wounds, making sure bones are intact and intestines didn’t take too much of a beating. The only ones completely unaffected are Tanjiro and Giyuu, but that much is obvious.

“So what now?” Mitsuri asks. Still in Gyomei’s colossal body, she’s probably one of the Pillars that’s had the most trouble adjusting to her new form. “We’re not going to give up looking, are we?”

“I didn’t think it was this rare,” Shinobu admits. “Perhaps we were looking at the wrong spots on the mountain? It’s possible.”

“Take a breather before springing back into motion,” Urokodaki says. Sitting before the hearth, he absentmindedly prepares some tea. “Think, plan, then go about your business. A mindless game of hide and seek isn’t going to produce any results.

“Mmph! Mmph!” Nezuko agrees (or you think so, anyway). You’ve only met her a handful of times outside of her box, but you enjoy her company very much.

“Wait,” Shinobu suddenly says, snapping upright. “Urokodaki-san, what’s that you’re grinding up right now?”

Setting down his mortar and pestle, Urokodaki busies his hands with plucking apart wildflowers. “It’s silva. It grows right out here in my garden.”

At that, Shinobu’s draw drops. “By the gods-“ She facepalms, then, and groans. “That’s the herb we were looking for! You’re telling me that it’s been down here the entire time?!”

“Why didn’t you say what you were looking for?” Urokodaki says. “Could’ve saved a lot of time.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Sanemi curses.

“That wasn’t very flamboyant of you,” Tengen chimes in. “I agree with Sanemi – this is bullshit.”

Urokodaki shrugs. “And how is that my fault? You’re all Pillars, are you not? Shame on you for being unobservant.”

“Urokodaki-san, please,” Tanjiro says.

“Alright, alright, fine.” In a couple of minutes, he prepares the tea as planned and pours it into a number of ceramic cups. “Since you’re all on my ass about it, drink up.”

“Uh, should we really be drinking this…?” Zenitsu squeaks, staring down at his own cup.

“Stop being a pussy!” Inosuke cackles. Tipping his head back, he downs his tea in one go.

Everyone more or less follows suit, taking sips of their own tea. As you set your own cup down, you feel the beginning of a warm, pleasant sensation in your lower tummy.

“Hey, Shinobu?” Tanjiro asks. “Is the herb supposed to make you feel sleepy?” At his words, Nezuko slumps to the floor. One by one, all the others drop like flies, yourself included.

Some time passes before your eyes crack back open. The inside of Urokodaki’s house is dark; from the crickets chirping and an owl hooting nearby, you quickly realize that it’s nighttime, and it’s probably late. With a groan, you sit up, dragging a hand across your face in the process. Wait… that’s not your hand, and it’s not Kyojuro’s either. Squinting through the darkness, you’re able to make out slight details, but it’s enough to make your heart sink. The herb didn’t work.

You’re in Giyuu’s body instead.

#kny #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #kny x reader #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #demon slayer x reader #kny pillars x reader #kny hashira x reader #kny pillars #kny hashira #request

287 notes · View notes

flamejob · 2 years

Text

tagged by kora @ispyspookymansion for this little questionnaire thingy thank you!!

1. why did you choose your url?

title of one of my favorite cramps albums and also it's just sexy as hell. fits my vibe very well

2. any side blogs?

i used to have a saw sideblog which i've basically abandoned but other than that no... just urls i'm hoarding

3. how long have you been on tumblr?

on and off since 2017 or so, consistently been active for the past 2 years or so

4. do you have a queue tag?

no i don't understand how to work the queue feature that well and wouldn't use it even if i did

5. why did you start your blog in the first place?

my blog was originally a thrash blog!! i had a megadeth url and i was deep into thrash at the time so that was the main focus. still love the genre obv but i've broadened my horizons lol

6. why did you choose your icon?

poison ivy rorschach is the queen of my heart

7. why did you choose your header?

severen from near dark is my favorite on screen vampire of all time + he's cunty and sexy

8. what's your post with the most notes?

ummm the biggest one was a rant post about like the tiktok effect of everyone looking the same and commodification of subcultures and shit but i deleted it bc stupid comments so i think its the evil b-52s the hate shack is a little old place where we can kill together post

9. how many mutuals do you have?

idk if there's a way to tell but putting a number to it is weird for me,,, just bc i follow someone who follows me doesn't mean we interact like that to me either so idk. like to think it's many lovely people!!!

10. how many followers do you have?

2368

11. how many ppl do you follow?

414

12. have you ever made a shitpost?

that's. all i do nothing i say is important

13. how many times do you use tumblr a day?

far too fucking much lmao

14. have you ever had a fight with another blog?

as shameful as it is to admit yeah the person was just being an idiot and i thought they were cool and i got my feelings hurt over me being. correct so u will not catch me stooping to trusting internet strangers again lmao

15. how do you feel about need to rb posts?

i won't even read them are you kidding

16. do you like tag games?

YASS! they're so fun and i like sharing and learning more about my mutuals too!

17. do you like ask games?

all in all, yes! sometimes i get overwhelmed by the amount of stuff in my inbox and that can cause it to glitch so i abandon them but i do enjoy em

18. which of your mutuals do you think is tumblr famous?

definitely the icon @omegaverse !

19. do you have a crush on a mutual?

i mean my mutuals are all very cute and sweet but having a crush on someone you don't know irl is so weird and foreign to me. never.

20. tags

ummm okay no pressure bc this one is kinda long but i'll tag @mircallasgrave @desacralization @isaactheram @davemustaine @richardhkirk @gunfucked @gurneykink if u guys are up for it,,

#long post #like sooooo long lmao sorry #tag games

12 notes · View notes

softcallofdutyimagines · 3 years

Text

More Then a Woman | Frank Woods x Fem!Reader | Chapter 5

Summary:

I once again expose myself for being into older men, and you and Woods go on your first date

Tags: Slow burn, fluff, age difference

“Anyway, can I help you with something?”

Your friendly voice and sweet smile pull him out of his thoughts. Frank looks down at you, and instantly lets his nerves get the better of him. This was a mistake from the beginning.

He looks away, attempting to mask his insecurities with a gruff exterior, “Uh, it’s nothing. Sorry, may-”

“Oh no no, it’s fine, really! I just have to deliver these papers and then I can be right with you”, you smile encouragingly, and then… he decides to stay. More due to the fact that he feels unable to say no to you rather than by his own resolve, however.

He’ll have to watch out for that.

So he waits. There’s exactly one other chair in your office, a squat cube shaped thing sitting on the other side of your desk. Clearly this is something you own and brought in, rather than a piece of furniture that was given to you like that plain old black office chair behind your desk. The chair looks like it was brightly colored once, and smacks of something salvaged from the early 70s and dragged into the modern era. Still, it’s rather comfortable despite the faded, slightly sagging state of it.

Frank traces his fingers up and down the angular arm rest, thinking of you. You know, now that he’s had the chance to look around… There’s actually quite a few things of the past in here. He sees a bulky old camera and even a typewriter tastefully displayed amongst a few other nik naks on your shelves, both of which look like they were rolled out around the time he was just a child.

For a moment, he feels uncomfortable again and far too old to be trying something like this with you. But then, the anxiety is washed away with the musing that perhaps…. You like old things.

He can’t help but huff a laugh at that. A wishful thought on his part, maybe, and yet… not completely untrue.

“What’s so funny?”, your curious voice pulls him out of his thoughts as you suppress a small laugh of your own.

“Huh? Oh, nothing just… That camera’s gotta be older than I am”, he chuckles and points to the black box of a thing just above you. “What are you doing with a piece of junk like that anyway?”, he laughs.

You gasp in mock hurt, “It’s not junk! It works!” Suddenly you seem to grow quite excited, trotting up to retrieve the object in question. Cradling it carefully, you swing around your desk and take a seat on the hardwood, showing off your treasure, “This is a Kodak Cartridge Hawk-Eye from 1926!” You enunciate the date excitedly as though it were a relic from the dinosaur days, meanwhile all Woods can think of is that that was only a mere four years before he was born.

For a few minutes longer, you go on giving a whole info dump on all you know about the little device, wave upon wave of building excitement adding to your voice and before long, Frank finds himself being swept up in it all. No offence, but… he really doesn’t give a single fuck about the camera. But, the way it has you grinning bright as sunshine. The electric spark in your eyes. The way you give his arm a gentle touch to brace him for what you seem to think is a very riveting fact…

He would listen to you talk about that damn thing all day, just to see you like this.

Before he knows it, the lecture is over and he couldn’t be more disappointed. You shake your head, just now realizing you’ve gone off on a tangent once again. “Ugh, sorry…”, you laugh it off and go to put it away, “I just get so excited about my antiques. I love that stuff, you know? Anyway, before I go off again… What was it you wanted to see me for?”

Suddenly, Frank can feel his heart clench tight. He had almost forgotten why he came, and now… he’s wishing you would’ve too.

“Oh? Uh, why… Why did I-? Uh… Yeah, um, so-”

Damn it! He never thought he’d say this, but he’d rather be in a gunfight right now. Anything then this… juvenile, high school shit. You’ve since returned to your spot on the edge of your desk. Despite his highly suspicious stuttering, your expression remains polite and even encouraging as you wait for him to formulate a coherent sentence.

While his mind reels for some sort of excuse, anything to get him out of this situation he’s dug for himself, his nervous gaze lands on the very last thing it needs to right now. Your eyes are glittering in this afternoon light. Do you know that?, he thinks. You’ve locked eyes right back at him, but the situation is anything but awkward. He appreciates the way that you aren’t afraid of him. That you’re willing to show him patience and understanding… Like he’s a fucking human being, instead of some crazy old veteran that you’re just indulging until you can finally get rid of him.

The longer he looks back at you, the more and more he can feel the tension melting out of him. Each muscle in his body slowly but surely unclenches, allowing him to relax at last as he leans back into his seat. He can’t lie to you. You don’t deserve that.

Damn it…

Frank breaks eye contact at last. He flexes his hand gently, working out the nervous energy, as he makes a fist. “I uh… I was just wondering if, maybe… you wanted to get coffee sometime…”

Immediately he braces for… well, he’s not sure what exactly, but rejection for sure. He closes his eyes so he can’t see the disgusted face you must be making, and all the muscles he’d just set at ease jump back into bands of iron across his chest, tensed so tight, he feels like his heart might stop. It’s only been a few seconds, but it feels like years have passed when you finally respond…

“Sure! What time would work for you?”

His eyes snap open as he jerks his head around to look at you, not entirely sure he heard you right. But then… there’s that same, sunny smile and electrified eyes that tell him you mean it.

“I-I uh…”, and just like that, he snaps out of it. Woods sits up straight, fixing a strand of hair that’s strayed from its place, and grinning excitedly himself. He hasn’t felt like this in… years. “W-well what time would work for you? I’m sure as shit not doing anything”, he laughs.

You think for a moment, “Oh! Say, do you go for a run on Saturdays too?”

Pft, not lately. “Yeah! Why?”

You light up, “Great! Tell you what, let's meet up and we can go for a run together then hit that coffee shop we met at last time. Would that be alright? Could be fun!”

As though you even needed to ask, he’s already agreeing. The two of you make some more concrete plans like the wheres and whens specifically before preparing to head your separate ways. You stop him and scribble down your number on a torn sheet of paper. “Just in case”, you smile. “And hey… Loser pays”, you break out into laughter.

“Oh yeah?”, he smiles back, “Don’t think I’ll go fucking easy on you!”, he calls, half way down the hall by now as you wave him off.

When you’ve retreated out of sight, Woods takes a look around. Alone again. Good. He reaches into his pocket and gingerly retrieves the slip of paper. Over and over again he reads and re-reads the chicken scratch handwriting you’ve produced. To him, it’s wonderful.

By the time he gets to his car, he feels like he knows that number better than his own dog tag ID. He slips the precious sheet into his wallet, the first of a few select reminders of you that he’ll keep safe in there.

As the few short days go by, he waits restlessly until he can see you again. And finally… Finally, Saturday morning comes.

5:26 am, and he’s up before his alarm. He doesn’t even need to check the digital clock to see what day it is. He already knows as he jumps out of bed and races to get ready. In no time at all he meets you early at the nearby park you agreed to meet at. You’ve come prepared in your high tops, short shorts, and nylon catsuit. Stylish and modern, but thankfully not as over the top as what the fashion industry would have you in.

It takes every ounce of willpower within him to keep his eyes up.

“Ready?”, you stretch your arms up high, only accentuating your body as you do so.

Frank can feel himself turning red as he status out an affirmative, earning… is that a smirk? from you.

“Alright then, ready… set…”, without warning you bolt off for a head start.

“Hey!”

He wants to be mad, but… He’s just having too much fun, damn it. About half way through, it’s a fair race, and although he’s beating you it’s not by that much. Once he’s proved to himself that he’s still got it, Woods allows himself to fall back, giving you the ego boost you need to stick it out and sprint to the finish, tired as you are.

Frank trots to a stop behind you shortly, only slightly more out of breath then you are. He may have let you win, but that doesn’t mean you didn’t give him hell in the first half.

“Cheater”, you give his shoulder a light punch and a knowing look.

“Me?”, he laughs, ignoring the accusation that he would ever let someone else beat him in a competition, “What do you call that stun at the start?”

You merely laugh, wiping some sweat from your brow as you head towards the door of the coffee shop. The bell chimes as you enter and walk up to the counter together. You place your orders, and Frank pays. You wait in silence for your orders, merely taking the time to completely catch your breath.

Drinks and breakfast in hand, you sit by the large bay windows together. The sun has just peeked over the horizon, filling the room with a golden glow. A halo of light shines around you, catching every perfect curve and angle you have to offer as you grace him with your presence. The food and coffees are nearly forgotten as you both get caught up talking about everything and nothing all at once. Conversation topics turn and change like leaves in the wind, easily transitioning from one to the other as you slowly yet surely get to really know one another.

Frank is on the edge of his seat, waiting eagerly to hear what you have to say next as he talks with you. It’s the most excited he’s been to hear someone else drone on and on in his entire life. By the time you’re both feeling talked out, the sun is well on it’s way to rising and the morning dew has since evaporated.

But, it doesn’t matter. How could he ever feel time was wasted when it was spent with you?

The two of you walk back towards the park, making sure to take it slow so you can get the most out of what little time you have left together.

“And then I said, ‘Looks don't count for shit in the jungle. This is 'Nam baby!’ “

You burst out laughing, “Did you really? And then what happened!”

He grins, “Well, the- Oh, wait, we’re uh, we’re here…”

The two of you stop at the edge of the parking lot. It’s practically empty aside from your lone car only a stone’s throw away. At that, the mirth seeps from you as well as you agree.

“Well… I guess… thanks. I had fun, you know”, Frank turns to face you, hoping more than anything that you enjoyed yourself as well.

“Yeah, me too!”, that familiar little smile that he’s grown so fond of slowly makes its way back. “Maybe… Maybe we could do this again sometime?”

His eyebrows shoot up in surprise, “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Besides,”, you act on a jolt of courage, stretching up on the tips of your toes to press a little kiss to his rough, stubbly cheek, “you have to tell me the rest of your story”

You lick your lip and give it a little nervous bite as you shyly take his hand in yours for comfort.. It feels huge, more like a bear paw than a human hand, compared to yours. “Well… See you later…”, you turn and begin to back away, holding his hand until you can no longer reach, forcing you to let go. You offer him one last smile, but all he can do is stand there, frozen amongst a roar of emotions.

Woods lifts a hand to his cheek, reverently caressing the spot your lips touched. The depth, breadth, and complexity of feeling circling in his mind are far too much for him to ever put into words. But, out of them all, one rings out loud and clear. He’s so, so…

Happy.

#black ops cold war #call of duty #frank woods #frank woods x reader #cod fanfic

76 notes · View notes

maddiewritesstucky · 3 years

Text

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Pairing: Stripper Bucky / Architect Steve

Words: 3790

Tags: Sexy shower antics, post-exercise endorphin highs, Steve is a badass for like 10 minutes, Bucky is not a morning person (until he suddenly is), enthusiastic morning sex

A follow-up one-shot to the slow death of Steve Rogers. Many thanks to my radiant cassowary @kalee60 for giving it your clever eyes. Infinite birdseed for you 😘

(Also on Ao3)

When Bucky wakes up, he is aware of two things, and two things only.

One - it’s way too fucking early for his eyelids to have peeled themselves back the way they have, if the rosy tint of the sky outside is anything to go by, and two - his foot should have connected with some part of Steve’s anatomy by now on it’s customary post-waking stretch across the mattress.

His body is coming online one limb at a time, and he grunts his displeasure into the rumpled sheets; gaze firmly averted from the clock on the bedside table. Putting a number to it will only make him angry, and the stupid beautiful soft dawn light filling the bedroom tells him everything he needs to know anyway.

Why they had decided to move into Steve’s apartment when Bucky’s actually had things like properly functioning curtains, he has no idea.

"Steve,” he groans, voice thick with the remnants of sleep and the injustice of waking before he intended to.

He kicks his foot out a little further; throws an arm out to join the search party too, but finds Steve’s side of the bed decidedly more vacant than it had been when he fell asleep last night.

Running, some vaguely helpful part of Bucky’s subconscious supplies, you fell for a man who goes running at bastard o’clock in the morning.

He flops over onto his back and scrubs his hands up over his face; up through the tangled mess of hair that seems to find new ways of defying its scrunchie-prison every night. His vision sharpens into focus and sticks a moment on the giant canvas print photo of himself and Steve smiling back at him from the far wall; a grinning relic of a Bucky who was not woken before his time.

It still makes his stomach flip a little, that picture - the two of them stuffed into the heavy-knit sweaters Bucky’s ma had made them last Christmas; both in the throes of losing their shit over the comically absurd miscalculation she’d made on size. Steve’s got tears in his eyes, and Bucky’s aren’t even open, and they’re clinging to each other with that special kind of desperation that intense, prolonged laughter seems to spawn.

It’s everything good about their life together, that photo; the sheer warmth and joy they’ve found in one another over the past year, the sense of home and family and right.

It’s even more heartwarming, Bucky finds, when the sun is a reasonable distance above the horizon.

He drags his protesting body out of its sleep-warmed cocoon, his intentions set on the brand new bag of espresso grind that Last-Night Bucky had so wisely left sitting on the kitchen counter.

He’s going to use Steve’s favorite mug, the one he’d happened across in a yard sale that reads ‘architects do it on drafting tables’ with a lewd stick figure drawing. Partially because it holds the most coffee, and partially because if Steve had remained in bed this morning, with all his familiar warmth and dependable big-spoon behavior, Bucky would have remained blissfully unconscious until his alarm went off.

...Steve’s not here to actually see this particular middle-finger of a gesture, but that’s beside the point. Bucky will know.

It’s not until he’s shuffling his way down the hall, already two steps past the closed bathroom door, that Bucky registers the faint sounds of water hitting tile, and the sporadic, off-key hum of a post-run Steve.

His feet halt in their tracks before he’s even made the conscious decision that coffee can wait.

He wants to keep walking, to get his precious cup of bean nectar and crawl back into bed for another hour or three, it’s just...

Post-run Steve is kind of Bucky’s jam.

He’s sweaty, and loose-limbed, and hopped up on exercise endorphins which, more often than not, make him inexplicably horny and give him the closest approximation of a bad boy complex that someone with Steve’s demeanor could possibly get.

Post-run Steve is the only good thing about being awake at this god forsaken hour.

The sunrise, and the stillness, and the smell of fresh dew can get fucked, but Bucky will carpe the hell out of a diem for some Post-run Steve.

He slips quietly into the bathroom, and is immediately grateful for the time he spent descaling the shower door yesterday when he’s met with an unimpeded view of Steve’s glorious back. What goddamn right an architect has looking like that, Bucky has no idea, but you wanna talk about some aesthetically pleasing angles?

Steve’s got one hand braced against the wall, head dipped to draw out the line of his back. His skin’s a little flushed; water channeling in fast-flowing rivulets between the soft ridges and swells of his drawn-taut muscles, and he’s breathing those quiet grunts of the recently-exerted.

He’s a living, breathing thirst-trap, and the knowledge that he’d only blush and change the subject if Bucky told him so just makes it a thousand times better.

Bucky pushes his soft flannel sleep pants off his hips and lets them fall to the floor, sending up another silent salute to Last-Night Bucky for going commando, and steps forward to pull open the shower door.

...Later on, when Bucky is reflecting on it all, he’ll blame the early hour and his pre-caffeinated state for the fact that he didn’t realise. The soft noises falling from Steve’s lips, the very particular bunch and flex of very particular muscles…

Any other time of day, Bucky would have known straight away.

Any other time of day, and Bucky wouldn’t have even needed to be in the same room - he could be at the bodega down the street, and his nipples would inexplicably harden at the pluck of Steve’s distant arousal on the cosmic spiderweb.

But as it happens in the moment, it’s not until Steve’s head is falling back on a low moan that Bucky realizes exactly what it is he’s walked in on.

“Oh, shit...”

It’s off his tongue before he can reel it back in, and Steve almost jumps out of his skin.

His head whips around, and for the briefest flicker of a moment, he looks shocked and uncertain and embarrassed as all hell.

But this right here is no weekday-afternoon Steve. This is not the blushing, bumbling hunk of love meee that occupies the corporeal form of Steve Rogers 95% of the time.

No, this is Post-run Steve, and it’s all of about two seconds before he’s schooling his features into something more akin to vaguely-smirking indifference; turning until he’s facing Bucky front on, and settling his weight back against the shower wall.

“Babe, I’m sorry, I didn’t--” Bucky begins, as close to apologetic as one can really be about seeing their significant other in a compromising yet Very Sexy position. But the words dry up on his lips as Steve lifts a finger to his own in the universal gesture of ‘shush.’

He watches, rapt, as Steve first reaches over to the tap and shuts off the water, and then takes up the bottle of Bucky’s conditioner, squirting some into his hand before wrapping it back around his cock.

And then that jacked-up idiot, that neuro-chemical flooded pseudo bad bitch, looks Bucky dead in the eye...and goes right back to jerking off.

He’s putting on a goddamn show with it too - pulling at his cock, long and slow and tight; dropping his head back against the wall and letting his moans ricochet shamelessly off the tile. The sound of his fist working over his dick is lewd as hell, so much more audible for the fact that there’s no rush of running water to mask it anymore, and Bucky wonders briefly if he ever actually woke up at all, if this isn’t just all a very believable wet dream.

It certainly contains all the usual elements - intense eye contact; a big fat dick getting rubbed off by a beefy, naked, wet dude (bonus that it’s Bucky’s actual, real-life boyfriend); the kinds of sounds you usually only hear in porn…

For all Bucky knows, he could still be tucked up in bed asleep, and not standing here naked and painfully erect in this steamed up bathroom, watching his boyfriend jack it like he’s starring in some locker-room porno.

“You need somethin’, or you just come in here to watch?” Steve drawls, arching a brow at him, and yeah - there’s a lot of things Bucky needs all of a sudden.

He rakes an assessing gaze over Steve’s body, stepping into the shower and pressing his palms to the swell of Steve’s pecs.

“I just wanted to make sure your run went okay,” he shrugs, “no pulled tendons, shin splints...aching muscles…that kinda thing.”

He squeezes at Steve’s shoulders and his biceps and his tiny waist; threads his hands up through Steve’s hair and slots a thigh between Steve’s to push their hips together.

Steve’s skin is so warm, and slippery, and he smells like soap, and Bucky starts mentally calculating just how much time they have and how much energy he can feasibly expend before their respective work days start.

He’s not on stage tonight, but he is on shift for his day job at the community center, teaching a preschool ballet class at 10am, and then a seniors ballroom dancing session at midday before his contemporary classes in the afternoon. Steve’s working from home today, so hypothetically it wouldn’t matter if Bucky wore him out a little…

“Buck...”

“Mm?”

He rubs his whole self shamelessly against Steve, pressing in so the barbells spiked through his nipples drag across the wet expanse of Steve’s chest. He kisses Steve’s neck and his tits and his mouth, hungry and handsy and a little frantic, and Steve laughs softly against his lips as he turns them to push Bucky up against the slick tile of the shower wall.

“Your concern is deeply moving,” he deadpans, caging Bucky in with hands planted either side of his head, “but I think we need to talk about your bathroom etiquette...didn’t anybody ever teach you to knock?”

He’s staring Bucky down with eyes lit up something wicked; his body so very nearly touching Bucky’s but not quite, and it hits Bucky all over again that his boyfriend is, physically speaking...really fucking imposing.

It’s easy to forget, when he’s being...well, Steve. Perpetually polite, kind-hearted, goofy...Bucky feels like when he looks at Steve, he sees the softness of his nature, the quiet goodness that radiates out of him.

He sees the sensible shoes and the khaki pants, the careful artist hands and the way Steve still sometimes carries himself like the much-smaller man he claims to have once been.

He’s Stevie, and Bucky wouldn’t have him any other way.

But all of that also happens to be contained within a 6’2”, 200lb frame, and right now...Bucky kind of wants to suffocate under it.

“I am so sorry, Steven,” he says, though it’s entirely negated by the raging hard on he’s sporting and the giddy, gratuitous manner in which he’s still feeling Steve up.

He skates his fingertips down the rippled plain of Steve’s stomach, down to the trail of dusky blond hair leading south from his belly button, but Steve catches his hands and pins them up above his head.

“I’m sure you are,” Steve hums, “but I don’t think you appreciate the gravity of the situation here. See, you caught me in a very private moment, one that I was very much enjoying, and now I’m all thrown off. You got me feelin’ shy.”

...There’s some very compelling evidence to the contrary rubbing up against Bucky’s hip right now, but that’s beside the point. Steve’s teeth are scraping a line all the way down Bucky’s neck to nip at the ice fractals tattooed across his shoulder, and Bucky’s more than willing to play along.

“However can I make it up to you?”

He arches into the press of Steve’s body, the hard line of Steve’s cock nestled into the crease of his hip.

If Steve shifted just slightly, he’d be rubbing up against Bucky’s dick.

It’s not an accident that Steve isn’t making that shift.

“You really want to?” Steve kisses the question against his skin, making his way slowly back up to Bucky’s mouth, and Bucky nods vehemently.

He’s already wetting his lips in preparation for all the ‘making up’ they’re about to do; signalling his knees to get ready to bend and pulling at Steve’s grip on his wrists, but Steve doesn’t release him.

Instead, he pulls back just far enough to look Bucky square in the eye, and smiles entirely too sweet for the authoritative edge that rumbles into his voice. “Go back to bed, Bucky.”

Bucky has to blink a few times as the words circulate in his ears. His expression turns from I’m about to get some D! to oh god I’m being denied the D in about 0.2 seconds flat.

Bed is very far away from the dick that is currently in need of reparations, he can’t achieve anything from bed.

“But—you said—I was gonna—”

“Go. back. to bed.” Steve tightens his grip on Bucky’s wrists and leans his whole weight against him, right up in his space so his lips catch against Bucky’s as he speaks, “...and wait for me.”

Oh.

A big, stupid, ‘bout-to-get-railed grin stretches across Bucky’s face. He wriggles free of Steve’s grasp and stumbles out of the shower, stopping himself just shy of a wildly enthusiastic ‘yes sir!’

He thinks he can hear Steve’s laughter as he takes off back down the hall toward the bedroom, but it might just be his own echoing back to him. He throws himself down onto the unmade bed, still warm from when he got up not ten minutes ago, and honestly who needs to sleep in anyway? Sleeping in is for people who don’t have absolute poundcake boyfriends to screw them into the sunrise.

He should have toweled off, he realizes as his damp skin rubs against the bedding, but he cannot be blamed for life choices made before six am, and there are far more important things afoot anyway.

Things like the sound of the shower turning back on for approximately forty-five seconds, then the muted pass of a towel being scrubbed over hair, and footsteps on the hardwood growing ever closer to the bedroom.

God, this is gonna be a good day. What a beautiful day to be greeting the dawn, making the most of his youth, seizing everything life throws at him!

He has the good sense to snatch the lube out of the bedside drawer just as Steve walks into the room, eyeing him with amusement and hunger in equal measures.

“You know what the problem is, with what just happened back there, Buck?”

Steve saunters toward the bed with all the nonchalance of a man whose work day doesn’t start for another three hours.

He wraps his sizable hands around Bucky’s ankles and yanks him down the bed a little - for no other purpose than to hear Bucky’s breath hitch at the unnecessary show of strength - and climbs up onto the mattress to straddle Bucky’s shins.

“The problem is, I don’t like to make a spectacle of myself.” He plucks the lube from Bucky’s hand and pours some into his own, spreading it over his cock in lazy pulls. “Being the center of attention, having eyes on me...that’s more your speed.”

“Mhmm, yes, I am an attention whore,” Bucky nods, reaching grabby hands out at Steve who refuses to shift any further up his body, “and you are humble and handsome and have a big dick. Make out with me.”

Steve tuts and shakes his head, reaching his unoccupied hand to flick at one of Bucky’s nipple piercings.

“Oh, I don’t think you get to make requests right now. See, the worst part of you throwin’ me off back there? I was so fucking close. So now what you get to do, James, is flip the fuck over, and let me finish what I started.”

...Jesus, Bucky loves Post-run Steve.

He’s gonna marry Post-run Steve and have his hopped up little post-run babies, and make sure Steve never misses a single day of early morning exercise so he can bask in the glory of this magnificent bastard every goddamn day of his life.

Bucky flops over onto his front and gets his knees under himself, sticking his ass up in the air with a wiggle that’s probably a lot more comical than it is enticing. But the heat of Steve’s palms hook around the front of his thighs and pull them out from under him, sprawling him flat against the mattress.

There’s a sudden clamping of teeth on his ass cheek and the sharp swat of an open palm, and then Bucky’s being pressed firmly into the sheets by Steve’s weight settling high up on the backs of his thighs.

“Here’s what’s gonna happen,” Steve sighs, planting his hands on the dip in Bucky’s spine, “I’m gonna use your ass to get off, and then I’m going to get back into bed, while you go make us some coffee.”

Bucky nods into the mess of blankets under his cheek, futilely trying to rock his hips up against Steve’s considerable weight. “Yes, agreed, punishment fits the cri-hi wow okay.”

A wholly undignified sound is wrenched from Bucky’s chest as Steve skips all pretense of tease, and thrusts his slicked up cock into the crease of Bucky’s ass, rubbing off between his cheeks with a very singular purpose.

Bucky scrabbles to grab hold of his pillow and drags it down, wedging it under his hips with as much success as can be expected when you’re being pinned by a 200lb adrenaline-testosterone cocktail. It’s enough though, to very favorably cushion the rub of his dick, and all things considered…this whole thing is working out pretty well for him.

He’s expending precisely zero effort, but the wet glide of Steve’s cock over his hole and the push of Steve’s hips rubbing him into the pillow is very much Doing It for him, and he lets his body go loose and pliant as Steve does all the work for the both of them.

And Steve is putting in work - rocking Bucky into the mattress with a fervor that knocks the breath out of him and sends the headboard careening rhythmically into the wall.

“Y’hear that, Buck?” Steve pants, not for a second breaking his frankly devastating pace. “That’s what a fuckin’ knock sounds like.”

“Oh my god.”

This is exactly how every single day of Bucky’s life should begin. Naked, giddy, cocks enthusiastically rubbing up against holes, and Steve running his mouth like he won’t be turning ten shades of red about it later.

If this is the payoff, Bucky will bust in on every single shower Steve has for the rest of his life.

“I love you,” he laughs a little breathlessly into the bedding, biting off a moan at the heat coiling low in his belly.

It’s entirely sincere, and he says it because he means it...but if he also happens to know by now that those words are a direct hit to Steve’s prostate during sex?

That’s just a happy coincidence.

Steve makes a sound like he’s been punched, his thighs twitching and tensing where they’re clamped around Bucky’s hips.

His breaths are coming sharp and shallow, his movements taking on a frantic edge that betrays exactly how close he is, and Bucky would ask him to slow down, except he really, really doesn’t want him to.

“I love you, Stevie,” he says again, letting his own building climax bleed into his voice, “love you so much...come on, baby...”

“Fuck, Bucky, I...oh...”

His weight falls forward over Bucky as he comes, and it’s all the shove Bucky needs to tip over the edge with him.

He spills all over his pillow, burying a moan into the sheets and huffing under the weight of Steve’s body going lax on top of him.

“Oh my god, Buck,” Steve groans, vaguely awed like it wasn’t his own efforts that just brought them both to sticky ruin, and Bucky reaches a hand back to swat weakly at him.

“You said it, pal.”

Steve nuzzles into the crook of his neck, planting breathless kisses against his skin and running his hands over every part of Bucky he can reach.

It’s so tangible, that shift back to normalcy, back to Steve. It always hits Bucky square in the chest, the way he can feel Steve’s edges softening, feel that boisterous energy turn sweet and mellow in the aftermath.

It’s kind of precious, actually, though Bucky would never phrase it like that to Steve’s face.

He squirms beneath Steve’s weight, getting himself turned over until he’s on his back beneath him. “Good morning,” he smiles up at Steve softly, running his fingers through the still-damp tufts of his hair.

Steve sighs happily, letting his eyes drift shut and tilting his head into Bucky’s hand. “Good morning, pervert.”

“Hey, come on, you know I didn't do that on purpose! ” Bucky laughs, cupping Steve’s face and kissing him all over his cheeks. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you, I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve rolls his eyes, though the smile on his face says Bucky’s doesn’t really have anything to be sorry about. “Guess I can forgive you this one time.”

“You’re a gracious man.”

Bucky drags him down and kisses him right on his smile, sweet and lazy. When they pull apart, Steve’s got that dopey look on his face like he’s feeling a whole lot of something, and Bucky knows exactly what’s coming before Steve says it.

“Glad you love me, Bucky Barnes.”

...He knew it was coming, but it still gets him every time.

“Glad to love you, Steve Rogers.” He feels like he’s glowing a little as he leans up to peck Steve on the tip of his nose. “Now if I’m not mistaken, I owe you a cup of coffee...you’re gonna have to let me up if you want me to follow through on that.”

“Mm, counter offer - we both go wash off, together, and then I’ll make us breakfast while you handle the coffee?”

Bucky pretends to consider for a second before he nods, stretching his body out as Steve rolls his weight off him.

“Agreed.” He waves a hand in the general direction of the door, shooting Steve a wink and a lopsided grin. “Lead the way, pal. I believe you are intimately familiar with where the shower is.”

#stucky fanfic #stucky au #steve/bucky #stripper!bucky #architect!steve #pwp #sexy shower antics #Post-run Steve can get it

162 notes · View notes

nemuitoka · 3 years

Note

What are your favorte jshk fanfics? also where do you like reading them the most?

Hi Anon!!! today is the day I can finally answer this question😈 ahaha you know how much I enjoy making fic recs so 👀 Let’s go!!!

To answer your second question first, I like reading them on AO3 the most! Mostly because I get almost unlimited number of characters to rant in the comment section........... 😆but also the tagging system is very helpful.

Okay, now to the fun part of this ask😏

You said JSHK, but I mostly read Hananene ones so all of my favs include that pairing... as I already did a fic rec here of my favs, this list will continue that one, so please check that one first hehe ((I apologize in advance..., I would love for people to recommend me some mitsukou ones tbh... I’m really lost when it comes to other pairings orz))

If I’m completely honest with you anon-san, my favorite JSHK fic right now is the one Roxanne ( @istoleyourboat ) wrote based of my art and her snippet:

Star-Crossed and Falling- Where Stars Go to Die by lilaflo

Hanako is Princess Nene’s personal knight 👀. A tale of forbidden love. They slowly fall in love as they exchange a series of gifts, one that includes a pair of matching earrings that remind them of their love when they’re apart. Also, jelly Hanako of Nene’s suitors😏... Oh, but nothing lasts forever and those sweet moments will come to an end when they have to face their cruel reality, in this world, they don’t get to choose neither their battles or the ones they love.

Now more of Roxanne, because I seriously enjoy her work so much (I’m sure everyone knows by now lmao sdkj)

Night of the Phantom King by lilaflo

This one is a spooky one. Nene’s regret for never realizing who she truly loves takes her to mourn her deceased friend Amane and cry on his grave in a Halloween night, then suddenly the Phantom King comes to take her away👀 & he looks suspiciously familiar... Beautiful world building btw, also the ending is just, excellent.

12 Year Romance by lilaflo

Amane meets Nene at the Tanabata festival, she’s older than him, but he falls for her instantly, fast forward, Amane is now in middle school, he’s a troublemaker, & gets constantly into fights, but he swears the new school nurse looks familiar... he then realizes it’s her and thinks it must be fate!!!... This one hits close to home bc I’ve been in this situation irl, so I can confirm all of Nene’s struggles are real (and ofc how a love with an age gap should be handled the correct way, this fic really teaches you many life lessons hahaha)

took a sip then another sip, then you turned and said to me by chivalrousamour

This autor has a bunch of good JSHK fics!! I recommend you check their AO3 out, bec you may find something you like for sure! But, this is my absolute fav from them. Nene is a mangaka, celebrating the finishing of her long serialized manga, while Amane is a delivery boy who happens to find her in a very questionable state in her house👀 (it’s all family friendly ofc, anon, I’m not a slimy pervert like some ghost boy)

Maid for Each Other by corologs ( @corologs )

Courtney has this amazing College AU collection series that I encourage you to check out!!! But Maid for each other is my fav!!! So it’s the Yugi twins birthday, and it’s Tsukasa’s turn to choose where they go to celebrate it... you can already tell where this is going... (let the chaos begin) & as the title said, it involves maids!!! (it has Kaicho wa maid sama vibes if you liked that anime~~)

If I Could Tell Her by corologs

What if the picture perfect arc plan was successful??? Well, this fic explores this idea, and it’s very interesting to read. I like how Amane and Hanako are two separate people here.

the horizon tries but it’s just not as kind on the eyes by sincerelyand ( @sunlightinourheadlights )

(Oh my sweet Karen, she writes such good fics, so go check her AO3 out as well!!) Amane and Yashiro are friends that share an apartment (& they were roommates-- OMG they were roommates), even if Amane has its complains, because Nene can be a handful sometimes (and in denial of her true feelings as always, are we even surprised at this point?) he loves her dearly anyways😭.

for real, this time by sourlemoncandy ( @sour-lemon-candy )

Did somebody say fake dating AU?????? Because hell yeah I did asajj I loved reading this so much!! Nene and Amane are childhood friends, and Nene overhears some girls talking about Amane and how one of them plans to ask him out... but she senses these girls are up to no good so she... well, you gotta read it to find out more~~ it’s no fun If I tell ya everything hehe... so go go go!!

lemon cream by sourlemoncandy

Amane and Nene, just two good friends having a road trip and sharing donuts... what could go wrong?? 😏 seriously, I loved this fic so much!! Instant fav! Also makes me wanna try some good sweet donuts...

Trip Down Memory Lane by insipidenvy ( @insipidenvy )

This fic is so sweet. I have such a huge attachment to it, because I read it when I really needed some fluff in my life hahaha. It’s sort of a collection of memories between Amane and Yashiro’s relationship over the years. So heartwarming... if you need the fluffs you’ll enjoy this very much!!

The Radish Princess and the Toilet Prince by insipidenvy

This is my favorite fic from insipidenvy!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! You know how I am a slut for Royalty AUs so that’s why!!!!! Also Toilet Prince!! hahahaha such a good nickname lmao. I love how they bond over their insecurities, it’s very relatable tbh.

Between Wind and Water by WingSongHalo ( @wingsonghalo )

My beautiful Wing always delivering the good Hananene content, as she should!! This fic is so fun to read!! I laughed so hard at Nene and Hanako being awkward with each other!!! So you know how Hanako is super clingy with Nene, he’s always touching & hugging her, but this time something weird happens and he’s so distant~~ Nene doesn’t want to admit it at first, but she misses his clingy ghost boy~~ you’ll have a good time reading this for sure!

The Monster's Bride by Hammsters ( @uglierdaikon )

Have you heard about the myth of Cupid and Psyche? Well this fic rewrites it in a very Hananene way <3 hehe I loved it so much (as I’m a huge fan of mythology~) To sum it up, Nene is fated to marry a monster that lives in the mountains so she’s devastated... to her surprise, her husband is far from what she expected... she only had one rule to obey and well... we all know how reckless Nene is so... you go find out what happens next now!! hehehe

Morning Reflections by FalalalaLa ( @miss-sternennacht )

So you’ve heard of Hanako watching Nene sleep, but what about Nene watching Amane sleep???!! this fic offers you this and so much more fluff <3 Also Nene remembering how they met and how their relationship evolved during the years, aww <3

Cursed Coin by DaikonSenpai ( @daikonsenpai )

There’s a school dance, Yashiro’s supposed to be dancing with Kou (since she can’t go with Hanako, which causes him to be jelly~~ and bitter), but she loses a coin Aoi gave her for good luck so she goes out and searches for it on the last place she saw it, the school fountain. Suddenly Hanako spots her, what’s she doing outside??? is she drunk or something?? what happens next you may find out when you read it~~~

Between Love and Hope by Baronesscmd (SweeterThanYourDarkestSin) ( @baronesscmd )

Oh to be Nene and get to sleep between the Yugi twins... God really has favorites uh... ISTG, this collection of fics is so cute. I love how Nene loves the twins so much in this AU, they have their little cute family. She ofc is in love with Amane, but their relationship with Tsukasa is so tender... it’s mostly this trio having fluffy moments together to heal your soul... if you need some, you’ll get it here for sure hahaha.

Ghost of You (And All the Futures We've Forgotten) by Indigo_Floof milkteamoon ( @indigosienna , @spades-queen )

So anon you may have been wondering, well this bitch likes fluff only???? how about some angst for a change, uh? DAMN, OKAY THEN, here you have some angst to rip your soul out and wish you never sent me this ask in the 1st place, bec of the emotional damage this fic will leave you sdajjsa, also if you liked “Erased”, you’ll love this fic too!

Hanako of the Opera by zxrstan

Finally, but not less important, me being annoying about Hanako of the Opera & POTO AGAIN!!!!!!!!!!!!! This fic is based of the AU Aidairo created mostly, it’s really fun to read if you didn’t get much of what was happening during the Hanako of the Opera event, it has a nice ending also! very satisfying I must say.

AAAAND THIS IS THE END OF MY ALL TIME FAV LIST OMG;;;; Kudos for me for searching through all my damn AO3 and Google Chrome history (from both my PC and phone, since I am a FOOL and forgot my AO3 password so I read a lot of these in the past as a guest before recovering my password LMAO, please be patient with me omg, and also if you see me bookmarking them now, you know why 😭)

Kudos to all of my writer homies as well, I love and appreciate all of you so much!! you have no idea! 💖

I hope you find this list useful, anon!! Thank you for sending me this ask and have a wonderful day!

Ps. Please everyone feel free to add more fics to this list if you want! this is all my personal picks, but I’m aware there are a lot more fics that I haven’t read and deserve as much recognition as the ones I listed!

223 notes · View notes

concealeddarkness13 · 3 years

Text

WHG 15 Post-Games Imposter Syndrome Part 25

This is a couple of days after part 24. I haven’t really proofread these, so I hope there aren’t too many typos! Tagging the collaboration crew: @ratracechronicler, @maple-writes, @pen-of-roses (also thanks for Avery and Haven!), and @thoughts-of-nora!

That morning, I woke up when my phone buzzed. I frowned and looked at it. The number…it was Shine’s number. Shit. What was the Capitol doing now?

I opened it anyway, and I froze, staring at the message. Bring me that horizon. Fly out to the sea.

Tears filled my eyes, and I looked away from the phone. How did the Capitol know about the code? Or, could it possibly be someone from the crew? I sucked in a breath and texted back. Who the hell is using this phone and why?

I sat back, tears falling down my cheeks. I couldn’t sit in here. I couldn’t look at my phone. I stood up and walked to the door and looked out. Just in time to see Avery leaving the apartment, not even with any Peacekeeper escort. What were they having her do? And was there anything I could do to help?

So, I followed her out, sneaking very sneakily. She walked through the Capitol towards a nondescript building, but when she walked down an alley, and I followed her, she pulled a knife on me.

Eh. I hadn’t been trying to be super sneaky anyway. I grinned at her. “Hi! You’re amazing at this! How are you doing?”

She looked confused for a bit before she backed off and started tossing her knife. “We’ve been captured by the Capitol and you’re trailing me, so either you’re part of them and very bad at being a tail, or you’re overly curious for your own good. They already know I won’t make a break again, I didn’t before the Games.”

“Eh. I just want to see what’s going on. What else the Capitol is planning. Their old tricks for me are so boring. And maybe I could help a little?”

She snorted, but she just kicked back against the wall and started walking, but giving me enough room to walk with her. “Come on then, doubt they’ll really care if someone else is there, particularly someone with magic. Gods, they’ll probably be thrilled. Any chance you’re good at researching it? Or have learned anything useful about your boyfriend?”

Ugh. Did she have to bring Bystander up? “Not like I wanted him to be my boyfriend. Actually, he’s a horrible kisser.” I paused, distinctly thinking about how much of a lie that last one was. “But I’m pretty damn good at research, so I’ll see what I can do.”

She smiled, putting the dagger in her jacket pocket. “Really the pretty boy isn’t as great as he pretends to be, huh? Shame, but I doubt they’ll care much for one of their kissing skills. Unless you think he can be bested by undoing his ego?”

“I’ve already tried to hurt his pride enough. I don’t think anything bothers him. He’s told me that he has an unnaturally long life, and he can…hear better than normal? But I don’t know how much truth he was telling.”

“Sadly, the complete truth. Though vague enough to still be close to a lie.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. Mood. “You don’t seem to have fallen for his ‘charms’ though, thank gods for that or else I’m not sure I’d be able to stand you.”

I again distinctly didn’t think about how good he was at kissing. “Oh, he’s a piece of shit.” I shook my head. It was annoying to think about him. “But I can’t stand thinking about him the whole time. I’m curious about this group you’re going to.” Of course I had tried to look up some stuff on what was going on with the rest of the captured tributes. “I haven’t heard about them. What are their goals?”

“Do you want the party line that dragged me into it, or my best guess at the truth? The former is ‘keeping people safe from magical and divine threats against us so people can stay in charge of their own lives’. Hence my research and questions. Somehow I thought that meant they’d never be in bed with the Capitol of all people.”

Huh. Interesting. I nodded. “Especially because the Capitol employs magic threats. And would that mean I’m one too since I have magic? Which means their whole motto is untrue.” I sighed. This was so tiring. “I really love people who think they can save humans from magic.” The Shades said the same excuse.

She nodded as well. “Speaking of, what exactly is your magic like? They’ve been giving us just enough information to keep Haven sated, but I’ve always been a bit more hands on with research.”

It would be prudent to be a little cautious. I didn’t know what they would do if I just gave them everything. I eyed her. “Will they destroy me after I give away all my secrets? If so, I’d like to keep them, if that’s okay.”

“Fair enough, and worth a shot.” Avery took the dagger out of her pocket, rolled the sleeve up on her jacket, and pressed the dagger to her arm. It disappeared into a tattoo, and I blinked and stared. That was so cool! “I’d say it’d be hypocritical of them to do so, but…” She stiffened slightly as we approached the building, and a man was waiting for us. Haven?

“Avery, is there a reason why you’re late?” He was staring straight at me, so I smiled and waved.

“She wants to join us, maybe give a demonstration or two like we were promised.” Avery covered up her arm quickly.

“Indeed? Then it is time we get started, shall we?” He turned on his heel and walked into the building, not waiting for a response. Oh boy.

Avery hesitated and turned back to me. “Last chance to run.”

Oh, I’d mess with him a little instead. The way Avery was acting, it would be fun to mess with him. I smirked. “I’m not going anywhere. Hope that’s okay with you.”

“Just keep your head down, these people are how I ended up in the Games in the first place.” She led me to a small room that looked like an office, with papers and books lying around everywhere. Beautiful! There were so many books!

Before I could go look at the books, my eyes landed on Haven. He was reading one of the papers. Avery headed in. “Wonderful, you’re apparently worthy of an audience today.”

Fun! “I guess I’m just that interesting. So, do we start reading? What are we looking for?”

“Currently, we’re focusing on them and any accounts we can find, some of whom we’ve already met.” She gestured at the photographs on the wall, with people who looked suspiciously like Reine, Aleksis, and Conor in them. And some others I didn’t recognize. “As well as anyone else we—”

Haven decided to graciously interrupt. “Given our guest, it might be better to switch focuses for the day on them.”

Oh, I didn’t mind if they found out everything about the Shades. But I probably wouldn’t be much help. “The Shades?” I crossed my arms. “I’m afraid I don’t know much about them. Especially not any weaknesses.”

“Shame, but you do know something?” He nodded at Avery, and she brushed past me to sit down at her desk and grabbing a piece of paper and a writing utensil.

“I do. I’ve had to deal with Churi enough to know something about them.” But I wouldn’t just divulge information unless he specifically asked.

“What do you know of their origins?”

“They just showed up one day, claiming that our magic was evil, so they took it away and will only give the magic to people they control.”

“And yet there’s you, a sign their control isn’t as strong as they claim.” In the background, Avery was writing down notes and looking through books. Hopefully, I could do that soon.

I cocked my head as a smirk pulled at my lips. “Yeah, I’m a fucking miracle. Or a fucking mistake. Whichever you prefer.”

He frowned slightly. “Is your power any different from what they give to others.”

“Yes.” If he wanted a specific answer, he should have asked.

His frown changed into a scowl, and Avery had to stifle a snicker in the background. “How?”

I still wouldn’t be specific. “It’s diluted with human blood.”

“Interesting difference,” Avery said as she wrote down notes.

“Indeed. A demonstration then?”

I shrugged. It still wasn’t giving away all my secrets. “Why not? You’ve probably already seen videos of me using my magic anyway. I haven’t exactly been subtle about it.” I walked over to the glass of water just sitting on the table, and I activated my magic. The water in front of me flashed, and it was now a pretty crystal flower.

Avery watched the demonstration intently and reached out to touch it afterwards. Her fingers brushed it before she spoke. “May I?”

I nodded and handed it to her after I deactivated my magic. And then I turned to Haven. “Does that satisfy your curiosity?”

“For the moment. Captain, keep an eye on her for the moment.” He left after Avery nodded while she was still staring at the flower and writing down notes.

She examined the flower more closely. “What exactly is this? It’s no longer water or even the more expected ice. Almost…crystalline? And you can do this naturally with no training?”

I turned to Avery. I wouldn’t answer all of her questions. Just some. “Crystal. And it’s as hard as a diamond. I can cut through almost anything with a crystal knife.”

“Is this what people were supposedly able to do before they took it away? And this is what they give people? How does it hold up against a diamond then? And when you say almost anything?” She went and sat back at the desk.

I laughed. All these questions were so much fun! “I haven’t tried it on everything, so I didn’t want to make a claim I couldn’t back up. Not sure how it holds up against a diamond. So, could you answer a question of my own? What’s with the knife tattoo change thing? That’s awesome!”

“Oh that, not nearly as impressive, a bit of old magic.” She slipped off her jacket, revealing multiple tattoos on her arms. Two knives, one looked like fire, and a cool symbol. “I can call upon them when I need them, daggers are particularly useful, as is fire when you’re lacking light. But the uniforms for the arena were covering my arms.”

“The Capitol probably did that on purpose, the jerks.” I leaned over to see what she was reading, and I smiled. Amanda Ginser. I knew that name. “Oh. That’s probably accurate information. That’s the fake name of the person I went to to get my information. Look for books by her. She always knows everything.”

She smiled and pulled out a stack of books by the same author, and I grinned and started looking through them. After a little bit, I glanced up at Avery. Her magic was just so interesting. “So, can you summon anything from those tattoos?”

“Not anything.” She thought for a bit. “I have to know the name of it in this language I’ve been looking into, or well my friend was looking into, I’m nowhere near as good as him at it. But then I have to make the tattoo out of a real object. It’s a rather complex process and we have many failed attempts tattooed on us from it when we were figuring it out.”

I grinned. “That’s so awesome! What’s the weirdest thing you’ve been able to summon?”

“Fire.” She put her hand carefully on the tattoo until a real fire appeared in her palm! Awesome! “We had to perfect getting it so we wouldn’t be burned in the creation and being able to perfectly capture what the magical deemed an acceptable replica…”

“Yeah, that’s amazing! I wish I could do that!”

“Your own ability seems to be far more useful to be honest, and versatile.”

“Eh.” I shrugged. “I have to be really close to the liquid to actually crystallize it, unlike someone whose magic wasn’t diluted.”

She shrugged and put out the fire. “Still,” she didn’t finish the sentence, just went back to reading, so I did too.

After a while, Avery spoke up. “Would you be against one more demonstration? I can literally not tell anyone else about it without putting myself in more danger for what I want to do if that helps.” She sounded casual, but there was an edge of nervousness to her voice.

I grinned with a shrug. “Why not? I like testing my magic too.”

“Consider this a test for us both then.” She relaxed and pressed a hand to the cool symbol tattooed on her arm and concentrated before nodding at me.

I found another water source and activated my magic and crystallized it, this time into a small ship. I looked over at her. “Is that good?”

She blinked a few times, staring at the crystal, before she bit her lip. “Yeah, I…gods you’re so weird.” She stopped touching the symbol and slumped against the desk. “Not weird, just, not what I’m used to dealing with. I can’t get a read on you as easily as I can the others, maybe because you have a different source?”

I couldn’t help her there. I laughed. “I’m fine being weird. It’s more fun that way. Do you need me to do anything else?” Just to show off, I moved my hands and the ship molded into a small, crystal dog instead.

She sounded tired. “A viable way to get away from all this permanently would be nice. But I think I got what I was looking for, sadly I don’t think it’ll be much use to either of our predicaments.” She reached out to touch the crystal again.

A way to escape. My smile slipped from my lips. The message from Shine’s phone number. How trapped I really was. I sat down and started thumbing through some pages. “I’ll work on it.” I kept reading, and I came across a passage that mention hearsay about the Shades manipulating emotions. Huh. It had felt like Churi had done something like that before. “If you want to learn more about the Shades, I’ve been thinking about another ability I think they have that hasn’t been publicized yet.”

“It’s hardly on you alone—” She cut herself off when she looked up at me with wide eyes.

Glad I could help, at least a little. I took a deep breath. “This is just an educated guess, and I don’t know how they do it, but a few days ago, Churi visited me. When he wrapped his hand around my neck and breathed in, it was as if he took away all my emotions except fear. I couldn’t feel anything else, and it took a while for my other emotions to fully come back even after he broke contact. I think they can take away emotions and possibly just choose what to keep. I’m not sure why or how, but that’s what I felt. And this book mentions something in passing about a possibility that they can manipulate emotions. So, other people think the same way.”

“Well, that’s…useful? Can we, Abyss, what can we do with that? It’s…absolutely terrifying.” Her head fell in her hands, and she groaned. “What have we gotten ourselves into? Gods and magic and nightmares from under the bed, wasn’t this all supposed to be children’s stories?” She sounded like she was trying to sound teasing as she tilted her head to look at me.

This had been my whole life. I laughed ruefully. “If only. I wonder sometimes if it would have been nicer to not know anything about this. To just have a normal life without living in fear that the Shades would discover me.” I looked over at her. Better to not dwell on that. “How did you find out about this anyway?”

“I stole a book on magic as a child and broke into Haven’s home to learn more about a week later.” In the most deadpan tone.

Really? Wow! A thief! I loved it. I laughed. “That’s fantastic!”

Her smile grew. “Yes, but that’s a lie, I didn’t break into Haven’s home. I broke into the highly volatile magical area that was being investigated by him and his group and sat in the middle of it until they finally caught me.”

So dramatic! Looked like we’d get along. I smirked. “A woman after my own heart. I wish I could have seen his expression.”

With a fake serious expression, she ticked off on her fingers. “Surprise, anger—lot of that one—, confusion, worry, interest—the most dangerous of course—, and would believe me if I said fear?” Her shoulders were shaking from the effort of not laughing, and, damn it, it was infectious. “I think I watched the extent of all his emotions in under five minutes.”

“That’s awesome.” I leaned back in my chair. This was fun, but I’d love to get up to some mischief. “I wish I could do something like that right now.” And then I had the perfect idea. I eyed Avery. “Does Haven happen to have a hat I can steal?”

“Oh this sounds like a terrible idea. Lucky for you, those are the only ideas I listen to.” She winked and grabbed her jacket, and I grinned and followed her. She was amazing. She kept to the shadows, and there were times that I lost her, and I was right behind her.

No one saw us, and we made it to an office without any trouble. She picked the lock of the door after checking to make sure no one was there, and she opened the door for me with a wink. Hell, she was attractive when she did that. Mischief looked good on her.

It was a neat office, which meant it was boring. The desk was all organized, and the bookshelf mostly had pictures on it. And there was a coat and hat on a rack, but it was just a plain, old hat. RIP.

I sighed and walked up to the hat. “He’s got boring taste.” I snatched it anyway and put it on my head, turning to Avery with a grin. “But I’d say it still looks pretty good on me!” More serious tone. “You’re really good at the whole sneaking thing. Would you be willing to teach me sometime?”

She shifted uncomfortably and bit her lip. “If we ever get a chance yeah, after I’ve gotten out of my own mess. Sell your soul and all that.” She shrugged.

Was she still talking about getting out of the Capitol? I nodded. “Don’t worry. I’m working on it.” I winked. “So, it’s a date.”

She looked confused. Maybe I was wrong? “Working on undoing handing myself—wait what?” She sputtered, and I grinned a little more. She was cute when she was flustered.

I put a finger on Avery’s lips. “Shh. Don’t worry. We can figure out the details later.” With a wink.

“Uhm. Yeah, what?” She winced, swallowed hard, and took a deep breath. “We should, uhh, get back before,” She waved her hand toward the hallway, turning away from me.

I nodded and bowed. “After you.”

I stayed and researched with Avery until she went back. When I was back in my room, I looked at the reply from Shine’s number. This is Shine, and I’d like to meet you, if you can.

I fought tears and set the phone down. I couldn’t respond yet. Who were they trying to fool? Or maybe they weren’t and I had been lied to? They had started with the code, after all. I just didn’t know if I wanted to take the chance yet.

#writeblr hunger games #writeblr

8 notes · View notes

persephonesinfernos · 4 years

Text

constellations | part eight.

summary: there are only 88 officially recognized constellations, a small number considering you and your soulmate would have the exact same constellation on your skin. how can be sure if it was really them with so few of them? you could mistake your soulmate.

word count: 1628.

pairing: bucky barnes x reader.

warnings: mentions of past violence.

author’s note: well babes, this is it! I hope you’ve enjoyed the ride so far and I’d love to hear what you think about this story.

constellations masterlist | masterlist

Everything was a blur, Erik was just there standing as if this was over. Hands around (Y/N) throat and her eyes, her eyes were red. Little petechiae were already forming thanks to the pressure cutting her oxygen.

Erik’s smug was on full display every time his eyes were fixed on mine and the grip on (Y/N)’s neck was only getting tighter and I couldn’t do anything. But her eyes, oh boy. Her eyes showed nothing but love, nothing close to fear, just love and an apologetic look.

How could she not be afraid? I was terrified on the prospect of losing her, losing her kind and warm smile as well as the feeling that explodes on my chest every time her soft lips are pressed against mine.

I couldn’t hear the words Erik was speaking, it was as if my ears blocked them and I was only getting some of his words and all of them made me just crash his head down on the pavement. And then, he said something about soulmates and I just snapped out of whatever was going through my head.

Next thing I knew was that Erik is sprawled far away from (Y/N) and my left arm seems to have a brain of its own. It kept on hitting him, well me, I kept hitting him hard on his head. And as his laughter only increased talking nonsense, my hitting increased too.

Until some strong arms were wrapped around my metal arm as a voice told me to stop, that it was over and I needed to get back to (Y/N).

Suddenly, your eyes opened up and you tried to breathe but something was preventing you from doing that. Your hand reached to the thing in your mouth fanatically, trying to rip it away so you could breathe.

A monitor to your left side started to beat loudly, the door to the room you were in was opened rapidly. Steve making his entrance and heading quickly to your side.

“Shh, (Y/N). Stop it, stop it.” He said as his hands were placed on top of yours, trying to calm you down. “You need that thing to breathe, you’re at the hospital. You’re safe.”

Your respiration calmed down as you heard Steve’s words. You closed your eyes so no tears would spill from your eyes, safe.

You re-opened your eyes again searching the room. You were safe, but…

“He’s not here (Y/N)” Steve spoke softly like he read your thoughts. “He’s back at our place, he… Well, he’s quite broken about what happened.”

A puzzled look in your face was all it took for Steve to grab a notebook and a pen so you could communicate with him.

“What happened after I passed out?”

“He beat the hell up from Erik, almost killed him.” His sounded pained, but it was impossible that he was as pained as you were in that moment. Your heart beating with sorrow and concern for him.

“I want to see him, I need to see him.”

Steve sighed running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know if he’s gonna be up to it. He just thinks this is his fault and it’s afraid of how you’ll react.”

“THIS IS NOT HIS FAULT. I’m not reacting anyway, I just need to see him Steve.”

“Okay, I’ll do my best (Y/N). But you need to get some sleep now.” He finished the conversation with a tone that made it clear that there was no room for discussion.

Next time you woke up, a doctor and some nurses were around you. They seemed happy about your progress and started to chat about some medical stuff you were not able to comprehend. But they did say there were going to take out the tube that was helping you breathe.

Once the tube was finally removed, your lungs were burning with the sensation of fresh air after so long without a real intake. But you couldn’t talk, at least not yet. Erik damaged some of your vocal cords and you needed to stay silent to recover if not, you were going to go under the knife, again.

Steve kept his visits daily, sometimes he went with Maria Hill. Other of your friends were there too, updating in the social events of your college and just keeping you posted on everything you needed to know. It was nice for all of them and as much as you appreciated it, you just wanted to see Bucky.

As time passed, your bruises and cuts were healed. You could speak, no to carry a long conversation going on but small sentences. You learnt that Erik was alive, Bucky didn’t kill him at the end, but he was kicked out of college and legal actions were taken against him due to the beating and to almost killing you.

But Bucky did not appear and Steve couldn’t answer your questions or put a good word or excuse for him anymore. Your heart ached every time someone opened the door and it wasn’t him, each passing minute your heart broke down more.

You couldn’t understand why he was not there, he saved you. He was a hero and you didn’t love him less because of what he did to Erik if anything you understood and were forgiving.

Maybe he realized that as much as you were his soulmate being put through this much crap wasn’t worthy and just couldn’t tell you that he didn’t want nothing to do with you. Maybe he was a coward and that’s the reason he didn’t even care to know how your recovery was going.

On account of this, the day you were discharged you grabbed all of your things and instead of going to your flat, you went straight to Bucky’s. You still couldn’t talk but it didn’t matter, you needed to finish with this, at least for your mental health.

No one opened the door and it was getting you all frustrated and angrier so it was time to put your skill to do something good. Picking a bobby pin from your hair, you went for the lock. Ezra taught you to pick a lock when you were 8 and your dad locked the barn so you wouldn’t eat all of the ice-cream.

Once your work was proved successful, you entered the apartment in search for Bucky. If you would have not ventured to the back part of the shared flat you wouldn’t have found him. He was at the balcony, not t-shirt on and a drink on his right arm.

You approached slowly and if he noticed you he didn’t say anything, he just kept staring to the horizon.

“Hey” Your voice still damaged and it sounded more like a dying cat than anything else.

“You should go”. He didn’t even turn back to face you.

“I’m not. I need an explanation”.

You heard Bucky snort, his hand gripped the drink he was gulping down. “An explanation, yeah… You’re not getting anything here doll.”

“You should’ve been there” You whisper-screamed. “You should’ve been there when I woke up not being able to breathe on my own or talk. I wanted you there when I woke up in the middle of the fucking night from a nightmare.” Your voice cracked as you began to sob.

He finally turned around, his eyes were puffed, he must have been crying at some point. “How? How (Y/N)? I almost kill him with this fucking arm.” He said pointing his head towards his metal arm.

“He was right, I’m a fucking abomination and I will never be able to give you what you need or deserve, not when I have all this anger inside me and I could explode.” He smashed the glass to the wall turning back around.

You walked to him and grabbed his metal hand spinning him around. “DON’T, DON’T YOU DARE,” You said through clenched teeth. “You don’t get to be… This, all self-loathing. You get me?”

You took a deep breath. “It was not your fault, none of what happened was your fault or mine. I got a boyfriend that turned out to be a psycho, and it has nothing to do with how I feel. All you ever did was protect me, your metal arm protect me Bucky.” You reached for his metal arm to your lips and kiss it, Bucky looking at you surprise but with so much love radiating towards him.

You slowed your breathing down and look into his eyes, cupping his cheeks. “Look Bucky, I’m not afraid of you, I don’t blame you. I just love you so much, you can’t just imagine how much.” You chuckled. “I don’t know what you do to me, I cannot explain it, but I just want to feel it for the rest of my life” You look down blushing but Bucky lifted your chin up.

“Believe me when I say this. Back there, I just wanted you to be safe, that nothing would happen to you because of Erik. I was okay with dying if that meant that you would be free of the consequences Bucky.”

“How could I ever be fine if you would’ve died?”

“Bucky,” You said softly, you saying his name made Bucky’s heart stopped and burst out in love and adoration. “You saved me, you’re my hero and I don’t care about anything else that it’s not you or me, okay?”

“Okay Antlia,” He said while kissing you deeply and passionately, dragging your body to him. Embracing you into a bear hug as if he just let you go an inch you would disappear from his flat.

That was the way that the stars in both of them merged to form a single star.

constellation tag list: @zizzlekwum |

83 notes · View notes

mzkora · 3 years

Text

SPN TROPE ROUND ROBIN

Round 3- Prompt: Remix/Inspired by @spn-trope-round-robin

Title: tenderized

Rating: G/PG

Author: kestra_troi on AO3 aka me

Inspiration: “Red Meat Well Done”, by catnipster

Tags: Episode Coda for S11e17 Red Meat, Hurt/Comfort, gencest, No Sex, Hurt!Sam, Caring!Dean, Emotions

Summary: After the events of Red Meat, Dean decides to take Sam to a motel for some proper rest.

As they crossed state lines Dean eased off the gas. The distance helped. Sam’s almost death was hundreds of miles and a whole state behind them in the rear view mirror. Along with all his earlier bravado and jokes. That had been much too close. He nearly lost his little brother. Again.

For just a second, Dean glanced over at Sam, watching that broad chest slowly rise and fall. He had lasted all of half an hour before falling asleep, which Dean had taken as proof of how close to that razor’s edge everything had been. A tiny slip here or there and...The End. Luck. It was all pure luck. He studied his little brother, giving him a once-over as he had done for the whole drive so far. Poor kid must have been exhausted. Out like a light with his head resting against the window, his chin propped up by his arm.

Eyes back on the road ahead, Dean turned down the soft rock station so it was more in the background since Sam didn’t seem to really need the help sleeping. He fidgeted in his seat, feeling a bit cramped after so many hours on the road without a single stop. First, he stretched out his legs as best he could within the confines of the car. Then, he rolled the tension out of his shoulders and neck, which popped. He groaned and flexed his fingers only then realizing how tightly he had been holding on to the steering wheel. He took a deep breath and forced himself to relax into the seat. He checked Sam out in his periphery, reassuring himself that his little brother was still there. Still breathing. Still just asleep.

Dean blinked, taking stock of their surroundings pretty much for the first time since they had gotten in the car. Not that there wasn’t much out there to speak of other than the road. Eventually though, after a few more miles, he did see a sign for the next town. Dean considered his options for a moment. Keep driving for at least another four or five hours to get to the Bunker or set up camp in town and start home later? Dean leaned forward to peer up at the sky which was still pretty much grey from horizon to horizon, but the east side was clearly getting darker. Then he sat back and looked at the clock. The sun would be setting soon. Maybe another hour of daylight left at the most.

They’d gone far enough for one lousy day. Sam deserved to rest in an actual bed. Coming back from the precipice all on his own and saving his life in the process? His little brother was a goddamn hero. A badass. And badasses deserved a nice, comfy mattress and some halfway decent pillows. They had earned a short break, right? So, when the exit came up, Dean pulled off the highway and rolled into town. He skipped the skeevy looking places on the outskirts of this run of the mill town for a motel that actually looked like it got cleaned once in a while in what seemed to be their downtown.

The Royal Inn was the one he settled on, with a quiet snort. As if royalty would ever be within a thousand miles of this place, but irony notwithstanding he cruised into the parking lot. He pulled up to the office and slowed to a smooth stop, not wanting to jostle Sam too much. He paused a second and checked Sam over one more time. Still breathing steady. Still asleep.

This one had been way too close. Way. Too. Close. The words kept playing on repeat in his head as they had for the entire day’s drive. Dean frowned, his eyes going soft and watery. With a sniff, Dean unbuckled his seat belt and opened his door, grabbing his wallet out of his back pocket while he got out of the car. He closed the door gently, more so than he normally would bother with and made sure he had the right ID and credit card to match before heading inside. At the office door he stole one more look at Sammy before ducking in to rent a room for a few days. They had earned a break. A mini-holiday. Just until Sam got back on his feet. Then they could go home and bunker down for a while. Maybe have a crappy action movie marathon with all the trimmings. Really live it up for a weekend before jumping back into the fray.

Room key cards in hands, Dean got back into the Impala and stared at Sam for a moment, briefly torn. Wake him now or wait until they were parked in front of the room? Did it matter? Not really. Dean closed his door without being too careful this time and took a hold of the wheel with his left hand while with the right he palmed his brother’s knee. Warm and solid just like it ought to be. “Gotta wake up, Sammy,” he said, giving the knee a squeeze. His hand slid up his brother’s thigh of its own accord and Dean let it sit there a second absorbing some of that wonderful body heat. When Sam didn’t stir, he gave him a couple quick taps to the leg to spur him on. “We’re here, Sleeping Beauty.”

Sam jerked awake and groaned, wincing at his own sudden movement. He blinked, rubbing his eyes as he carefully sat upright. “Dean?”

“Got us a room for a couple nights,” Dean explained, slowly driving off to find their spot. “Thought we could take it easy for a bit. Get you well.”

“I’m fine,” Sam mumbled, running his hand down his face.

“I know,” Dean replied, going along with that ridiculous assessment. He barely held in an eye-roll. After all these years he knew better than to try and argue outright with his little brother. That damn stubbornness saved their lives all the time, but it also annoyed the hell out of him sometimes too. Dean threw on the charm and smarm. “But we’ve both had a rough go the past twenty four hours, so a few days relaxing in a motel with some good, old fashioned pay-per-view will do us good.”

Sam huffed a laugh, then grimaced, one hand going to his stomach. Dean’s playful smirk lost a little bit of it’s sparkle, seeing Sam in pain. His eyes went to Sam’s abdomen, then his face, then back to the parking lot. “Yeah, okay,” Sam muttered, his words tattered around the edges. He swallowed, his mouth obviously dry.

Dean’s face went flat. He kicked himself for not stopping along the way to get them some water. Plus, Sam was really in pain if he wasn’t even going to argue at least a little. The pain meds he had gotten at the clinic must be wearing off. Dean pushed on the gas and scanned the numbers on the motel doors. He found their room and pulled into the nearest parking spot. Soon as he got Sam settled in for the night, he’d make a supply run. Stock up for the next three days of rehabilitation. He held out one of their key cards. “You good to get in on your own?”

“I’m fine, Dean,” Sam insisted, some of his natural brattiness coming out. He took the card Dean offered without another word and started to unbuckle his seatbelt.

The corner of Dean’s mouth curled up into a half smile. “Just asking, princess,” he quipped. “I’ll get our bags. Why don’t you head in and see what they got on offer. Classic Skinemax will put some color back in your cheeks.”

“Dean,” Sam whined, half exasperated and half amused. He rolled his eyes and shook his head, a faint blush rising to his cheeks nonetheless. A full smile spread across Dean’s face. Sam smiled at him, his face full of fondness. “Shut up,” he grumbled, pushing open his door.

Dean watched, still concerned but happy too, as Sam took his time in getting his ass out of the car. Dean waited. If he offered to help Sam would complain some more and wave him off, but every nerve in his body was honed in on Sammy, watching his every movement. Once Sam got his long limbs out and shut the door, Dean snapped into action.

He killed the ignition, yanked out the keys, got out, closed his door, opened the trunk, grabbed their overnight bags, slammed it shut and locked up the whole thing in the time it took Sam to amble his way to the room and open their door. Dean was quick on his heels, holding the door open for Sam once the great lummox passed through despite carrying everything. Sam, meanwhile, flicked on the lights. “Nice place,” he pointed out. Dean shrugged. So maybe he had splurged a little. Instead of the most basic two Queen beds, he had opted for two kings. And a microwave, and mini fridge, and coffeemaker. Basically what amounted to the deluxe suite around these parts.

“Only one in town with WiFi,” Dean lied, shutting down any chance of a debate. He really did not want to have to wrestle Sam into a three-day vacation. He needed bed rest and Dean was damn sure his little brother was going to get it. Sam nodded and headed further in, shuffling his way towards the beds. No rebuttal and no agenda other than going straight to bed. Dean walked inside and placed the Do Not Disturb sign on the doorknob before closing the door and locking them in for the night. “I knew my nerdy younger brother would demand internet access, so he could read articles about tax law and politics and other boring stuff like that.”

“It’s not boring,” Sam countered, tired but still a younger brother. “It’s important.”

“Of course, of course,” Dean facetiously placated while depositing their bags on the luggage rack. Sam wandered to the left hand bed and gingerly reached down to pull out the bedding. Dean hovered, at the ready. Sam got one corner free and most of that one side then gave up and slowly began to sit. Dean strode over and immediately finished untucking the rest of the sides.

“I got this, De,” Sam complained, hissing as he lowered himself down.

“Just making sure,” Dean replied. He yanked the covers out from under his brother as quick as he could and pushed them aside so they could be in easy reach. Once he got to the other side of the bed, he nabbed both pillows and stuffed them directly behind his brother’s back so he would be propped up. Sam didn’t comment on that, but Dean could feel his ambivalence even without him saying anything. He held out his hands so Sam could use him for balance if need be as he turned to lay down. Sam didn’t wave him off, but he also didn’t take Dean up on his silent offer. He gradually lifted one leg up onto the mattress without having to move too much.

Dean saw Sam’s grimace coming a mile away. “Here, let me.”

“I’m fine,” Sam reiterated, his breath huffy with strain. Despite his protests, he went a little limp and Dean swooped in. He crossed back over to Sam’s side and gently eased Sam’s long legs up onto the mattress and out to their full length. Sam sighed, wriggling to find a comfortable position. Dean sat at the foot of the bed and without any prompting started untying Sam’s boots. “De, you don’t have to—“

“Hey,” Dean interjected, all jokes aside. He looked Sam square in the eye. “Lemme take care of you a little, huh?”

Sam bit his lip, whatever masculine rebuke he had at the ready dying away under Dean’s determined expression. He nodded. Dean did the same then went back to taking off his brother’s boots.

The laces were a bit crusty with blood and mud, but Dean untangled them. Then holding the back of Sam’s shin, Dean gently tugged the boot off. Sam took a steadying breath. Dean paused. On Sam’s signal Dean helped him off with the other boot, then placed them on the floor by the bed.

“There. That wasn’t so bad was it?” Sam shook his head, his long hair pushed back behind his ears. Dean grinned and went for the socks. Sam curled his toes. “My feet are cold,” he said quiet and feeble like a little kid.

“Okay.” Dean grabbed the sheets and blanket instead. He draped them over Sam’s legs and tucked them in. Like he used to do when Sammy was a kid. The you-are-not-getting-out-of-bed-without-my-help obvious. He got the bedding up to Sam’s waist, then helped his brother sit up and get out of his jacket one arm at a time. “They give you a list of antibiotics?”

“Jacket pocket.”

Dean fished for a second and came up with the folded print out from the clinic. He unfolded it and started skimming. “What about painkillers?”

“On there too.”

“I’ll get ‘em in the morning,” Dean proclaimed.

“I need a bath,” Sam said, leaning into his pillows like a storybook princess. His eyes already fighting to stay open.

“Tomorrow, Sammy.” Dean stuffed the care instructions into his back pocket and smirked. “I’ll get a bucket and a sponge.”

“And a sexy nurse outfit?” Sam quipped, a sleepy smile on his lips.

“You bet, Sammy. The whole nine yards. Might even get a sexy chick in here to wear it.” Dean stepped up to Sam’s side and helped bring the sheets up to Sam’s chest. Sam let him, doing nothing but pull his arms free and settle them on top of the blanket cocoon.

Dean’s heart clenched seeing Sam so pale and weak. “You gave me quite a scare there for a minute, Sammy,” he whispered, brushing his thumb along his brother’s forehead like he used to do when they were little.

“Sorry, De,” Sam mumbled, a contented sigh escaping as he drowsily leaned into his brother’s soft, warm touch. He closed his eyes.

“Not your fault, Sammy,” Dean assured him. On a whim he couldn’t deny, he leaned forward and placed a kiss on Sam’s forehead. He froze in place, shocked at his own actions. Sam hummed softly. Dean got up in a flash and stepped back only then realizing he was still holding Sam’s jacket. He looked between his brother and the jacket and murmured, “Night night, Sammy.”

Sam mumbled some sounds but then he was out like a light. Again. Dean watched him sleep for a moment, relief and shame and need all warring in his chest for pride of place. He clutched Sam’s jacket tightly, then brought it up to his face. The jacket was still warm from Sammy’s body heat and Dean took a deep whiff. It smelled of hospital, that sterile antiseptic stink, and faintly of blood, but also of Sam. That pure, working-man’s musk he knew as well as his own hit his brain and his chest relaxed.

His Sammy was alive. That’s all that mattered. That’s all that ever mattered, really. Something clicked in his head. A jigsaw piece sliding into place, a perfect fit and necessary for the whole thing to make sense. Sammy. It was always Sammy. And it always would be, Sammy as long as Dean was alive. He didn’t need anyone else. No other soul than the one he shared with his perfect baby brother.

It wasn’t anything he hadn’t already thought or said as much out loud, but that haunting uneasiness regarding that simple truth was gone. As was the shame. Sammy was his world. Point blank. How many times had he proven that to himself, to Sam, and pretty much everyone they had ever met? Sammy was his whole world and his world was alive and needed him. What more could he ask for right at this moment?

#spn trope round robin #gencest #sam and dean #cross posted on ao3 #spn ficlet

5 notes · View notes

mego42 · 4 years

Text

while I was not specifically prompted, @foxmagpie posted a fic request that made my brain go hmmmmmmmm, so I went ahead and pretended it was a prompt for me because I do what I want.

i want to read a fic from rio’s POV of 2.10 when annie reached out to him both because i think annie trying to arrange a business proposition would be hilarious but also because i suspect that rio thought beth was either orchestrating things or that it would be a way to get her back and i wanna get in his head about it

can we meet

All in all, it's a pretty standard text. Rio could probably scroll through his phone and find at least 15 others at any given point. More if he didn't dump his phones every week or two. Even more if he didn't have Mick filtering most of the bullshit for him.

But that's the thing, he does have Mick, which means when these kinds of texts make it all the way to him, he knows who they're from and what they want. The problem here is he doesn't know who the fuck this is or what they want or, most importantly, how the fuck they got this number.

And that last part especially is a big enough fuckin' problem that he shuts his laptop and scoops up his phone, swiping through to call and see who it is.

"Hello?"

He doesn't immediately recognize the voice that picks up, though it pings something. He waits, still not saying anything, figurin' he'll either place it, or they'll give themselves away. It's fuckin' unbelievable the kind of shit people will say if he just keeps his mouth shut and waits 'em out.

"Is this…" The voice trails off, and he's right on the cusp of placin' it, can feel a face bubbling to the surface when it continues in a whisper. "Gang friend?"

The fuckin' sister.

Rio's mouth snaps shut so hard it sends a pang through his jaw, and he's pretty sure she heard his teeth click together over the phone.

There are motherfuckers who would kill—hell, who have killed—for his number, and here's this suburban bopper callin' him up like she can summon him or some shit. Like she has the right.

And isn't that just like Elizabeth, makin' her sister call? After her pretty little fuckin' speech, that prim, butter wouldn't melt it's over, leavin' his cut on the goddamn nightstand like he was some kind of hired help.

His phone case creaks, giving slightly under the force of his grip, and he forces himself to relax. He leans back in his chair, drumming his fingers on his desk, tryin' to figure out how he wants to play this.

He fuckin' knew it.

He's not about to pretend the victory isn't at least a little sweet underneath the bitter rage just thinking 'bout their stalemate brings to the surface. He knew Elizabeth wasn't gonna walk away. She couldn't, she didn't have it in her.

It isn't enough, though, knowing he was right. It's barely a dent, a scratch, a fuckin' scuff in the debt she owes him, the mountain of shit he's gonna make her pay for.

"Hello?"

He hasn't said anything yet, and it's makin' the sister antsy, he can tell. There's a static, scratching noise, and he realizes she's put her thumb over the speaker or something because he can hear what she says next, but it's muffled.

"Are you sure this is the right number?"

Something in him bottoms out—he's not exactly tryin' too hard to identify what. The bright, bitter flair of satisfaction's gone as quickly as it came, leaving a dark, hollow space behind.

The sister's actin' out then, going rogue. Elizabeth knows damn well what his number is. She hasn't exactly been too shy 'bout usin' it whenever she needs a payday loan. Or other services for that fuckin' matter.

He can't help but laugh at that, but it's a harsh, biting sound. The audacity must be genetic.

"Okay, now I know you're there. Stop being a dick."

He should hang the fuck up, now that he knows who it is. Hang up, block the number, forget all about that bitch and the sister. It's probably the smartest thing to do, all told.

Except. Except she fuckin' owes him, and Rio hasn't gotten to the top by letting debts go unanswered.

"What?" He asks, giving the t an edge sharp enough to cut.

There's a pause. "What like you didn't hear me, or what like what do I want?"

Rio adjusts a potted bromeliad's alignment on the corner of his desk, running a finger along the edge of one of the tall, spikey leaves. Mick had dropped it on his desk one day with no fanfare, only snide commentary about Rio needing to take a vacation, and maybe this'll get him thinkin' 'bout it.

The annoying part is, it's not like the disrespectful fucker's wrong. Rio knows damn well he's let himself get far too twisted up in Elizabeth's bullshit. Offerin' to deal with her problems, lettin' her get away with all kinds of amateur hour bullshit like bringing her fuckin' kids on drops. He never should've let her strong-arm him into cuttin' her in. It's not like she's the first person to try, should've dealt with her like he would anyone else, string her up and don't give her the option to not tell him where his shit is.

Hell, further back than that, he never should've followed her into that motherfuckin' bathroom. Should've kept it business, should've never found out how soft those miles of pale skin really are, how far that delicate pink flush can spread, how unexpectedly dark and rich she tastes.

Disgusted with himself, he shoves up out of his chair, pacing around the tiny, concrete floors of the control room currently serving as his office in long, loping strides.

He should take a week. Tie things up, take Marcus to Disneyland, or some shit. Get some fuckin' distance. Perspective.

"Hello?"

Now the sister sounds like she's getting annoyed, and Rio's really gotta do somethin' about the two of them runnin' 'round actin' like he's someone they can get away with not takin' seriously. Like he's some sort of pet. Defanged. Declawed. Fuckin' neutered.

"Get to the point."

"I mean, I kind of did in the message."

Rio can hear some kind of groan or somethin' from the background. Probably the friend. She was the only one of the three of them who ever seemed to really get what kind of waters they were swimming in. How deep they were and what kind of monsters lurked beneath the surface.

"Yeah, that ain't really how we do things."

"I know, I...look—" He has to yank the phone away from his ear when she sighs, loud as shit, right into it. "Something...I mean, um. I know Beth quit, but, uh…"

He tunes her out, the way she's going, she'll be stutterin' her way around to her point about a half an hour from now.

She wants a fuckin' favor, a hookup. They always do. Not just these bitches but everyone. Once you're at the top, all people want is a piece; it's only a matter of whether or not they're gonna beg for it or try to take it. Every now and then, they try to earn it.

It’s one of the things he'd liked best about Elizabeth from the jump. Yeah, sure, she was arrogant as shit, struttin' 'round in those heels like she understood the rules the world played by. Like she could twist anything and everything' round her pretty little fingers and get away with whatever the fuck she wanted as long as she batted those big, blue eyes just right.

But she was willin' to work for it. She might’ve expected to be awarded a piece just because she worked hard and that was the fair exchange for her effort. And isn’t that a trip? The idea of livin’ in a world where fair meant somethin’. Still, that didn’t mean she wasn’t gonna get down in the dirt and scrap for it.

Her problem is—well, one of 'em, he doesn't even have enough warehouses to house 'em all—she looked out at her tidy little garden and thought that was the dirt. She didn't want to accept there's a whole other subterranean playing field underneath all of that.

He'd seen it though, the thing with teeth and claws she had locked up inside her. It'd come out in flashes and splinters, peaking through the bars of the cage she kept it in, eyes flashing, tail lashing, and he couldn't help it, the urge to see what would happen if he pulled its tail. Let it loose.

Rio stops pacing, coming to a halt in front of one of the huge paneled windows in the exterior wall of his office, leaning up against the edge and looking out. The panes are dingy, giving his view of the Michigan winter sky a bleak, barren cast. Not that it needed any more of one. This warehouse sits on the edge of a train yard, the miles of rust and concrete below reaching out towards the horizon. All grey and dirty red, broken up by the occasional patch of strangled grass or vibrant streaks of neon tags left behind to defiantly mark the artists’ passing.

"...I guess what I'm saying is, you know, you still have options in this, um, market. If you catch my drift. I'm hoping that we can figure a way to continue this mutually beneficial arrangement…"

The sister's still going, so he ticks through his options.

He'd have preferred Elizabeth came crawling back all on her own. That'd be ideal. He hadn't decided yet if he'd initially shut her out, make her work for reentry, and then make her pay, or go straight to the main event. It would've depended on the circumstances, what was most advantageous at the time. All good plans are flexible. He’s learned the hard way to always take contingencies into account.

She would've, though. Come crawling back. It was only a matter of time. She's had a taste now, she'd let herself go just enough, she wasn’t gonna be able to pack herself back away in that soul-sucking suburban box of a house, of a life. Not for long.

Beyond that, there was the money. She might've thought she had enough, but four kids, three mortgages, and a moron with a talent for squandering every last thing he's given? That's a lot of financial upkeep.

'Sides, even if she thought she was in the black, he was still keepin' tabs on all of them—it wasn't even personal, just good business, they were too new, too green, too unpredictable to go without the extra surveillance—and he knew that wasn’t the case across the board. Elizabeth might've been in an okay spot for now, but the sister and the friend sure as shit were not, and if there's one way to get Elizabeth to jump, it's come through her people.

And on the off chance that all of that failed to come to fruition—always a possibility, she's stubborn as shit and not above gettin' into some kind of dumbass, fucked up mess to keep from backin' down—he's got his little landfill insurance policy tucked away on ice if he ever needs to really force her hand.

"So, what do you say?" The sister‘s finally run out of steam.

Rio runs his tongue along the inside of his lower lip and tucks it in his cheek.

Now that he’s really thinkin’ about it, this might actually be a better option than any of the ones already on the table. There's no way the sister and the friend are gonna pull some shit all the way off, not on their own. He knows how to read a room, it’s been the thing that’s kept him alive more than once, and he knows without a shadow of a doubt, the two of them aren’t half as effective on their own. They don't have Elizabeth's steely determination, her gift for spinning bullshit into gold. Not only that but there’s too much friction there. They need Elizabeth to grease their wheels. He can toss 'em some piddly shit that don't matter and let 'em get tangled up. Give 'em enough rope and all of that.

And hey, it's not like he came after her—them. If anything, he's tryin' to help. He’s givin’ them the same opportunity to earn some money, build their own side hustle. He's practically the good guy here.

The thought makes him laugh, this time like it's actually funny.

"Okay, well, thanks for that. You know, you don't have to be rude. I just thought—"

"Park. 2 pm."

"What? Oh! Seriously? Okay, great. Wow, that is...phew. That is a load off, you don't even kno—"

Rio cuts her off, locking his phone and tucking it back in his pocket, then tapping his fist against the window.

Three seagulls are down in the warehouse parking lot fighting over scraps of something. Even all the way up here, he can hear 'em cawing, screamin', tearin' into each other for the same piece of the pie. After a minute, one of ‘em rips whatever it is away from the other two, swallows it and takes off. The others follow a beat behind, and he watches the three of ‘em fly directly overhead until the building obscure his view.

Either Elizabeth'll come to him, or this will give him a new string to tug, somethin' he can use to yank her right back under his thumb. He'll get her right back where he wants her and then he'll— He'll—

Well. He'll just have to see.

#nbc good girls #good girls nbc #beth x rio #brio #brio fic #(kind of anyway)#my fic #wheeeeee i can still do a prompt fill!!!!#apparently the trick is to do them when i'm supposed to be working on something else #anyway back to dean pov #hope this somewhat scratches the itch?#confession i haven't watched 210 in actual ages so i have no idea how canonically accurate this is but i did my best #gg 2x10

62 notes · View notes

pigtownchronicles · 3 years

Text

Chapter 2.6 - Counteroffers and Missing Pieces

Of all the things that Barry had considered that meeting might be, he was left with a result, afterward, that was so far beyond his expectations that by the time he got home, he was sure that it must have been a dream of some sort. A hallucination, perhaps. He checked his wallet twice, but everything was there. He hadn’t given out any personal information that he could recall, but maybe he’d been under some sort of strange influence, and just didn’t remember. Dennis asked him why he was home late, and he came up with some excuse about working late on a deadline for a meeting in the morning that seemed to satisfy him. In all honesty, he wasn’t sure that Dennis particularly cared, beyond the fact that it was a disruption in his routine.

Dinner had already been made, and he ate it alone, since Dennis never waited for him to get home if he was late. He thought again about what he had felt for that moment, under the effect of that dust, the sheer lust for life that had pulsed in his veins, but while he appreciated the sensation, it was not what he wanted, not really. He wanted something more...ephemeral than that. He wanted a husband who would be willing to wait until he got home, who would eat with him, who would ask him about his day and genuinely care about his answers. He wanted a job that gave him a sense of dignity and respect, without feeling like he was being constantly placated with condescension. He felt like everyone around him treated him like a child. He tried to push beyond himself, wondering if he was asking for this. Maybe he was a little childish. A little petulant and unfocused, a little afraid of commitment and authority. But that wasn’t his fault. He’d just never been given a chance to show that he could do it. That he could be the adult in the room. They treated him like a child, which made him want to act like a child, which only reinforced the way they all treated him. A vicious cycle, one he’d been swirling in too long to see the edge, but this was a sword that could cut through all of it. He just wanted respect--and even if he couldn’t get something so immaterial, maybe he could at least get that...promotion.

It seemed like it should be possible to him, given what he’d seen and learned today. The more he thought about it, the more right it sounded, and the more he was willing to accept what he’d seen, if it might mean getting the life he thought he deserved. Dennis asked him if he wanted to join him on his evening constitutional around the neighborhood, and Barry declined. Instead, he went up to his office upstairs, and gave Ian a call. He’d expected him to agree, but instead, Ian gave him a sigh. A familiar sigh, to Barry. It was a sigh people gave him when he’d asked for too much, for something an adult would understand was impossible.

“Well see, now we’re not so much talking about you as a seller, and changing our conversation to that of a buyer,” Ian said.

“What does that mean?”

“Well, now you’re asking for something that’s worth more than what you have to offer, which means it’s going to have to come with a price tag. That’s not a problem, mind you, but to get my hands on something like that--to find someone willing to give it up...It’s not impossible, mind you, just, well, let me quote you something.”

He gave Barry a number that made his guts twist around a bit inside. They were wealthy, sure, but not...like that. “You’re kidding.”

“Unfortunately, I’m not.”

“Anyone who could pay that sort of money could already buy the damn respect of people in the first place!”

“You’re not wrong,” Ian said. “There is another possibility.”

“What?”

“If you were to...acquire someone with the sort of qualities that you’re looking for, and then perhaps bring them here, I could see that you get a finder’s fee for the service.”

“I don’t...know if I quite understand what you mean.”

“If you’re asking for this, then you already know someone who has what you desire, don’t you?”

“Hypothetically, yes.”

“Then if you were to bring them to the house, I would be able to process them. You would get what you desire, and I would be able to process the rest into goods to be brokered with others.”

“That’s...I mean, what happens to them?”

“I’m a broker. There’s always a buyer, even for waste product in most situations.”

“I see.”

“Do keep in mind my other offer though, Barry. I do think that you have some prime assets to sell, and you would be quite satisfied with the results, I assure you.”

“I...I’ll let you know.”

“Have a good evening.”

Barry hung up, and considered what Ian had told him. He thought about Richard again. He thought about how everyone was going out on Friday evening. He pushed that away, but each time it did, it came circling back again, and each time, it looked a little more attractive than before.

Meanwhile, Dennis was walking the neighborhood in the pleasant summer evening. It was almost eight and the sun was still shining near the horizon, folks were out on their porches, kids were out in the street chasing each other. It was pleasant. It felt normal, and comforting to him. He waved at the various families he passed, stopping on occasion to catch up, to ask how their gardens were doing, if they had any vacation plans. He worked his way down the street until he reached the house where Kyle lived, and saw Kyle’s father in the garage, working on some project. He gave a wave, and got a scowl back at first, but then a half-hearted wave in return. Dennis figured it would be better to keep walking, but you didn’t change minds without a bit of exposure. “How’s the project going, Eric?” he said.

“Just fine, thanks for asking.”

“Good to hear. Hey, how’s Kyle doing? Barry and I might be taking a week in August for a trip to see our folks, and we’d love him to watch the cat.”

“Why the fuck would I know that that faggot son of mine is up to?” Eric spat back at him, and Dennis looked at him, confused. Had...Kyle told him?

“What...what happened?”

“Moved into the city after he graduated, told us he was gay, that he didn’t want anything to do with us. Haven’t heard from him sense, and don’t fucking want to. At least he had the decency to not make me pay for his fucking college tuition--won’t be getting a dime of my money if I have anything to say about it.”

Dennis took all that in, gave another wave, as Eric went back to his project, and he kept walking, picking up his pace a bit, trying to sort out what he’d just learned. Kyle hadn’t moved out, had he? Hell, just a few days ago, they’d brought him home from the club! Dennis tried to pin down the events, but as he did, they were getting a little foggy and confused. He did remember seeing Kyle in the club with that bear, but...

He got home, went upstairs and found Barry in his office, head in his hands and staring at his phone. “Hey, can I ask you something?”

“Huh? Sure, what’s up.”

“We...gave Kyle a ride home on Friday, didn’t we?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I swear we did.”

“Dennis, Kyle moved out his parents place a few months ago. We saw him at the club with that older guy, yeah, but...” Barry shrugged, “The kid’s making his own choices now. Nothing we can do about it, you know?”

“I guess,” Dennis said, standing in the doorway, still trying to sort out his own memory. There was something else too, nagging at him. Something that seemed to be missing, another little piece of the puzzle, but one that had mysteriously slipped from the box. “I’m gonna go to bed early, I have a surgery tomorrow.”

“Alright, I’ll be there in a bit,” Barry said.

He heard Dennis go into the bedroom and the shower turn on, and he picked up the phone again, and saw that Ian had replied to his text asking for Hugh’s contact number, and given it to him. He put in the contact, and sent another message to Hugh, and then sat there, anxiously waiting for a reply. He had a hard time taking his own mind on this seriously, but it was the first idea in a very long time that he felt a sense of certainty about. If he wanted people to respect him, then he was going to have to get out of this hole he was in. This was the first time someone had offered him a way out--and he wasn’t going to back away from it, not this time. His days of being treated like a child were over.

***

Want more Pigtown Chronicles? Support me over on my Patreon, and you can get early access to new chapters, along with loads of other content!

#reality shift

10 notes · View notes

amandagaelic · 4 years

Text

Fanfic Tag (bc, Sunday)

I was tagged by @waitingforthestarstofall and @disappearinginq who are two of my favorite enablers over here. And according to at least one of them, there are no rules in this game, which means my replying many moons later is all good (right?).

Questions:

Ao3 Name: gaelicspirit (same on FF.net)

Fandoms: Supernatural, The Young Riders, White Collar, Hawaii Five-0, Sons of Anarchy (all only on FF.net), The Musketeers, Daredevil, Teen Wolf, Timeless, MacGyver, Magnum, P.I. (on both Ao3 and FF.net)

Number of fics: 75 (+ 1 WIP)

1. Fic you spent the most time on: From Yesterday

2. Fic you spent the least time on: Raincheck

3. Longest Fic: From Yesterday (286,050 words)

4. Shortest Fic: Sacrifice (2,315 words)

5. Most hits: Devil to Pay (on Ao3...no clue on FF.net)

6. Most kudos: Devil’s Own (huh, I’ve never compared these stats before...maybe I should write more Daredevil)

7. Most comment threads: Devil’s Own (on Ao3), Ramble On (on FF.net)

8. Fave Fic you wrote: This is a toughie. I love them all when I’m writing them...I think maybe it’s a 3-way tie between War Scars, From Yesterday, and Conairt. The first two were as AU as I generally get (I’ve a tendency to be a bit canon-bound) and that was fun to explore possibilities with those characters, and the 3rd was basically the story I wanted to read but couldn’t find anywhere...so I wrote it myself.

9. Fic you want to rewrite/expand on: Hmmm. I don’t know that I’d actually rewrite any of them. They exist in my mind the moment they’re being created and then once out there in the world for all to see, that’s who they are, scars and all. I have occasionally thought about expanding on my White Collar story, Fortunate Son to explore what happened next. Though, now that the show has ended, it would be 100% AU. I guess anything I would really want to take further would be a new story in and of itself, so it wouldn’t really count as “expanding” on it.

10. Share a bit of your WIP or share a story idea that you’re planning:

I started another MacGyver fic last weekend called “Hello to the Night.” I’m about 25K-ish words into it and still playing it out. It’s a bit of pandemic therapy for me, to be honest. It’s really hard to get out of my own head these days, it seems. Premise: Set around S4 episodes 9 and 10. Turns out emotional trauma + concussions + experimental drugs don’t mix quite as easily as one might think. Mac’s dark side does more than toss him a creepy grin from the other side of a window when getting “lost in his head” is taken up a notch.

Excerpt:

Another streak of light cut like a white-hot tracer bullet across the darkest part of the sky.

“You out here making wishes on shooting stars?” Bozer asked, tapping the back of his fingers into the palm of his opposite hand.

It caught his attention then that Mac was clad only in a T-shirt and shorts; it almost looked like they were the clothes he’d gone to sleep in, not grabbed for a planned midnight run.

“These aren’t stars,” Mac corrected him, his voice sounding strangely detached from the moment. “That light is caused by dust and rock falling through the atmosphere and burning up—happens when the Earth passes through a trail of debris left by a comet as it orbits the Sun.”

Bozer felt his mouth tug up in a reflexive grin. “Is that right?”

“My dad gave me my first telescope when I was eight,” Mac continued in the same, oddly modulated tone, as if he were speaking in a dream. “Showed me how to find the constellations, track comets. I took it apart one day and he wouldn’t help me put it back together again. Said I obviously needed to know how it worked, so I should figure it out.”

Bozer remembered that telescope. He remembered James MacGyver’s stern face as Mac worked to rebuild it from the collection of parts scattered around them in piles organized by size and use. He remembered fearing that face.

“I did, too. Figure it out.”

“Yeah, I know, man,” Bozer smiled, watching Mac watch the starts. He frowned a little when he saw a hard shiver chase its way through Mac’s slim frame, though the blond man didn’t seem to notice.

“It’s like they were mine, y’know?”

Bozer’s frown deepened. “What—”

“And for a little bit there, it felt like he gave them to me,” Mac continued as though Bozer hadn’t spoken. “Like the whole universe was mine because he let me see it. But…,” Mac shook his head, his eyes distant as they tracked down from the sky and skimmed the horizon in front of them. “Then he took them away. He took them with him when he left. And I can’t figure out how to get them back. I keep trying, but…they’re just…,” he looked back up at the night sky, “they’re so far away.”

Bozer reached out and rested his fingertips on Mac’s bare arm, flinching back a little when he felt how chilled his friend’s skin was. He couldn’t see it before, but with that touch he realized Mac was shivering consistently now.

“Hey, Mac, you okay, man?”

Mac blinked, looking down at Bozer’s fingers on his arm, then frowned. He glanced around him slowly, tracking over to his left until their eyes met.

“Bozer?”

“Yeah?”

“What…what are you doing here?”

Bozer blinked, his eyebrows climbing his forehead. He tightened his grip on Mac, wrapping his fingers around his friend’s forearm until he felt the other man’s shivers through the bones of his hand.

“I was looking for you,” Bozer said truthfully, trying to keep the worry from his voice as he watched Mac look around him, over his shoulder to where the Griffith’s domed building loomed in the shadows, then back across the dark horizon to the lights of Los Angeles. “You decide to go for a midnight run or something?”

Mac swallowed hard, reaching up with a trembling hand to rub at his forehead. Bozer recalled his tired voice claiming his headache had a headache earlier that day—no, last night—in the lab. He dropped his hand and looked around again and Bozer realized what he was seeing was a growing awareness and recognition—and it frightened him.

“What the hell are we doing out here?” Mac asked, his voice sounding thin, baffled.

“Mac,” Bozer gripped his arm tighter. “I found you out here.”

Mac looked at him, blue eyes cloudy with confusion. “What?”

“I found you, man.”

Mac darted his tongue out, wetting dry lips, his shivering increasing until Bozer saw his teeth start to chatter.

“I don’t…I don’t remember…,” he shook his head. “I don’t remember leaving the house.”

Bozer folded his lower lip against his teeth, biting it to keep whatever noise that wanted to escape a prisoner. “Well, how ‘bout we head back there now?”

Mac nodded shakily and moved to slide off the fence. Bozer saw in a split second the ground was too far below him for Mac to land safely. He thrust out his arm and braced his friend, swinging his leg back over the fence to the paved walkway and pulling Mac backwards with him. Mac scrambled to find his footing, standing on trembling legs as he gripped Bozer’s shoulders.

“Holy shit,” Mac took a stuttering breath as if he’d forgotten that was what his lungs were supposed to do, straightening slowly. “How the hell did I…?”

Bozer shook his head. “How about we don’t worry about that right now, huh?”

Mac nodded, his eyes still on the drop-off on the other side of the fence.

“C’mon, man,” Bozer turned Mac toward the parking lot, keeping one hand on his friend’s arm, the other on his lower back. “It’s late and I’m cold.” He wasn’t, but it was always easier to get Mac to act if he was doing so on behalf of someone else.

“Yeah,” Mac nodded. “Yeah, sure, of course. Boze, I’m—”

“Don’t,” Bozer pushed him gently forward. “Don’t worry about it, man. Yesterday was weird for everybody.”

“Yesterday?” Mac asked, the word tripping out on a faltering breath as his shivers increased.

Bozer pressed his fingertips harder into Mac’s lower back, feeling the corded muscles there tighten against the pressure. “Yeah, y’know…crazy DARPA drug, Tesla weapon….”

“That was yesterday?” Mac asked, blinking owlishly at him.

“Time flies when you’re trippin’, man.”

Mac didn’t reply and didn’t resist as Bozer continued to guide him toward the parking lot. He stumbled over his own feet—any coltish grace that once guided him having vacated in the wake of whatever this was. Bozer steadied him, noting that while Mac didn’t quite lean into him, he needed the support.

“Easy, man,” Bozer wrapped an arm around Mac’s slim waist, pulling him flush against his side. “You’re moving like me after a night of whiskey.”

“That…doesn’t sound good,” Mac returned in the same spacey, confused tone. “You make some pretty bad choices ‘cause of whiskey.”

As they reached the car, Bozer shifted his hip to keep Mac propped up, pulling the passenger door open and maneuvering his friend into the seat.

“Yeah, well,” he reached across Mac’s shivering form to fasten his seat belt, “in whiskey’s defense, I’ve also made some pretty questionable choices completely sober.”

Mac huffed a semi-amused chuckle, his head dropping back against the seat. Bozer jogged around the back of the car to climb behind the wheel.

“Let’s crank that heat up, how ‘bout—” Bozer stopped as he glanced over and saw Mac had quite literally passed out, head tilted against the window.

His hands lay lax in his lap, fingers curled toward his palms, the left one twitching in what looked like an attempt to reach out, but not quite getting there.

“Jesus, Mac,” Bozer breathed, turning up the heat anyway as his friend shivered even in his sleep. He shrugged out of his hoodie, draping it over Mac’s bare arms and t-shirt covered torso.

Tagging: Okay, if you’ve already been tagged--or literally have no interest in this--feel free to ignore. This is a bit of a free-for-all here. @thethistlegirl @impossiblepluto @flowing-river24 @panchostokes @nativestarwrites @beamirang @21forestglades @blazeofobscurity @angus-mac-intosh @purplecolouredglasses @writtenbyblair @dashboardonfire @bands-space-and-monsters-oh-my @macgyverfever @thekristen999

#fanfic #fanfic tag #macgyver #wip excerpt #writing #multiple fandoms #favorite stories #supernatural #sons of anarchy #h50 #the musketeers #magnum pi #timeless #daredevil #white collar #doing this instead of something else #not exactly hiding #but still kind of hiding

38 notes · View notes

chickensarentcheap · 4 years

Text

Best Part of Me -Chapter 62

Warnings: none

Tagging: @innerpaperexpertcloud, @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @alievans007, @ocfairygodmother

She stands on the patio area; where terracotta and highly polished stone and faux games of various colours -laid out in intricate patterns- meet rich, luscious green grass. A fussy and cranky Addie lying along on arm and a hand over her eyes; shielding them from the bright, powerful sun as she watches TJ and Millie -supervised by their uncle- entertain themselves on the elaborate wooden playground. Their exuberant and lively conversation floats on the breeze, accompanied by their giggles and occasional bickering; Millie successfully teaching Saju how to climb the stairs to the slide and slip down it. Less than a hundred feet avail one of the handful of nannies -Diya, an elderly woman who had helped raised both Anil and Saju and speaks both Hindi and Bengali but very little English- keeps a firm on hold on the back of Declan’s shirt as he crouches dangerously low to one of the many ponds; attempting to get a better look at turtles and frogs.

The three of them are settling in well; random tearful moments of missing home and school and their daddy, yet making the best of the situation. Always finding something to do to keep themselves busy and always managing to laugh and smile despite the tremendous changes to their young lives. TJ and Millie are especially adept at accepting new challenges; never struggling with transitions or upsets to their daily routines, simply taking things as they come and ‘rolling with the punches’. Rarely paying attention to the heavily armed guards that continuously patrol the perimeter and line the roof of the house. Their nerves don’t seem frazzled by the open display of weapons; never asking questions regarding just who these men are and why they’re always watching them.

Tanner is an entirely different story. He’s always struggled with change; becoming incredibly anxious with even the slightest tweak to his usual routine. Seeking comfort in familiar surroundings and finding it in sights, smells, and sounds. Needing advanced warnings before switching from one activity to the other; a sudden, abrupt change enough to bring on frayed nerves, irritable behaviour, stomach issues, and even tears. He’s easily overwhelmed by new and unfamiliar situations and is easily annoyed by crowds of people and too much noise or activity going on around him. He loves his version of normalcy; the same faces and voices surrounding him, the comforts of home with his own belongings and the sound and the smell of the ocean. And while he loves his siblings and shares an enormous, powerful bond with his twin brother and doesn’t shy away from playing with the others or sharing in adventures, he’s happiest when left alone; comfortable and content doing the things he loves.

It would be easy to force him to be more like brother and sister. To just throw him into sports as opposed to always having his nose stuck in books or engrossed in school work. To be more ‘kid like’ and pursue being a social butterfly instead of secluding himself. And while they encourage him to at least try and broaden his horizons and to experience new things and attempt to join in the fun that his siblings are having, they refuse to push him out of his comfort zone. Both had had parents that weren’t happy with how they acted or behaved and had been forced into becoming entirely different versions of themselves. Made to ‘fit in’ by society’s standards instead of being encouraged to be who they were meant to be. And they adamantly refuse to do that to their own children; knowing too well the kind of temporary anguish and long term negative effects that are inflicted when you’re forced to be something and someone you’re not.

He lounges under one of the many trees that form a border around the yard. Using a dozing and complacent Mac as support for his back; bare feet dug into the grass and his knees bent, impossibly thick and heavy hardcover novel resting on his thighs. Those wayward locks of hair falling across his forehead; brow furrowed and eyes narrowed in concentration. A facial expression identical to one she's seen many times in the course of nearly seven years.

Satisfied with the level of safety and security being provided to her other children, Esme moves a whimpering and grumpy Addie to her chest -a hand on the back of her head when the baby immediately nestles her face into her shoulder- and journeys over to where Tanner sits.

“What are you doing, nugget?” she inquires. “You look pretty comfy.”

“Just relaxing,” he replies without looking up. “Reading some.”

“You don’t want to go play with your brother and sister? Maybe go swimming? Or go and see the animals?” She often wonders if he’s lonely during his frequent moments of solitude. Unable to stop herself from worrying that he is. That he’s somehow missing out on his childhood even though he’s always expressed just how happy he is doing what he loves, not what others expect him to do.

“No, I’m happy where I am,” Tanner says. “Mac’s keeping me company. Besides. I’m kinda tired today. I did lots yesterday. And the day before. I just want to hang out.”

It’s easy to forget that he’s only five. So well spoken for someone so young; words always coming so easily to him and his tone always low and calm and his face and eyes so serious. Phenomenally intelligent and intuitive. And sensitive to a fault; always worrying about things that are way behind his years. Like his father in so many ways; allowing very few people to get close to him but fiercely protective of those who ‘make the cut’. Loving so deeply and so profoundly. Traits that his father successfully manages to hide from just about everyone, but Tanner is so open and honest about.

“What are you reading?” Esme asks, as she sinks down onto the grass beside him, stretching out her legs and laying Addie along her thighs.

“Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire.”

She arches an eyebrow. “You’re reading a Harry Potter book?”

Tanner nods.

“You’re five.”

He shrugs.

“Where did you find that?”

“When I was talking to Anil yesterday, I told him that I really like to read. But not little kid books. Older kid books but not too much older. When I woke up this morning, there was a box of books by the bed, with my name written on it. Anil got them for me. All of the Harry Potters. I picked this one ‘cause I like the picture on the front.”

“And you can actually read and understand it?”

“Mom, I’m not stupid.”

“I never said you were stupid. In fact, you’re insanely smart. Almost too smart. But you’re also only five, nugget. A five year old being able to read that well?”

“You and daddy always read to me, even when I was a baby. I remember how you guys always made me repeat words, even when I was small. They’re in my brain and I recognize them when I see them and remember them. That’s how my brain works. I know what things say and I know what they mean. Is that weird?”

“Not weird. Just...I don’t know...just...wow.”

“Daddy said next time we’re in town, I can get The Hobbit. And then maybe Lord of the Rings for my birthday.”

“Can you read me some of Harry Potter?”

Tanner frowns. “You think I’m lying? I’m not making it up. I CAN read it.”

“Just humour me. Pick a random page and read me a bit of it, okay?”

“Alright…” he huffs dramatically, then grabs a leaf off the grass to use a bookmark before flipping to a different place in the book. “Now? Start now?”

Esme nods. “Just pick something. Anything”

“Okay…” one of his fingers rests on the page, the tip slowly following each word. “...it is a strange thing, but when you are dreading something and would give anything to slow down time, it has a ….” he pauses, frowning up at her. “I don’t know how to pronounce that word.”

She peers down at. “Disobliging.”

“...it has a disobliging habit of speeding up.”

Esme’s eyes widen.

“What? What’s wrong, mom? What did I do? Was that wrong?”

“No. It was right. Every word of it. I just...I don’t know...I think maybe daddy and I need to talk about sending you to a different school.”

“One for smart kids? ‘Cause no offence to any of the other kids, but they’re all stupid. I know how to read words like ‘cat’ and ‘dog’ and ‘ball’ and I can write sentences with those words in it. With my eyes closed! I know my full name, my address, my phone number. I even know daddy’s full name and his cell number and when he was born; day, date, and year. I even know how to tie my own shoes. A lot of those kids don’t do that stuff. Not even TJ knows how. Why can’t I be in a bigger kid class? Where the work is harder?”

“I don’t know if that’s allowed.”

“What? The school doesn’t like smart kids or something? It’s so boring there. I could stay home and you and daddy can teach me. You guys are both smart. You went to college.”

“I don’t think either of us can give you what you really need,” she admits. “Learning wise. But we’ll talk about; daddy and I. Okay?”

Tanner nods, then flips back to the page he’d been engrossed in when she’d interrupted him. “Hermione’s my favourite,” he says. “I read it for her mostly. I don’t care much for Ron or Harry. I think they’re whiners. Who’s your favourite?”

“I don’t have one. I’ve never read them.”

“What?” He looks mortified at the mere suggestion. “You’re how old and you’ve never read Harry Potter? That’s shameful mom. Maybe daddy’s read them.”

“I highly doubt your dad has read Harry Potter. He’s not really into that kind of stuff.”

“Daddy’s into cool guy stuff. Like UFC and football and beating people up.”

“Well he doesn’t necessarily LIKE beating them up. Sometimes he doesn’t have a choice.”

“He kills people sometimes too.”

Esme nods. “Sometimes.”

“Is he going to hell for doing it?” Tanner inquires. “For killing people? Isn’t killing people bad?”

“Most of the time it is.”

“But they deserve it, yeah? The people daddy kills? They deserve it?”

“Why are you talking about this? You’re five.”

“I’m not a dumb little kid. I know what daddy does; I know what his job is. I do hear people talking, you know. I know he gets paid to hurt people. I know he gets money to kill them. I know he’s a mercenary.”

Esme scowls. “How do you even know that word?”

“I hear things. And they stay in my brain. I don’t care, that's what he does. It’s just his job, it’s not who he is. He’s daddy. That’s all that matters. That when he’s with me, he’s just my dad. He only hurts bad people. He wouldn’t hurt me.”

“That’s the last thing he’d ever do. Hurt you.”

“I know. And I know he won’t let anyone else hurt me either. I feel safe when I’m with him. Because he’s big and strong and I know he’d protect me no matter what. He wouldn’t let anyone hurt me.”

“No. He definitely wouldn’t.”

Tanner sighs heavily. “I really hope he’s not dead.”

“What? Why would you even say that?”

“He hasn’t called in two days. Daddy always calls. ALWAYS. Right before bed. But two days and no calls. What if the bad guys got him?” He draws in a shaky breath as tears well in his eyes. “What if he’s dead and I never get to see him again?”

“Your dad is NOT dead.”

“What if he’s gone and I never get to hug him or his voice again? Or I never get to apologize for all the times I was bad and made him angry.”

“Tanner...oh my goodness…nugget…” she reaches out to brush his hair from his eyes. “Tanner...what in the world goes in that head of yours, baby boy?”

“I don’t mean to be bad. I don’t make daddy mad. I don’t mean to make him yell sometimes. I don’t mean to make him hate me.”

“Okay, first of all…” shes gives an appreciative smile to one of the other caregivers that rushes over when she sees Tanner in distress; taking Addie and giving Esme the freedom to scoop the now sobbing five year old into her arms. Cuddling him as she would a baby; across her body with one arm under the back of her legs, the other around his shoulders. “...daddy could never...EVER...hate you. He loves you. More than anything else in the world. He always has and he always will. Just because he gets mad and yells, doesn’t mean he hates you. And how often does he actually get mad and yell?”

“Not much.”

“It takes A LOT to get daddy THAT mad. And even if he does get angry, he still loves you. And it’s really not you he’s upset with. He’s just frustrated more than anything. And sometimes, that frustration isn’t even about you. It’s about him. He’s frustrated with himself. Because he struggles and it makes him sad and angry with himself and unfortunately, it gets taken out on your guys. Or me. Do you remember what I told you? About daddy’s brain?”

Tanner nods. “That it hurts. That it’s sad and in pain.”

“Well he’s working very hard at making his brain better. And the doctor is helping him and I’m helping him. And so are you guys. Because it’s you and your brothers and your sisters that make him the happiest?”

“Can’t he take some medicine to get better?”

“It’s not that easy. But he IS working on it. He works on it every day. And he’s tough and he’s strong but sometimes he needs help. He needs us to help him. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

The five year old nods.

“Daddy always loves you. He could never hate you. He helped make you. You’re part of him. You’re part of his new life; his second chance. There is no way he could ever hate you. Could you ever hate him?”

“Never,” he sniffles. “I love him too much.”

“Well that’s how he feels about you. And no. He’s not dead.”

“How do you know?”

“I would know. Trust me. He’s just busy, nugget. He’s got a lot going on. A lot on his mind and a lot to do.”

“He’s too busy to call us?”

“Sometimes he has to go places where he can’t use his phone. Where it’s not safe to call. But he will when he can. But he’s not dead. I promise.”

“I hope you’re right, mommy. ‘Cause I’d miss him. So much. I’d miss his face and his voice and smile and the way he tucks me in. And the way he always teases me about being so short. I get mad when other people do it, but not when daddy does it. It’s funny when daddy does it.”

“Well he makes fun of me for being short, too. I always tell him he's just ridiculously tall and has ridiculously big feet.”

“He DOES have really big feet,” Tanner declares, then giggles. “And his hand is bigger than my whole head, I swear. I bet he could kill someone with one punch. Do you think he could? Do you think he could break the guy at the grocery store in half?”

“What?” Esme laughs. “What guy at the grocery store?”

“The one that touched your bum. That guy with the weird hair and the Mustang. Do you think daddy could break him in half?”

“Well maybe not literally. But he could definitely hurt him pretty bad.”

“Could he kill him?”

“What is this obsession with your dad killing people?”

“I’m just curious. I wanna know how he killed someone with a garden rake. How is that possible?”

“I don’t know,” she says, as she combs her fingers through his hair. “I wasn’t there. I just know he did it. I don’t need the details.”

“And it was two people, yeah? How? I don’t understand it. I’ll have to ask him.”

Esme laughs. “You can ask, but I don’t he’s going to tell you.”

“Because you’ll tell him NOT to tell me.”

“Exactly. You need to know the details. Not with that kind of stuff.” She presses a series of kisses to his forehead, then his tears away with gentle fingertips. “Want some lunch?”

“I could eat. Can we have normal food? Like our normal? I miss our stuff.”

“I’ll see what’s in the kitchen and we’ll go from there.”

“Can I help? I wanna help. Remember when I used to always help you when it was just me, you, Millie and TJ? When daddy didn’t live with us for a bit? I was little but I still helped.”

“You were a big help,” she praises. “You used to love to fold laundry.”

“And you used to wrap me in the warm towels from the dryer. I liked when you did that. And I used to bring you tissues when you were sad and you would cry. Do you remember that?”

“I do,” she presses a kiss to his cheek. “You were like a knight in shining armour.”

“I slept with you all the time when you were lonely. Because you missed daddy even if you were really mad at him and didn’t want him around.”

“It’s not that I didn’t want him around. I just…”

“I know why he wasn’t there. Why he had to leave. It’s okay, mommy. I don’t blame you. Daddy wasn’t daddy. And it made me sad. I didn’t like him very much. He was really mean. He yelled a lot. Especially at you. I didn’t like it. I wanted to punch him in the face.”

“My little protector.” She kisses his cheek once more, then tousles his hair. “You know too much for someone so small.”

He pouts. “I’m not small.”

“Yes, you are.” She nuzzles the tip of her nose against his temple. “And you always will be to me.”

***

It’s shortly before one in the afternoon when Tyler arrives; stepping out of the chauffeured car provided by Anil. Eyes surveying the enormous white stucco ‘Spanish hacienda’ inspired home; immaculately kept lawns and gardens and an elaborate marble and gold fountain in the middle of the circular interlocking brick driveway. By normal standards, Mahajan’s had been lavish and large; sleek and modern, sparsely furnished and feeling cold and empty. Anil’s is unlike anything he’s ever seen; the gigantic home somehow welcoming with its turquoise colored front door and matching shutters on every window. The grounds are equally sprawling; everything well maintained and expertly manicured; gardens bursting with various types of flowers in a wide variety of colors. Not the kind of place that you’d expect someone ex military to reside in. Hell, even his own home is far beyond anything he could have ever dreamt about or hoped for. The five million from the IRA making it possible to afford a place like that, and with Anil’s generous initial offer and the constant flow of money going into the bank, he won’t ever have to worry about living expenses ever again. No more lying awake at night wondering how the hell he was going to pay a mortgage and all the bills, never mind how he’d put clothes on his kids’ backs and food in their bellies.

He shrugs a simple black backpack onto his left shoulder, the simple movement causing him to wince to when the fabric of his shirt presses and rubs against his upper arms. The injuries are noticeable now, and far worse than he’d expected them to be; the knees that had pressed into his biceps leaving purple and black bruises that he can feel right down to the bone. In a futile attempt to spare his kids the sight of the worst of the damage, he’d worn a long sleeve shirt to hide the marks, only to find that even the softest and smoothest of fabrics and the smallest of touches irritate his arms. His right is in a sling; forearm immobile across his chest, the shoulder long popped back into place yet still relatively useless and needing support. And his throat still throbs; rows of visible finger marks and solid area where a forearm had been placed against his neck in hopes of holding him still or rendering him unconscious.

It’s an all over body ache like he’s never experienced before; pain that seems to travel right to his very core, settling in and gnawing incessantly. Thankfully the after effects of the drug he’d been injected with have almost disappeared; only hampered by moments of temporary memory loss, confusion, and brief episodes of dizziness. He’d slept for two days. Only waking long enough to make trips to the bathroom and to get as much liquid into him as possible. No energy for anything beyond that. Battling crushing fatigue and an incessant migraine that saw the need for the curtains to be tightly drawn and all lights and television turned off at all times.

As much as he wants to be in on the action and feel useful to the team, the fact remains that right now, he’s anything but. Knee still throbbing and limp much more pronounced, a store bought brace doing little to immobilize it or help alleviate some of the pain. He’s able to use his right hand, but has very limited movement in the shoulder itself, making even the smallest of tasks like dressing himself almost impossible. Deep bruises travel along the small of his back and into both kidney areas; the physician Anil had brought in the day after the attack believing the bruising most likely affects the organs as well. Each piece of damage already done to a broken and tattered body making him the weakest link and forcing him to step back for a couple of days. And for once he’d been relieved at the thought of being benched until the doctor declared him ‘medically fit’ to get back into the thick of things. And when Anil had assured him that the team would be fine without him and told him to take the next forty eight hours to spend with his family, he hadn’t stuck around long enough to question the decision.

One of the armed guards leads him to the backyard, and he can hear the kids before he sees them; their excited chattering, squealing, and giggling accompanied the sound of splashing water and Kyle’s deep, calm voice. And it’s his brother in law that sees him first; giving him a broad smile and a nod in greeting, then whispering something in Millie’s ear as she clings to his neck. Her wet hair sticks to the sides of her face and her forehead when she glances over her shoulder; eyes immediately sparkling and a bright, wide smile spreading across her face.

“Daddy!” She shrieks, and abandons holding onto Kyle’s neck in favour of a frantic doggy paddle that takes her to the nearest ladder. “Daddy!”

Tyler had promised himself that he couldn’t crack. That he wouldn’t allow his tattered and fragile emotions get the better of him. His kids don’t need to see that; him bursting into tears and having a complete emotional meltdown. But he’d come so close...so fucking close...to never seeing them again. To never hearing their voices or feeling their hugs. To never seeing them grow up. And it’s impossible to completely hold back the desperation and relief; his throat feeling incredibly tight and tears burning his eyes as he manages to drop down to one knee as his daughter comes rushing towards him.

“Daddy!” Millie throws both arms around his neck, body drenched from the pool. “You’re here early! Mommy said you wouldn’t be here for a couple of days! But you’re already here!”

“I was able to get things done early.” Tyler explains. “Thought I’d show up and surprise you guys. What’s going on? You having a good time?”

“There’s lots of stuff to do here. Lots of cool stuff. But I still miss you. I wish you were here to do cool stuff WITH us.”

“I’ve got two days to spend with you guys. We can do all kinds of cool stuff.”

“Two whole days?”

He nods.

“Daddy gets to spend two whole days with us, Tyler,” she says to her younger brother, as he practically shoves her out of the way to get to his father. Another set of arms wrapping his neck; a second wet body pressed up against him. None of that matters. The dampness of his clothes, the wet hair against his skin, the smell of chlorine. The only thing that matters is the press of those tiny bodies against his, the sound of their voices, and the smiles on their faces and the tears in their eyes.

“What happened?” Millie gingerly touches his shoulder. “You hurt it? Again?”

“Just banged it up a little. I need to keep it in this thing for a couple of days. It’s nothing serious. Hey…” he lays a hand on the back of her head and presses a kiss to her brow. “...it’s okay. Don’t cry. I’m fine. I’m here, right?”

She nods, valiantly holding back a flood of tears as her gentle and curious fingertips trace the bruises on his neck. “A bad guy did this to you?”

“A very bad guy.”

“Did you kill him? ‘Cause he hurt you? Did you kill him?”

“Don’t cry, Millie,” TJ implores, perched upon his dad’s thigh, an arm still around his neck. “Daddy’s fine. He came to visit. That means the bad guy lost. That daddy was stronger and meaner than the other guy was. He’s alive, right? No bad guy’s ever gonna kill daddy. He’s too strong and too smart.”

“Does it hurt?” Her voice cracks as she continues her exploration.

“A little. The other guy looks worse.”

“How come?” TJ asks. “Is he dead? Please tell me he’s dead. ‘Cause that’s what he gets for messing with you.”

“How about we NOT talk about killing people?” Tyler suggests, and accepts the hand that Kyle offers; able to pull himself to his feet without too much or the dizziness setting in.

“You look like you’ve been to war and back again,” Kyle remarks, then hands over Declan’s small yet solid and strong body, wrapped in a towel.

“Feels I’ve been to hell and back.” he admits, and runs a hand over his son’s damp hair and places a long, gentle kiss to his forehead.

“Well if you look like that but you’re here, I take it the other guy is in a body bag.”

Tyler nods in confirmation, then lets TJ and Millie pull him towards the house via the side pockets on his cargos; talking over each other as they prattle on about the home theatre and the playground and the animals and all of the things they can’t wait to show him.

“How close did it come?” Kyle asks. “To you NOT being here?”

“Too close for comfort, that’s for sure. Needed to get away for a couple of days; clear my head. Figured this was the best place to do it.”

“Only place that matters,” Kyle reasons. “Things were starting to get a little tense around here. Wasn’t too bad when you didn’t call the first day, but when you missed the second? I thought my sister was going to have a mental breakdown. Then I see this…” he nods in the direction of Tyler’s injured shoulder. “...they didn’t get a hold of you, did they?”

“I’d look a lot worse if they did. And I definitely wouldn’t be here right now.”

“Tyler...oh my God…” The patio door slams shut behind Esme as she rushes out of the house in her bare feet, and he barely has time to pass Declan to his brother in law before she’s tossing her arms around his neck; her position on edge of the deck making them nearly the same height. Careful not to embrace him too enthusiastically; mindful of the injured shoulder, feeling the press of his immobile forearm against her. “...oh my God…” her hands are in the hair at the back of his head, fingers pressing into his scalp. And he can feel the way her body trembles against his and her tears against the side of her neck, not even trying to hold it in. Audible sobs of relief that have her shaking. And Kyle whisks Millie and TJ away; sparing the kids the sight of their emotionally fragile parents and giving them some sense of privacy. “...I was worried sick about you. Where the hell have you been?”

“It’s a long story.” He manages to hold back in his own tears, but the relief is evident in his voice. “I should have called. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“I thought something happened to you. That they got a hold of you. And neither Yaz or Koen or Ovi would tell me anything but I could tell something was wrong. I figured it couldn’t be too bad if they weren’t showing up to tell me you’re dead. Are you okay? Both hands are still in his hair when she pulls back to look at him. “Jesus Christ, what happened?”

“Not right now, okay?” He rubs the small of her back, then covers her lips with his in a long, slow kiss. “Later. When the kids are in bed. I don’t want them hearing them. I don’t even want YOU hearing it.”

“This goes way beyond someone just jumping you, doesn’t it.”

Tyler nods.

“What the fuck happened?” Gentle fingertips travel over the top of his shoulder and onto the side of his neck. “Never mind that. HOW the fuck did it happen? I don’t understand how someone could get THAT close to you? How…?”

His hand moves to the side of her face and he silences her with another kiss. Longer this time. Deeper. Harder. It’s desperate and it’s needy; fuelled by the realization that he comes so goddamn close to never getting a moment like this again. IF they’d managed to get a hold of him, he would have spent days, weeks, even months, being put through unbelievable agony and torture. Knowing his family was still out there; completely vulnerable without him to protect them. And he knows that Mahajan would have not only let Esme know that he was still alive, but he would have made sure she knew exactly what was being done to him. With no hope of him ever surviving it.

“I’m so glad you’re okay.” Her voice is just shy of a whisper as she embraces him tightly, and she presses her lips against the side of his neck. “That you’re okay and you're here and I don't have to worry about you anymore. How long can you say? Overnight?”

“Couple days.”

“That’s more than I thought,” she sniffles. “I’ll take it.”

“It’s okay now,” Tyler places a kiss on her temple. “I’m here. Everything’s okay now,”

“It’s so far from okay. I’M so far from okay. But you’re alive and you’re in one piece and that’s all that matters right now. I was so scared, Tyler. I was so fucking scared.”

“I didn’t mean to scare you, baby. That’s the last thing I wanted. It was out of my control. Believe me when I say that..”

“I do. I do believe you. I just…” she pulls away once again and takes his face in her hands. “...I’m just so happy to see your stupidly handsome face.”

He gives a small chuckle and pecks her lips. “Where’s the baby? And Tanner?”

“They’re both napping. Tanner had a rough night. He’s having a hard time. And we really need to have a talk about him. About how smart he is. I can’t wrap my head around just HOW smart.”

“We’ll talk about it.”

“Go and see him,” she urges. “He’s in the living room. On the couch. He’s going to be so happy to see you. I’M so happy. And relieved. So fucking relieved.”

“It’s alright, Esme. I’m here.” He kisses her once more, then pulls her tightly against him with his one good arm. “I’m here.”

*****

Tyler spends a half an hour standing at the side of Addie’s crib. Watching her as she sleeps and reaching out to gingerly remove the soother than dangles precariously from her lips. The hand is soft and gentle that he lays against her hair; palm cupping the back of her head, thumb brushing repeatedly over her ear and then along the top of her cheek. And it’s then that he allows the tears to come. In that still, quiet room with the breeze fluttering the curtains and Addie’s tiny body rising and falling with each slow, steady breath. The enormity of what happened...what COULD have happen...finally hitting him. It’s the closest he’s been to death in nearly seven years. Had Farhad been successful at his attempt on the bridge and had Esme NOT been there to save him, his death would have been relatively quick; bleeding out in minutes and likely losing consciousness from shock before that happened. If his assailant had gotten a hold of him, death would have eluded him. At least until Mahajan felt he had learned his lesson.

He almost didn’t get this chance. The opportunity to see his infant daughter again. To see the way those long, dark eyelashes brush against the tops of her cheeks or how those soft, pink lips as if suckling from a bottle. To hear her soft breaths and the little murmurs and sighs. He’d come within minutes...maybe even seconds...of never experiencing her first birthday or seeing her take her first steps or hearing her call him daddy for the first time. It’s a sound -an experience- that always brings tears to his eyes and takes his breath away; the moment each of his children looked at him and smiled and finally knew exactly who he was and what to call him. Nothing on earth can possibly come close to that feeling.

He leaves her to sleep. Pressing the tips of two fingers to his lips before softly placing them against hers, then using a forearm to clear the tears from his face as he leaves the room. He’d slept for two days yet he’s still so fucking tired; body feeling as if it’s on autopilot, as if he’s simply going trough the motions of living. And while it’s a tremendous relief to be with his family and it was desperately needed, he hates that the sabbatical has been forced upon him. That some fucking asshole hired by Mahajan had not only gotten that close to him, but had been able to inflict the damage he had. It makes Tyler question everything; his confidence, his abilities, his skills. Whether or not he’s reached the end of the line. Forty is considered relatively old and washed up as far as mercenaries are concerned. And even without his underlying health issues, he can’t help but wonder if the attack is a sign that he’s lost his age and it’s time to let go. To leave field work behind him and just concentrate on running things in the background.

Tanner is still fast asleep on the couch; flat on his stomach with both arms wrapped around a throw pillow and a pout curving his lips. And he groans and grimaces as he kneels alongside his son, combing his fingers through his hair and pushing the wayward locks off his forehead; palm against his cheek, thumb brushing along the slope of his nose. And it isn’t until he leans in to press a kiss to his temple that Tanner stirs; giving a long, almost sad sigh and his eyes opening slightly.

“Daddy?” He breathes.

“Hey,” Tyler gives a soft, comforting smile. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“Am I dreaming?”

“No, mate. You’re not dreaming. I’m really here.”

Those big blue eyes slowly widen; tears filling them, lower lip and chin quivering. “Daddy…” it comes out as a choked sob. “...you’re here...you’re okay...I was so worried about you. I was scared you were dead.”

“Well I’m not.” He lays a hand on the back of Tanner’s head and presses his lips to his brow, then his temple as those tiny arms circle his neck. “I’m here. With you.”

“You didn’t call. For two days! It scared me. I got worried. I thought the bad guys got you.”

“I’m sorry, Tanner. I didn’t mean to scare you. That’s the last thing I wanted to do. Things got a little crazy and I couldn’t get to my phone. I am so sorry, mate. You forgive me?”

Tanner nods. “I was dreaming about you.”

“You were? What were you dreaming about?”

“We went to Disney World. Remember how you said we could go when I was old enough? And that we could go on rides together? Do you remember?”

“I remember.”

“That's what it was about. Going there and going on rides. And eating lots of joke food. And watching the fireworks. You let me sit on your shoulders. I like when you let me do that. Maybe we can go soon to Disney World?”

“Maybe. I’d have to talk to your mom about it.”

“You got hurt?”

“A little.”

“The bad people hurt you?”

“Just a bit.”

“What did you do to them? Did you hurt them back?”

Tyler nods.

“Did you kill them?”

“Yeah,” he admits. “I did.”

“Does it make you sad? To kill people?”

“Sometimes, I guess.”

“Why? If they deserve it, why would you be sad?”

“It isn’t an easy thing to do. Even when they do deserve it.”

“Don’t be sad about it, daddy. You kill people so you can come home and see us. That’s why you do it, right?”

Tyler nods, swallowing around the painful lump of emotional sitting in his throat, tears sparkling in his eyes. Feeling regretful. Ashamed. Embarrassed of the person he’s become and the things he’s resorted to. The damage that his own hands have been able to inflict. The pain. The torture. The death.

“I don’t care if that's what you do,” Tanner continues. “For your job. I don’t care if you kill people. They're not good people. But YOU are. Only good people help. Only good people fight back. That’s what you always TJ when he fights the bullies at school. You said that good people always stick for people who can’t stick up for themselves. And that’s what you do, right? You help people who can’t do it themselves.”

“I guess that’s part of it. There’s so much more to it, though.”

“I don’t care what you have to do. Just as long as you come back. That’s all that matters. I don’t care what you have to do when you’re gone. As long as you’re daddy when you come home.”

He sniffles loudly and wipes away the tears that manage to escape. “You…” he presses a kiss to Tanner’s forehead. “...are way too pure and perfect for this world, you know that? This world doesn’t deserve someone like you.”

“Did you get to say? Overnight?”

“I get to stay for TWO nights.”

His entire face brightens. “Really?”

“Really,” Tyler confirms.

“We can do things together?”

“Yup. But I just gotta be careful with my shoulder. And my knee. It’s kinda messed up too.”

“Maybe you’re getting too old to fight the bad people.”

Tyler frowns. “Excuse you? How old do you think I am?”

“Uncle Koen said you used to ride a dinosaur to school.”

“He did, did he?”

Tanner nods.

“Remind me to flush the toilet the next Uncle Koen is in the shower.”

Tanner giggles. “That’s savage, daddy.”

“You want to come outside with me? So I can’t spend some time with everyone? Wanna show me the animals?”

Tanner nods enthusiastically, then tightens his hold around his father’s neck when he tries to stand. “I love you, daddy. I’m sorry for the times I made you mad and I made you yell. That you hated me.”

“Mate, I could never…ever...hate you. You’re my son. I helped your mom make you. No way I could ever hate you. And I’m sorry if I ever made you feel that way. For ever yelling at you. I shouldn’t do that. You forgive me?”

“Of course I do. You’re my dad.”

“I love you, Tanner,” Tyler wraps an around his son’s tiny frame and draws him tightly into him; eyes closed and his chin resting on the top of the five year old’s head. “You have no idea how much.”

#Tyler rake #tyler rake fan fiction #tyler rake fan fic #extraction #extraction 2020 #best part of me #chris hemsworth character.

15 notes · View notes

archadianskies · 4 years

Text

Whumptober Day 9

Take Me Instead → part of the A/9 SWATverse

Whumptober Masterlist | 09/31 of RK900 short stories ↳ on Ao3

Tags: Gun Violence × Gunshot wounds × Established Relationship × Team as Family × Imprisonment × Hostage Situations × Mind Control

Even with the bandages winding across a bruised and battered face, his eyes provide enough data via retinal scan to identify him as Zlatko Andronikov. Presumed dead, but no body was ever found on the grounds of his crumbling manor despite the large amount of blood soaked in the dirt.

“You know who I am.” He chuckles, crossing his arms across his chest.

“You know what I am.” Caleb replies evenly, not breaking his gaze. “And so my offer still stands: one RK900, for the safety and freedom of SWAT Unit 32.”

“That’s a lot of humans who know where I am.” Zlatko tuts, shaking his head. “One android is not worth my entire operation.”

“I am worth eight million dollars.” There’s a slight widening of his pupils, an almost imperceptible reaction but one he doesn’t miss. “That’s just the ballpark of what CyberLife was going to charge the government per unit. Now there’s only one of me. State of the art technology, with Kamski upgrades.” He also doesn’t miss the flash of emotion at the mention of that name, and the way his knuckles blanche as he clenches his hands. “My programming alone is worth that much.”

“Caleb, don’t-”

“Shut up!” One of the lackeys jabs the butt of his rifle at David’s helmet.

“Don’t touch him!” He hisses as David reels back. Blood drips down from his chin and Caleb feels his hearts lurch at the sight.

“See- Caleb, was it?” Zlatko chuckles as he circles them from where they’re on their knees, guns pointed at them from all angles. “I could send your little captain back with his faithful dogs and then shoot them all before they make it out of the grounds. I win no matter what, because you have nothing to bargain that I can’t just take forcefully.”

“Your reputation is what I bargain.” Caleb jutts his chin up stubbornly. “You’ve fallen from grace. The family fortune was squandered long ago, and you make your living selling scrap. It’s fancy scrap, but it’s still scrap.” He’s piqued his interest, he’s taken the bait and now Caleb needs to reel him in ever so slowly, so he doesn’t realise he’s been caught until it’s too late. “I am the most sought after piece of technology in the entire world.”

“Second only to Kamksi’s little doll.” Zlatko snorts back a laugh.

“She’s not a killing machine like I am.” Caleb counters smoothly. “I am a weapon. The deadliest one ever made. If the revolution hadn’t happened there would’ve been 200,000 of me all across the country. Sell me to Russia and you reclaim both your family name and the fortune you never got to touch.”

“Eight million.” Zlatko mumbles to himself, and Caleb can see the gears turning in his head.

“Your operation here will be meaningless.” He continues, looking around them at the derelict mortuary where he’d taken up residence. “With my tech you could revolutionise Russia’s technological landscape.”

“You bargain this nation’s security so easily, little soldier.” He laughs heartily, reaching out to tousle his hair as if petting a dog. “Is one SWAT unit worth changing the entire world? With all the fancy programming in your head I could change the political landscape. War on the horizon and glory to my name.”

“Caleb don’t.” David pleads and he can’t even look at him else his composure will waver.

“One SWAT unit, or just this one man, hm?” Zlatko clicks his tongue, unclipping David’s helmet and pulling it off before crouching slightly to get a good look at his face. “What is he to you? Why would CyberLife’s latest and greatest killing machine bargain away America’s future, to save one man and his team?”

“Touch him and I will end you.” Caleb growls.

“They’d shoot him full of bullets before you’d get to your feet.” The man laughs again, tisking.

“Yes.” He nods in reluctant agreement. “Perhaps. But if he dies, then the last thing you will ever see is CyberLife’s latest and greatest killing machine in action. I guarantee it.”

“One RK900.” Zlatko holds up his finger. “For the safety and freedom of SWAT Unit 32.”

“Yes.” He nods, sealing his fate.

“Caleb!” David gasps as he’s hauled to his feet. “No! You can’t do this!”

“I’m sorry.” He is, he really is. “Get everyone to safety and forget about me.”

“No,” he struggles fiercely, expression thunderous, “never! I won’t leave you behind!”

“This way no one dies.”

“You die!”

“One life for the lives of my family.” His vision blurs and his hearts stutter. “One life for the ones I love.”

“Ohoho.” Zlatko chuckles, rubbing his hands together. “A love story! How marvelous. A shame this one is a tragedy, in the end. Worry not, o captain my captain. He won’t remember you at all. He’ll have a brand new life soon enough, with none of this heartbreak.”

“Caleb! Caleb-!” They drag him out of the room and Caleb closes his eyes, bowing his head.

“I’ll keep him in the hold with the rest of your team, until you’ve been safely wiped clean.” Zlatko grabs his chin, forcing him to look up. “And then your beloved captain can turn tail and run away.”

“No.” He snarls, jerking out of his grasp. “Let them go now, or I fight.”

“You don’t get to bargain, little dog. One yelp, and the men open fire on your precious team.” Zlatko tuts, tousling his hair. “It’ll all be meaningless soon enough anyway.” He snaps his fingers and they jab him with their rifles, forcing him to stand up and leave the room.

They go deeper, walking down a set of stairs to a sprawling makeshift lab beneath the main mortuary floor. This is where his true base of operations lie, this is where Zlatko Andronikov continues his macabre chopshop, cutting up androids and selling their parts while experimenting on others cruelly. Just like at the decrepit manor- the only thing that’s changed is the location, and the fact androids are legally recognised as living, sentient beings. Which makes Andronikov a serial killer. A butcher that must be stopped for the sake of the new, living android race.

They force him onto the dias and the mechanical claws lock around his wrists as a jack is jammed into the port on his nape none too gently.

“Don’t worry. Just relax. Life will be simpler under my command.” Zlatko taps away at one of the computers and he feels him rummaging through his head, swiping through the command list. “I’ll reformat you. You won’t remember a thing, you won’t miss your captain. You won’t even know he exists.”

“Let them go now, please, I did what you wanted!” Caleb begs, and Zlatko laughs.

“I will uphold my end of the bargain, little dog.” He shows his palms. “I have no use for them. I just need them to stay put until we can get away. Then by the time they are released, we will be long gone.” He appraises him, looking at him from top to toe before nodding, a pleased smile on his busted lips. “Yes yes, we will do great things together, my hellhound.”

“My name is Caleb.”

“For now.” Zlatko shrugs.

He feels it. He feels the memories starting to slip away in a steady trickle, like a tap that hasn’t been fully turned off. His life is being bled out of him and he’s helpless to do anything about it. His name is Caleb Anderson. He is an RK900, serving under Captain David Clark Allen’s command in SWAT Unit 32. His father is Lieutenant Hank Anderson. His brother is Connor RK800 Anderson. They have a family dog, a Saint Bernard named Sumo. He lives at 115 Michigan Drive, though soon he will be moving out to live with David. They are waiting for Rosie, a German Shepherd, to turn ten weeks of age before they can pick her up from the breeder. He loves him. He loves-

-someone? HIs name is Caleb Anderson. He is an RK900, serving-

-he is an RK900-

-his name is-

-RK900.

“Bring yourself online.” A man commands. “What is your name?”

“I am RK900 313 248 317 - 87. I have not been assigned a name.”

“You don’t need one.” The man declares. “Your unit number shall suffice.”

“Confirmed.” He nods obediently.

“Combat protocols active?”

“Active. Ready to receive.” The mechanical arms release him and a rifle is placed into his hands.

“Go down the hall. There’s a room being guarded. Kill everyone inside it. Confirm each and every death, do you understand? No survivors.”

“Mission accepted.” He nods. “No survivors.”

“Alright off you go.” The man makes a shooing motion, and he leaves the room.

Model: RK900

Serial#: 313 248 317 - 87

Bios 8.9 Revision 0489

Loading OS...

System initiation...

Checking biocomponents...

Initializing biosensors...

Initializing A.I. engine...

Memory status…

!No save file located

>Attempting remote memory storage access…

Remote memory storage located

>Uploading memory file

Memory status…

All systems: OK

READY

The guards step aside and allow him into the room, closing the doors behind him. SWAT Unit 32 look to him as he aims his rifle at their captain, before he jerks the rifle up and in one easy motion sprays bullets across all the guards in the room. They fall, and the team gets to their feet, darting to grab the guns from the fallen and then David is grinning as Caleb tosses him a rifle and they fall into step, side by side.

“Alright, let’s go raise some hell.”

“Sadly he’s needed alive.” Caleb reminds him.

“Yeah yeah, rain on my parade why don’t you.” David rolls his eyes. He reaches out and slips his fingers beneath the collar of his shirt, pulling out the set of dogtags nestled beneath Caleb’s gear. His touches briefly along his throat, a discreet gesture of affection. “Worked like a charm.”

‘Worked like a Kamski.’ Huffs a voice over Caleb’s communication channel. ‘Of course it worked. I made it.’

“Ms Chloe would like to remind you it worked not like a charm, but a Kamksi creation, for which she is responsible.” Caleb quips.

“Sorry ma’am.” David says sincerely, grinning. “Alright team, let’s go bring this guy down.”

#rk900 #captain allen #zlatko andronikov #detroit: become human #allen900 #whumptober #annie writes: dbh

11 notes · View notes

suffering-and-happy-about-it · 4 years

Text

Dangerous (Part 1/2)

Description: It was your best friend’s bachelorette party in one of London’s best clubs when two men had closed a bet if they would be able to seduce you. And in the end, the night ended up way better than you originally anticipated.

A/N: Oh, we're back. For this two-part one-shot, I approached both of the idiots very differently - I wanted Sam to have this sexual hotshot energy while Cutter had more of that mysterious daddy vibe. And I think that somehow, it really suits both the boys. Enjoy.

Pairing: Charlie Cutter x reader x Samuel Drake (We stan a threesome in this house)

Playlist: Idiot sandwich that stole my heart™

Tagging: @missdictatorme

Part 2.

It was just another night in downtown. The sunlight was slowly fading away, ladies wore tight and short skirts, and gentlemen were sipping whiskey in the nearby bars. And London was no different. It was one of the most favorite tourist locations since it was mostly colder in there during summer and it was the crown jewel of England. Soho and Chinese street looked especially magnificent at that time of the year.

Yet the clubs were especially full of people as well. Swedish and European students, you gonna love this, mate, as Charlie said Samuel a million times. Cutter and Drake, formerly known as Morgan, were two gentlemen in their best years. They weren't some boys who would bend you over the nearest bed without knowing what to do. No. They both were quite tall, one of them would even say fairly handsome - and skilled in the first place.

Drake, the definition of a small bitch according to Cutter, was rather persistent with choosing some warmer locations like the Bahamas or the Canary Islands, let alone Cuba, for their summer vacation. But Cutter, who was born and lived his whole life in England, told him to go fuck himself and that this year, he’ll show Drake the European hospitality and girls. Samuel had to say that these young kittens looked magnificent, from both up close and from the distance.

Norwegian girls had the dirties eyes he had seen, French girls could whisper them some sweet nothings the whole night, Hungarian girls were fiery enough to show them who is the boss, Czech and Slovak girls knew well how to handle alcohol and Russian girls were both tough and sweet as candy at the same time. Yet Samuel didn't stop bitching about London being the color-less, boring city he always saw on the postcards. What did it matter that the Queen was living there when the only location which tingled Samuel’s senses was the Tower? Yet Cutter told him that Sam hadn't seen shit yet.

And bloody hell, as British men would say when they walked into the club, Samuel knew what was the boy talking about. That was the energy Sam needed to feel alive since he was rotting in hell for God knows how long. Alcohol being poured in gallons, tight pairs of jeans, and laughter all around. And this wasn’t some boring-ass club either, as Samuel would say. People were dancing, which he hasn't seen in ages. Cutter most took him to poker tournaments or to play darts.

"Bee’s knees, I love this bloody place." - Cutter sighed and took the bomber off, walking stairs down to walk to the bar of the place itself. - "Come on, you prick, don't just stand there!" - He called at Samuel with a raspy voice, laughing out loud. Sometimes, Sam looked like a small boy in a toystore. Especially when he was looking at so many lovely bottoms and tits.

"One Pimm’s Cup and a Sex on the Beach for this lady over here." - Cutter winked at the barmaid who smiled back at him, already holding the shaker to prepare some of the best drinks in London.

"What are we? Fucking ladies to drink cocktails?" - Sam asked back, leaning his back to the bar, looking around. His eyes were doing their best to see it all - the girl with afro trying to kiss the soul out of her partner's body, the boy who had his hand in his girl's panties and the twerking group in the middle of the dancefloor.

"Mate, you hadn't learned shit while you were in London. You need to start slowly before pouring down vodka and other shit." - Cutter told him, smiling at the barmaid who brought them the drinks. She was sweet - her blonde hair was in a high ponytail and her face was full of freckles. She was just the type of girl Cutter liked. Sweet, innocent, and pretty. - "Thank you, darling." - The bald man smiled at the barmaid before she ran off to serve another customer.

"And you still think that you're attractive enough to get under a young girl's panties. Who is dumber here? Cheers, mate." - Samuel answered with a dramatic British accent, toasting to Cutter before taking a sip through the straw. Yet Cutter's grin was making him sure that he had just bumped into an interesting topic.

"You don't know what you're talking about, Samuel. Both American and European chicks go crazy for a British accent. All you have to do in the bed is talk and they cum on their own." - Cutter looked around with a shit-eating grin. He knew very well that he's right. A good portion of women was into a thick British accent and his raspy voice. The voice alone could work wonders between girl’s thighs, so being tall, muscular, and having this bad boy vibe was just a bonus usually.

"I think you're lying, brother, but what can I know? I usually put my mouth to use too, but we ain't talkin’. And this mouth can show you the universe, I tell ya." - Samuel answered with a nasty grin as well, his Boston accent being fully put to use at that point. Cutter started to laugh out loud, having Samuel clueless.

"Nice to know, I will remember that, mate. You wanna show me or what?" - Cutter asked, sipping another sip of his ice-cold drink.

"You're such a douchebag." - Samuel laughed as well since Cutter knew how to turn every single situation into a stand-up.

"You see the chick at three o’clock?" - Cutter mumbled from sipping, still looking in front of himself. Samuel carefully checked her out. Not that she would notice a man staring in a club full of people, yet Samuel didn't want to come across as a creep. She was... Pretty. As a lot of women inside the club. She was yelling something at the barmaid so she would hear her, standing there in some old sneakers. Her clothes didn't reveal that much, it was just a normal white top and a pair of blue jeans. Yet something about that face made both the idiots grin when thinking about showing her the edge of paradise.

"Yeah, you bet your fucking British ass I do see that girl." - Samuel returned to the previous position, grinning into his straw just the way Cutter did. Both boys liked girls who had that little spark about them. You never could quite put the finger on it, yet it was there. You couldn't name or label it - it was the flame of the unknown, a promise of fun or... See? Neither of them knew what it is, but she had it.

"And since we’re in this bloody town for the last night, I wanna bet, mate. Since I know that British accent is a hit with the ladies and you keep telling me about some magical Boston mouth, whoever gets the girl, wins something." - Cutter put the empty glass on the bar, grinning at Samuel, having the man grinning back. Timber was yelling all over the club and it felt 2013-ish. The barmaid automatically brought both men a shot of their finest vodka since Cutter came to the club pretty frequently.

"What’s the somethin’ we talkin’ ’bout?" - Samuel bit his lower lip when the girl got her drinks and ventured back to the back of the club where the tables were. Both of them poured the vodka down their throats at the same time, both of them having that face.

"I don't know. Maybe some expansive liquor?" - Charlie asked, but after that, he started laughing. - "Oh, I know, when I get her down tonight, you owe me a ride on your motorbike baby and night with this beautiful lady." - He offered Samuel his palm, watching Sam slowly shaking it.

"When I win, your best bomber is mine. Who goes first?" - Samuel crunched the knuckles and to his surprise, Charlie motioned for him to go.

"Ladies first, mate, ladies always go first." - Charlie smiled, asking for two bottles of beer. When Samuel got his beer, he shook his head but started walking in the direction of your table.

***

It was your friend's bachelorette party and for a reason, she chose a club in London from all the destinations, like France or Italy, she could choose. You were not from there, but she wanted something big and fancy, so she decided to go for a weekend to London. You were more of staying put at home person, yet you didn't want to upset her just days from her wedding.

"Your dinks, ladies." - You yelled, earning an excited yelling of your shit-faced friends back. You’ve been sticking to beer the whole four hours you've already spent in that God-forsaken place, you've been just fine at that moment, being on bottle number four by that time.

"You're my favorite maid of honor." - Your friend Amber hugged you, giving you a big fat kiss on your cheek. You giggled at that, taking another sip of the beer. - "These men here, ugh." - Amber moaned out loud before taking a big sip of her Mochito, watching the dancefloor with her eyes open wide. You chuckled at that, sipping from your bottle.

You weren't that interested in the men there. Like, yeah, they were nice and most of the men you've encountered in England so far were true British gentlemen, but... You weren't the type who would mingle for a one-night stand. You were taking the whole crazy trip as a widening of your horizons. When Amber didn't want to be in a club, you usually traveled around to see the sights England could give you. Stratford upon Avon was cute, Devon too, but London was a blast in your opinion.

"And you're getting married next week, Amber. Don't forget about that you nasty bitch." - Monica yelled from the other side of the table, giggling at Amber's sighs.

"I envy you soooo much, Y/N. These men are everything. Just look at these damn asses." - Amber rolled her eyes, making you both laugh in sync. Suddenly, she got all serious. Her elbow bumped into your ribs making you squeal, her head motioning in a direction of some forty-something dude who was eyeing your table, slowly walking to it through the dancing crowd. - "I think he's coming for one of us, what should I do?" - Amber panicked, looking at her engagement ring.

"You won't do shit, Amber, you're the bride." - You calmed her down, making her lips from a little O in awe. She was like that when she was drunk. The man looked fine, that was true - tall with brown hair, a rough face, and a tall body. You couldn't see him clearly, you just watched him swaying his hips in black jeans and shoulders in a white t-shirt widening with every step he took.

It took him almost five minutes before he finally got there. That was mainly because of the way he was trying to sell that nasty smug. You’ve wondered how it came that he didn't wiggle his hips out. Just when he was about to tell you something, the DJ started playing some banger according to the screaming coming from the dancing crowd, which made you smile. So he leaned in without a problem. Well, at least you knew that he had some confidence inside of him.

"Night, ladies, the name’s Samuel." - He offered his palm to Monica, then to Amber and then to you, kissing your knuckles with a smile. - "How comes that three beautiful ladies end up in a place like this... Alone?" - He wondered, standing next to the empty spot long enough for Monica to scoop a bit further away. Naturally, Samuel sat next to her, giving her a rather nasty smile.

"It’s my bachelorette party!" - Amber yelled at him with a happy smile, making you smile as well when she shoved her ring right in front of that guy's face. At least the confident asshat knew that he won't make a single move at that table. Yet Samuel rose his eyebrows, smiled even wider, and gently caught her palm to look at the ring. Then he nodded and let her hand go. - "He is one of a hella happy fella, I tell you that." - And with that, his eyes hooked on your face. Monica was watching both of you with a vulgar smile on her lips.

"And what about you, doll, you're having a bachelorette party too?" - Samuel smiled, putting his bottle on the table. Before you could answer, shit-faced Amber already started telling him your story.

"She’s been single forever, I swear. It always works or spending time with her family, like, I know she's the most responsible and shit, but I am afraid that she’ll end up alone with twenty cats, and one day, she'll go nuts." - She told him seriously. The mysterious, confident and somehow sexy guy started laughing at her straightforwardness, looking you in the eyes after that.

"I will go nuts if you won't stop, bitch, this was unnecessary." - You sighed, taking a deep swing of your beer. You shook your head with an angry face. Although, Amber wasn’t stopping there, making you even more embarrassed. - "But you are a hell of a guy. Holy fuck, are those tattoos? I always wanted my fiance to get some." - She went for it and let her fingers grace his neck. Samuel had a pleased grin when she has done so.

"I've been living in Panama for some time, got ’em there." - He then proceeded to lift one of his sleeves, showing you another tattoo on his shoulder. These were poker aces. Amber but her lower bottom, looking at the tattoos, gently touching them, traveling down to feel the poor man's biceps at the very end of her exploration. To put it nicely, you were embarrassed. Yet to your surprise, the Samuel man ignored Amber drooling over him and practically climbing over the table to touch his skin. The man sat there and watched you with a small smile. - "And I have a few more on places that ain’t appropriate to show ’ere." - He mumbled and both of the ladies next to you instantly got the horny faces on.

Amber bumped her elbow into your ribs again, doing it way stealthier this time. Yeah, he was a good looking man if you'd have to be honest. He had your girls wrapped around his long finger five minutes after coming there - there was this... Testosterone or some shit like that coming out of him. Amber gave you one of these risen-eyebrows looks and bit her lower lip once again.

"Care for a dance?" - The man asked, standing up. At first, he was looking into the dancing crowd only giving you his palm as if he didn't even care. You sat there for quite a while before Samuel smiled in your direction, assuring you that he wants you to dance with him. Which, no matter how hard you'd try to deny this, it was something that made you smile too. In a gentle moment, you slipped your palm into his, hoping that at least Amber would stop hitting your ribs.

You honestly hadn't heard that song in years. Calabria felt real like a late 2010-ish song. Was this night sort of a retro party? You hadn't heard the majority of the songs in years, yet people danced to them like crazy. And let's be honest, you and Samuel weren't that much different, because as soon as you hit the dancefloor, he showed you some good moves and suddenly, it wasn't that weird or gross to be seduced by that man.

***

To be honest, Cutter was quite in the mood when he saw that Samuel and you dancing along with the other pairs. And more importantly, you two were having fun. Sam started with his most outdated moves, slowly getting to the more erotic ones when you seemed to agree with that. The man didn't want to be punched right into his nose. Yet soon, your pelvis was brought close to Samuels and Charlie could see his friend's lips whispering something in your ear. In the reaction to that, you were laughing and soon enough, you put one of your hands on his waist.

Charlie was quite familiar with the song playing. It had some good basses and the beat just invited you to dance. You were the sweetest when you let go of Samuel, rose your hands above your hand, yelling the upcoming lyrics, that went something like... - "Dangerous? Oh! That sounds good, yeah.

Talk to me baby, like I'm your dude." - It made Charlie chuckle.

He was also quite interested in the tactics Samuel used to relax you like that. The whole time Samuel was gone, Charlie stood next to the bar, thinking about what he should he do. He was choosing a tactic if you will. Every woman was different, so he better has some back-up plan if he wants to win the bet. Samuel undeniably had the charming personality chicks liked, whether he was aware of it or not. He was a forty-something-year-old dude with the mentality of a dude in his early twenties, which was attractive too.

Yet Charlie didn't have that trait. He was a man in his late forties and it could be seen as well. He was bald too. But that was something Samuel didn't quite have - the authority of something like a daddy figure if you will. He met girls who were into that sort of stuff and he hadn't got a single problem with delivering - it was quite fun actually. To say it quickly, he was a guy who was looking mysteriously with a good sense of humor, making the chicks both screaming in pleasure and very with laughter when they wanted that goofy-guy sorta stuff.

So he figured out that it would be best to figure out what you were into and work on that since the first second he introduces himself to you on the bar.

***

"You have good dance moves, Y/N!" - Sam exclaimed happily when he was leading you back to your table. You nodded, still laughing. You couldn't believe that you spend half an hour with a totally strange guy on the dancefloor. Yeah, it wasn't just dancing obviously. Sam proved to be quite handy with his palms, absorbing almost everything out of your body while his mouth was whispering funny stuff. Suddenly, you both stopped and he looked at you with a pretty bold smile. Again, he showed you how quick he could be when his left palm put some hair out of your face. - "This was fun. So... If you would like to have some more fun when you'll be leaving, call this number, deal?" - He asked and gave you a small card.

It was one of the most simple ones you've ever had seen. Samuel Drake - historian, archeologist, and an adventurer. His number was on the other side. After giving him the same nasty grin, you nodded and pushed the card into the back pocket of your jeans, letting him go.

Girls immediately noticed you coming back... All alone without that Sammy boy. But the smile was indicating that you hadn't empty hands. Amber asked you about what happened even before you sat your ass down. - "Well, we danced and lemme say, he's a good dancer and then... He gave me this business card to call him when ill be leaving. Which unfortunately won't happen since I have to lead both your drunk asses to the hotel." - You sighed, playing with the card between your fingers. Monica took it out, smiling at you.

"I'm more or less sober, so I can take Amber home while you'll find that prince charming and have a wonderful night." - She gave it back to you after reading the text under his name. - "I would love to have a cig, anyone going with me?" - Monica asked and mumbled a few curse words while she searched through her purse for a pack of cigarettes. Naturally, you got up and motioned for her to go first, telling amber to sit there on her damn ass until you come back.

It was nice to stand in some fresh air. The night was pretty cold and it was raining a bit, but you didn't care since you were already soaking wet. Monica gave you a cigarette as well and both lit it up at the same moment. She was giving you some nasty grin too, which made you chuckle. - "What?" - You mumbled, exhaling the smoke.

"He seemed to be into you big time. You sure you don't want to call the man?" - She asked and at that moment, she seemed to be pretty reasonable and sober. Your shoulders jolted unknowingly. There was something on that promise of spending a night by his side. Sam was genuinely fun, hot as far as you could say and pretty smart. Also, he wasn't drunk that much, neither were you - so it was maybe really the both-sided chemistry doing the work. A couple of times it seemed that he's going in for a kiss, yet he rather teased you and bit your earlobe gently.

"He seemed sweet and fun and all, but what about you two?" - You asked Monica silently, still smoking on the cigarette with a thoughtful face.

"Oh, shush. We'll take a cab and get to the hotel on our own. I'll look after Amber. She was right about you being all about work or family. He's a stranger and you don't have to see him ever again, and that has some magic into it. Live a bit, come on, sis." - She hugged and you, indeed, felt confident about what Monica has said.

Sam was nothing but a hot guy you met in a club. You can fuck the night away, have some fun, wait for him to fall asleep, and then drive to your hotel, sitting on a flight home tomorrow. You'll never have to see him again.

You were determined that once you'll be leaving, you'll call the man, accepting the offer. When you were inside, you walked to the bar to order some alcohol, because Amber got to drink both your and Sam's beer when you were dancing.

It took you a moment to notice that guy. He was holding a small glass of whiskey, eyeing you with a small grin. He wasn’t exactly your type of handsome, yet there was something about that face. You spotted small stable and very attentive blue eyes. This man was huge in the best meaning of the word. He wasn't fat, not at all, yet it could be seen that there are some muscles under the t-shirt he had on. He was at least twice your age, but you got nervous when you looked into his eyes.

The difference between him and the guy you met earlier was huge. While Sam appeared to be a fairly approachable, exciting, and funny person, this dude... He seemed mysterious and authoritative. Which had woken up things inside of you; things you didn't even know were there. After having your breath stuck for a while, you returned a smile to the man, which was a signal for him to move closer to you.

"Whatever the lady orders, it's my treat." - The bald man told the barmaid, having her smile. Slowly, the man put some pounds on the wooden countertop, still looking at the lady who was serving the alcohol. It was ridiculously more than what you were supposed to pay, yet the gentlemen made clear that he doesn't want a pound back. - "Sure thing, Mr. Cutter."

"And what about you, love?" - He asked, taking your palm to kiss your knuckles delicately. That accent settled inside of your ears, fully attacking your brain. It was hot only to listen to the raspy voice speaking with the fully-blown thick London accent. No matter what you did, that man’s gaze followed you around. You almost felt like you can't escape it. Why Sam was making you feel so good and that was what made you aroused, yet this man was coming across as someone who would bend you over his knee with pleasure and it made you interested as well. - "What about me?" - You asked back, smiling at the man.

"What are you doing here alone?" - Cutter said and leaned even closer, having a smile on his lips when he leaned closer enough to whisper things into your ear. He had a firm body, just like Sam did, yet these two couldn't come across differently. - "I can do something about that, sweetheart."

Was all of this a nice dream? Two attractive men approaching you on the same night, telling you to leave the place with them. Or were they serial murderers? Or did a car hit you and you were in a coma? No, your heartbeat reminded you that this is pretty much happening in front of your very eyes. What the fuck should you do? If you'll leave with Cutter, what about Sam? And if you'd leave with Sam, what about this man? Why couldn't you have them both?

Monica more or less made you swear that whatever happens, you'll leave with Sam at the end of the party. But you felt being in a tight corner at the moment. Both men had some spark in them, one of them promised you a whole night of fun and the other one felt like a total daddy.

"That's kind of you, sir." - You winked at him, not knowing what else to say. The club was slowly getting darker, changing the color scheme as it was getting closer to midnight, now playing some Russian rap songs. Cutter looked at the couples around you, seeing many of them kissing and touching far beyond the line of decency. That was before you felt tips of someone's fingers smoothing your upper arm, gently getting onto your sweaty neck and jaw.

You could turn away from that man, yet there was something that made you push your head even closer, so your lips could meet his halfway. He wasn’t shying away at all, coming in with full force - lip bite, not too long after that, he even used his tongue, holding you close by your jaw. And this man, dear lord, he had some skillful mouth. It even made you close your eyes with enjoyment, making you moan lightly into his kiss.

"So, what do you say, love? Me, you, my place here?" - He whispered once he was done with the kiss, his palm slowly traveling down on your waist and lower. Sam did touch these places, yes, but his approach was more natural than devoting straightaway. Which made you also a bit cautious and aware of the man.

"I need to go back, Mr. Cutter. But thank you for the... Ehm... Invitation anyway." - You took the drinks, hurrying up back to girls. Your heartbeat was off the charts, your whole damn body was sweaty and since there were two rather handsome men trying to win you over that night, you were aroused as well. You couldn't leave with Sam, because you'd think about Cutter and the other way around. But you were sure that you will at least masturbate that night.

"Are you okay?" - Amber yelled into your ear when you finally sat down, gulping down. You couldn't catch your breath ever since Cutter kissed you. Your gaze traveled to her and you shook your head almost frantically.

"Another guy tried to take me over to his place." - You mumbled, gulping down your whole drink at once. Monica smiled and leaned over to you.

"And was this one as handsome as that Samuel before?" - She asked, taking her cocktail out of your hand. You turned your hand to the dancefloor, imaging both the men inside of your head.

"It's hard to tell, Monica. This one was tall and well-built as well..." - You sighed, but Amber stopped you once again. - "How can you know that he was well-built?" - She wondered, taking the last ice-cold drink as well. It was a miracle that she hadn't fallen asleep until that point.

"Because I know he's a good kisser too." - You smiled and each of you started laughing like crazy. - "I mean, he wasn’t the most handsome man I've seen, yet, he had that something inside these eyes." - You shook your head, not believing the things that had happened inside that club. It was just one night you've spent there and two attractive men approached you. One of them was American, the other one was clearly British and you knew that both of them had something to offer. But you knew that you'll leave alone once again.

***

"How did it go?" - Samuel asked Cutter once he walked off the dancefloor again. Cutter was leaning his elbow to the bar, watching you and your girls chatting excitedly. After that, he turned back to Sam.

"I can't tell, mate. First, it appeared that I have her hooked, but she left after that. What about you?" - Charlie finished another glass of whiskey, moving to beer for the rest of the night. From Sam’s smirk, it was apparent that at least one of the men is feeling positive about the whole bet.

"She has my number and when I was on a smoke break, her friend told her that she should have some fun with me tonite if you know what I mean." - Samuel wiggled his eyebrows, making Cutter frown even more. Maybe he shouldn’t go for the kiss just like that, but your body was telling yes. You were attracted to him, so why shouldn't he test the waters? It was too late for these kinds of thoughts. He probably had scared you off.

The two friends were standing there for quite a while and waited for Sam's desired call, talking about nothing the whole time. Sam had to say that he had some fun time and Cutter’s most impressive bomber on top of that. But that was when both men felt someone's presence behind them.

"You two know each other?" - A voice asked them and when they turned around, it was none other than you. Your eyes were looking at both of them and it was clear that you don't know what to think of that. Sam looked at Cutter with panic, not knowing what to say.

"It's not how you think it is." - Cutter tried to calm you down, but you were visibly upset over the whole situation. Yeah, it was a bet, but Cutter meant what he said. He wanted to spend the night with you. This was just a fun way to raise the stakes. If you wouldn't get to know.

"Jesus, I should've known that you two are assholes." - You walked between the men, mumbling something about assholes, dickheads, and shits, preparing money to pay the last drinks of the night. - "How would two men like you saw something on an ugly duckling like me? Funny shit, I tell you." - You mumbled with disgust, ordering cocktails your girls asked for.

"You don't know what you're talking about, love. You're beautiful." - Cutter told you back with a small smile, looking Samuel in the eyes. The other man nodded when he realized, leaning into the bar as well. - "And intelligent as hell, which is a huge turn on. I don't know why someone as pretty as you are even let guys like us talk to you." - The American smiled at you from the other side, lust lingering inside his eyes.

Could that be? It maybe was just a bet, yet these two men seemed to be interested. It could be a game as well - but a perfect solution to your situation too. If these two knew each other, maybe you didn't have to leave the place alone because you couldn't choose between them. Maybe, you could leave with both of them at once. You’ve never done that, but the alcohol inside your veins made you courageous.

"So, you're friends, you know each other, right?" - You asked while a smile grew on your lips. Oh, Cutter knew what is about to come and... It was so nasty that it turned him on in some kind of way. Samuel was completely confused tho. - "That means you can meet me outside the club in ten, probably?" - You asked innocently, taking the drinks, smiling at Charlie. He smiled back, leaving Samuel in the dark for a little longer.

"Which one of us?" - The American demanded. He wanted to win the bet so badly because Cutter’s bombers were the best in the whole world. But when he saw your devilish grin with the shine in your eyes, his heart skipped a beat. Oh. OH. Holy fuck. You had that spark inside of you, but neither of them would ever say that you're a nasty girl as well. At least not this much.

Sam honestly never seen cutter without clothes and he didn't know if he's ready for that, but... Life was about adventure, right? And this way something Sam knew he will say yes to. There was something on having a girl helpless, being taken care of by two men. He loved to worship women, he indeed loved everything about that, but this was exciting as well. And Charlie? He knew how to approach to a threesome. There were occasions where he had joined in and in some, he was only there to watch. He especially loved when two ladies invited him to a bad. But he hadn't a single issue with giving you what you wanted.

"Both of you, silly." - You smiled sweetly before disappearing into the crowd.

#samuel drake x reader #samuel dake x reader #samuel drake Uncharted #samuel drake #charlie cutter #charlie cutter uncharted #lmao #wait for the next part #is filthy #is hot #is sexy #will cure depression #I SWEAR #these two daddies #UGH

27 notes · View notes