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jessybarnes · 9 months

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Take Away My Heartache

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing: Dean x Castiel

Rating: 18+ Only!

Tags: SEASON 15 EPISODE 3 SPOILERS, Destiel, Arguments, Angst, Language, Drinking, M/M sex, Anal Fingering, Prostate stimulation, Anal Sex, Begging, Finger sucking, Unprotected sex, Implied self-blame, Dean is slightly OOC in this, and I think that's it.

Word Count: Over 3k

Beta: T. Thompson

A/N: This is a repost from my old Tumblr account. I hope you all enjoy it. :)

Reblogging Divider Created By: @cafekitsune

Supernatural Divider Created By: @firefly-graphics

Yeah, why does that something always seem to be you?

The sting of Dean’s words cut through Castiel’s heart like a knife as the sound of the Bunker door shutting behind him echoed in the distance. Truth be told, he’d give anything to run right back into his hunter’s arms and forget the argument ever happened.

His hunter.

Those two little words used to bring him nothing but joy, something an Angel of the Lord rarely felt. Now…Now, it only brought tears to his eyes because clearly, Dean wasn’t his. Not anymore.

The dry leaves crunched beneath Cas’ shoes as he walked. The cool autumn air nipping at the skin exposed at his neck made him shiver. Not only were he and Dean over, but he’d lost Jack too. Never in his entire existence had he felt so alone.

Jack, his son, for all intents and purposes, was dead. Even though there wasn’t anything he could have done to stop it at the time, he still blamed himself. He’d made a promise to Kelly. He swore to her he’d keep her son safe and he couldn’t even do that.

Hell, maybe Dean was right. Maybe he should have just stuck to the plan. They would have found a way to stop Belphegor. They’d saved the world before. This wasn’t their first go-around. Instead, he let his emotions get the better of him and killed the lying sack of shit while he had the chance. He’d figured Dean would have been proud of him, cheer at his braveness. Not once did he think Dean would dismiss him like their ten-year-long relationship meant nothing.

Cas found himself in an all too familiar place. The barn where it all began. The very place he first stood face to face with Dean. It still looked the same. The various black warding sigils and chipped white paint were still there and immediately brought back every memory he shared with the elder Winchester. Finally, he let himself feel the emotions he’d been holding back. A choked sob left his lips as he sank down onto the cold, hard ground.

The sound of glass shattering made Sam’s ears perk up. He hurried into the Library armed and ready only to find Dean hunched over the table. His hands splayed out on the dark wooden surface, the remnants of broken glass joined his beer in a wet puddle on the floor. Slowly, he lowered his gun and walked cautiously toward him.

“Dean? Hey, what’s going on? Where’s Cas?”

Dean didn’t look at him, his breathing heavy as his shoulders started to shake. Now, this was a sight. Sam couldn’t remember the last time he saw his brother cry this hard.

“Hey, whoa… Dean? C’mon man, talk to me.”

Dean shook his head, his tears falling against the table’s veneer. “He’s gone, Sammy…”

Sam didn’t miss how broken his brother sounded. He wasn’t naive to the fact that Cas was intimate with Dean. You’d have to be blind not to know how they felt for one another. Sighing, he set his gun on the table and moved so he could see his brother’s face.

“Dean, you have to calm down. I’m sure he’s coming ba-”

The sound of the chair being kicked over made Sam jump, his brother’s tear-filled eyes boring into his own.

“WHAT DON’T YOU GET, SAM?! CAS. IS. GONE. NEVER COMING BACK! END OF STORY!”

Dean’s chest heaved as he fished the keys to the Impala out of his pocket. It wasn’t until his footfalls echoed down the hallway that Sam reacted. His long legs walked quickly after him.

“Dean! Wait, Dean, you can’t just leave while you’re upset like this!”

Dean didn’t react to his little brother’s plea, but that didn’t stop Sam from trying. He was hot on his heels as they crossed the threshold of the Bunker’s garage. The familiar creak of the Impala’s door broke the silence between them as Sam waited for a response. Dean fired up the engine and gripped the steering wheel, the tips of his knuckles turning white as he let out a long shaky sigh.

“Don’t you get it, Sammy? I break everything I touch. I’m poison. Happiness wasn’t meant for me. This life ... there’s no chance at love when you’re a part of it. I push everyone away and I’ll be damned if I do something to ruin the last relationship I have. Let me go, Sammy … before I force you to leave me too.”

Reluctantly Sam stepped back and watched Dean drive away. His brother’s words tore at his heartstrings as the sleek black car disappeared out of sight. Part of what Dean said was true in a sense. Rarely did someone with their job description find happiness. He’d tried … time and time again he had tried.

First with Jessica, the love of his life from his Stanford days. Then there was Amelia, the sweet veterinarian with a heart of gold. Eileen was another one that ultimately ended in tragedy.

Of course, there were others that Sam had been romantically involved with, but more often than not his love interests shared something in common with one another. They weren’t hunters. They didn’t spend every day knowing what went bump in the night or lurked just beyond the shadows. That’s one thing that was different between him and Dean. Before they’d met Cas, his brother didn’t care much about settling down. One-night stands were his specialty, something that Sam often envied.

The moment Castiel made himself known to them, Dean’s whole demeanor changed. It was subtle at first. He started cutting back on the number of women he’d spend the night with. Then came the not-so-discreet glances. Cas was oblivious to them of course, but Sam wasn’t. He’d known his brother all his life so he was quite familiar with that look. Dean was attracted to the Angel. Once his stubborn brother got enough alcohol in his system he finally made his move. The rest was history.

The silence in the garage became almost deafening as Sam’s thoughts continued to race through his head. They’d lost so much recently. Their Dad, their Mom, Jack, and Rowena. So many people they loved were gone. He’d be damned if Dean lost Cas too.

He half jogged back into the library and picked up the broken pieces of his brother’s beer bottle. After cleaning up the wetness with a towel from the kitchen, he headed back to his room to get his phone. Hopefully, Cas still had the one they’d given him. He held his breath as the shrill ringing filled his ears.

“C’mon … C’mon”

His persistent voice was the only sound in the room other than his boots pacing the floor.

After the third ring, he finally heard the gruff sound of Cas’ voice.

“H-Hello?”

A wave of relief washed over Sam.

“Cas? Hey, don’t hang up okay? Just… hear me out…”

He waited, listening for any sort of acknowledgment from the Angel. When he didn’t get any, he took the opportunity and kept going.

“First things first, where are you? Are you safe?”

A cough and a low groan made his chest heavy with worry.

“Cas?”

“Sam, you don’t need to worry about me. I’m an Angel. I can take care of myself.”

Sam frowned and stopped pacing, his hand finding purchase on his hip. “That’s not what I …” He sighed, not wanting to be the second person that argued with him today. “Look, Cas, I realize it’s not my place, but I know what you have with Dean is worth fighting for. I’ve never seen him as happy as he is with you. He’s just… he’s a little lost right now. In no way am I defending his actions because I don’t know what was said, but I will stand here and say that my brother loves you. He’s madly in love with you, Cas…”

A shaky breath on the other end of the phone told Sam that he was still there.

"I...I love him too, Sam. Like I've never loved anyone or anything before."

Another ragged cough told Sam that Cas wasn’t being forthcoming with how bad his health really was and it worried him. Hell, shouldering pain and wounds was one of their specialties after all.

“Cas, listen to me, okay? Everything that’s happened recently has taken its toll on all of us. I can’t speak for you or Dean, but having to … to” A shaky sigh left his lips as tears threatened to slip down his cheeks. Eventually, a few betrayed him and his vision became blurry as he forced the words out. “... kill Rowena wasn’t exactly a walk in the park.”

He cleared the lump in his throat and swallowed thickly.

“What I’m trying to say is we can get through this. We’ve saved the world so many times, and I’ll be damned if we let God’s little temper tantrum do us in.”

Cas wasn’t saying anything, but his occasional exhale told Sam he was still there.

“Please, Cas. Just tell me where you are so I can come and get you.”

Neither of them said anything for what felt like an eternity. Finally, relief washed over Sam when he heard the Angel respond.

“The barn … I’m at the barn where it all began.”

“I’ll be there as fast as I can, Cas! Just … stay there.” Sam hung up and began packing his duffel bag.

Dean welcomed the smooth burn of the whiskey in his glass as he knocked it back. Maybe if he drank enough he’d be able to forget those sad blue eyes and how he was the cause of said emotion. The bartender eyed him curiously but filled his glass again nevertheless.

“Relationship problems?”

Dean downed the golden brown liquid in two gulps before sliding the cup back.

“With all due respect, it’s really none of your business. Now, if you’d be so kind, I’d like to drink until I’m numb. In fact, just go ahead and leave the bottle.”

After tossing a few twenties and sporting a stern look, the man seemed to get the message. Even if Dean didn’t want to be alone with his thoughts, it was better than sharing them with some stranger just to be judged. He took another sip and groaned happily. Yep, being alone was much better.

The vibration of his phone startled him out of his thoughts once again.

“Now, what?” He grumbled.

Seeing his brother’s name lit up on the screen made him roll his eyes, but he swiped to answer anyway.

“Dammit, Sammy. I’ve been gone for a few hours what could you possibly…” He was cut off by the frantic edge in Sam’s voice.

“Dean! It’s… It’s Cas… he… he told me he was at the barn where you met. I went to get him a-and now he… he won’t wake up.”

Dean felt his blood run cold.

He pushed the stool away from the counter and all but ran back to the Impala.

“What do you mean he won’t wake up?!”

Baby’s tires spun as Dean pulled back onto the main road toward the Bunker.

“I-I-I don’t know, Dean… He’s breathing, but he seems to be in some sort of celestial coma? When I talked to him on the phone, he kept coughing and wheezing. I don’t know what to do. Normally, I’d call Rowena, but… she’s…”

Dean cut his brother off before he could finish, his knuckles white on the steering wheel for the second time that day.

“Sammy, listen to me. Just get back to the Bunker as fast as you can. I’ll meet you there, and we will figure this out … the Winchester way.”

He ended the call and tossed his phone on the seat next to him, his boot pushing the gas pedal all the way to the floor.

The moment Sam arrived with Cas, Dean was there to help. They carried him to the hospital wing in the Bunker and carefully laid him on the cot. Dean couldn’t help but notice how sickly his angel looked. He’d lost weight, his skin was pale and hot to the touch, and his lips were chapped more than they normally were.

Tears threatened to fall from his eyes as he looked at his brother in defeat. “Sammy… I.. I can’t lose him. I was so stupid… so fucking stupid…” His shoulders shook violently the moment he let his emotions take over.

Sam was determined to make things better again. Not just for his brother, but for the sole fact that he refused to let anyone else they cared for die.

“Keep an eye on him, Dean. I’ll hit the books and make some phone calls. You should stay here just in case he wakes up.”

All Dean could do was nod and watch as Sam walked away. He turned his gaze back to Cas, his fingertips reaching up to gently caress his cheek. He was afraid to do much else.

Eventually, Dean’s eyes grew heavy as the adrenaline wore off from earlier. Leaving Cas was out of the question, so he did the only thing he could think of and gently curled up on the mattress beside him. He slung his arm protectively over the angel’s torso and carefully laid his head against his chest.

He couldn’t help the memories of their first night together flooding his mind. How they listened to music in Baby and drove out in the country to look at the stars. A tear slid down his cheek as he began to softly sing their song, the one that Cas insisted they listen to on repeat the whole trip home.

I can hear her heartbeat for a thousand miles And the heaven's open every time she smiles And when I come to her that's where I belong Yet I'm running to her like a river's song She give me love, love, love, love, crazy love She give me love, love, love, love, crazy love She's got a fine sense of humor when I'm feeling low down Yeah when I come to her when the sun goes down Take away my trouble, take away my grief Take away my heartache, in the night like a thief She give me love, love, love, love, crazy love She give me love, love, love, love, crazy love Yes I need her in the daytime Yes I need her in the night Yes I want to throw my arms around her Kiss and hug her, kiss and hug her tight Yeah when I'm returning from so far away She gives me some sweet lovin' brighten up my day Yes it makes me righteous, yes it makes me whole Yes it makes me mellow down in to my soul She give me love, love, love, love, crazy love She give me love, love, love, love, crazy love She give me love, love, love, love, crazy love She give me love, love, love, love, crazy love

The last thing Castiel remembered was seeing Sam’s concerned face. Then there was only darkness. He wasn’t dead, no, this was something different. A coma maybe? He couldn’t open his eyes or move, but he was able to hear everything going on around him.

Angels normally don’t go through things like this, but if their bodies get too worn down then they go into somewhat of a protective mode. He figured this is what happened to him when he used the last of his strength to teleport himself to the barn. His celestial powers needed to replenish.

He hated hearing how worried Sam and Dean were. He especially hated how much Dean blamed himself. He’d spent so much time showing his boyfriend how much good he brought to the world, and now he felt like Dean was closing himself off again.

He’d only wanted to take some of the stress from Dean. That’s why he chose to kill Belphegor instead of letting him do more damage. Cas knew Dean didn’t mean to hurt him and he longed to tell him how sorry he was.

It became a waiting game, letting his vessel reenergize itself. There was no telling how long it would take, but Castiel took comfort in knowing that the man he loved was snuggled into his side. If only he could have comforted Dean and wiped his tears.

The sound of the elder Winchester’s voice filled the small room, and it was then that he realized Dean was singing to him. Cas’ heart both soared and broke at the same time by the emotion in his voice as the lyrics flowed freely from memory. The last thing he heard before Dean fell asleep was him saying how sorry he was and how much he loved him.

Dean groaned and tightened his grip around Castiel. What time was it? Had Sam found anything? Several questions ran through his mind as he prepared to open his eyes. Before he could, he felt a hand smooth down his back. His heart skipped a beat as he sat up.

Beautiful blue eyes gazed into his own, and Dean looked at him like it was the first time he saw him all over again.

“Cas?! Cas! Oh, I’m so happy you’re okay. I’m sorry for the things I said to you before. I was so stupid and I know you were just trying t-”

His rambling was cut off as Cas smashed his lips against his. Their tongues danced together and when Cas finally pulled away he was panting as hard as Dean was.

“Dean, you have nothing to be sorry for. I forgave you the moment it happened, and there’s nothing you could do to make me love you any less. You will always be perfect in my eyes. Forever the Righteous Man I saved and rebuilt all those years ago. I love you.”

Dean placed another emotional kiss on Cas’ lips, pouring all his love and need into it. Never in his life did he think he’d be able to settle down with anyone. Being a hunter of the supernatural meant a short life span more often than not. He was conditioned to not get too attached to anyone, but with Cas, he couldn’t help himself. This was different. Cas was different, and without the Angel, in his life, he’d be incomplete.

The need to feel Castiel’s touch nearly took his breath away. No words were spoken as they rid each other of their clothes. Cas flipped them over so he was hovering above Dean, his blue eyes glowing with power. Dean felt his cock swell in anticipation, his breathing becoming more ragged by the second.

“Cas, please…”

Castiel began to trail kisses along his jaw, nipping at the skin now and again. The moment he began sucking at Dean’s pulse point he could feel just how much he needed him. His cock was pinned between Cas’, the tip weeping beads of precum.

“I love seeing you like this, Dean. I love when you let go for me and let yourself be vulnerable."

Dean whined shamelessly at his words, his hand reaching between their bodies to slowly stroke Cas’ cock.

“Mmmm, Dean… Gonna make you feel so good.” Cas brought two of his fingers up to Dean’s lips, pushing them into his mouth. “Suck.”

Dean obliged, swirling his tongue skillfully around his digits. Cas nearly came undone at the sight below him. The way the elder Winchester fluttered his eyes shut the moment his perfect lips closed around them, his soft moans as his slick tongue flicked over his fingertips and the constellation of freckles littered over his skin. Reluctantly, Cas pulled them free and pressed one against Dean’s entrance.

“Relax for me.”

It wasn’t a command, but Dean knew it would do him well to obey. The first few moments were always painful, but the pleasure Cas promised was better than anything he’d ever felt.

“C-Cas… I… I need you. Please… don’t make me wait… F-Fuck!”

Cas knew he’d found Dean’s prostate just from the sound of Dean’s plea. His fingers grazed the bundle of nerves making the man beneath him shiver.

“As much as I’d love to fuck you into this mattress, Dean, I very much like hearing you beg.”

Dean whimpered as Cas continued to slowly fuck him open with his fingers, his hands fisting the thin sheet under him.

“Unngh! P-Please fuck me… need you inside me so bad.”

Cas smirked and peppered kisses along Dean’s chest. “I know you can do better than that, Dean. I’ve seen you do it.”

Dean arched his back and cried out, his mouth opening in a perfect “o” shape.

“I need it! Oh, fuck I n-need it, Cas! Need you to fuck me until I can’t think anymore… Please…. Oh, fuck! Please. Please. Please…”

Finally, Cas gave in. His cock replaces his fingers as he slowly thrust inside Dean to the hilt. Both cried out in unison, their bodies thrumming with arousal.

Cas leaned down to kiss Dean softly before starting a steady pace. It was a wonder the poorly built cot didn’t break beneath them. Dean’s cries filled the small room as Cas fucked into him relentlessly.

“Oh, fu-... C-Cas! Oh, Cas! R-Right there!”

They’d done this enough that Cas knew Dean was close. The way his body shook, how desperate he sounded when he moaned, and how he clenched around him. He’d normally draw this out, and take his time with his hunter, but this was something they both needed.

Cas began to stroke Dean’s thick cock in time with his thrusts, his angelic grace causing the lightbulbs above them to burst with all the energy in the room. Both of them fell over the edge together, Dean’s cries swallowed by Cas’ kiss. Once they came down from their high, Cas carefully pulled out of Dean and pulled him close.

“Dean, you complete me. From the moment my father told me to rescue you from Hell, I knew my life would change forever.”

Dean kissed Cas sweetly and nuzzled into his neck. “I love you, Cas. M’heart s’yours.”

Sometime later, Sam came home from the library and noticed how quiet the Bunker was. He made his way to the hospital room and snorted to himself at the broken glass on the floor. Glancing at the cot, he smiled widely at the sight of his brother and Cas asleep in each other’s arms.

“Thank God.” He breathed.

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juggalomary · 3 months

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Hey pookies I’m back. After about a month of no chapter four I finally finished it. I technically could’ve continued this on but I want the chapter count higher. Anyways it’s midterm week until Friday the 28th so I will be a bit inactive (even more). Without further ado chapter 4 of who is this kid!!!!

Warning! This chapter has violence, attempted suicide, panic attacks, and brief nondescript vomit, take care and message me if I missed anything!

Ringing in the new year does not mean tinnitus from bombs and guns going off without proper ear protection, but 1 cannot complain as he is still alive. He can’t wait to go back to the compound, he misses the relative quiet of it all. December 31, 2024 his orders were to execute a commander working in the American CIA. Her name was Laswell, they got the intel from a man that macarov trusted just enough to believe. So here 1 sat in the edge of a neighboring building to a luxury hotel that the party was being held, his sniper resting gently on his shoulder and the rubber shavings starting to dig into his chest.

He sat for another hour before the target came into view, a middle aged huge woman with blonde hair hanging around with some brunette of her same age. He focused in on her, leveling the crosshairs with the base if her skull. He waited for a second, hoping she would step fully in front of the window. After three minutes of her not moving he finally decided to take the shot. He ran the risk of it not going and hitting it’s mark, but in reality that was low.

His fingers tightened on the trigger and he re-readied his aim. As his shot was about to go off someone from deeper inside the room tackled her to the ground. He cursed to himself, of course the glare of his fucking sight gave him up. He thinks about trying a different angle and getting her from there but a set of footsteps behind him had him whipping around.

A 6’4 behemoth of a man with a fucking skull on his face muttered something, probably about the damn rubber and how you can’t sneak around on it. He stopped and whipped his gum out when he saw 1 trying to find a way onto the buildings fire escape.

“Hey arsehole, SAS hands where I can see them!” He shouted, the voice he recalled from an earlier mission he was sent in to blow a bank up. He did not obey, capture was not an option, suicide before capture.

Within that mindset 1 crawled over to the edge and let himself fall off of it. He fell,for only a second before he hit something and suddenly couldn’t breathe. He felt blood drip down his back as he sat up, attempting to catch his breath. Upon further investigation he realized he just landed on the balcony of some horrified family’s apartment. He landed on the cold metal and smashed a, (just his luck) cactus in a terracotta pot.

His head was bleeding and there was definitely a crack in his hip. He could feel his heartbeat through his entire body. The was a definite boot thumping sound coming from the inner hallway of the building.

He hobbled to a standing position he groaned and broke in the glass door. Realizing his mistake as the tall man breaks in the front door in and sees him. As the both realize that 1 is not getting out of this, 1 dives into the floor between his legs and pops up behind him in the kitchen, big ass knife in hand.

As the commotion ensues a middle aged man comes out with a shotgun from one of the bedrooms. The tall man shoos him off with just a glare. In this time 1 took it upon himself to slit his wrists. Suicide before capture.

He couldn’t feel his hand. He could already feel the blood dripping down towards his elbow. Hie tried to grab the knife when he saw the tall man turn around to face him but his hand wouldn’t move. He fought hard against his body but couldn’t. He had sliced his tendon in half. He let his knees buckle and his head hit the cabinet.

The tall man was on him in a second, shouting into his comms and holding his hand over 1’s wrists. He caught a decent amount of the conversation coming from the tall man before he passed out. He had evaded capture, Makarov would be proud.

——————

He came to for the first time in the medical helicopter. He woke up screaming and thrashing, he didn’t form any coherent words, or at least any that could be translated by someone around him. He was sedated again when he nearly flipped the backboard he was on over with him strapped to it.

He woke up slightly, eyes and motor function not working but he could hear. He was in some sort of building now, there was no helicopter blades screamingly loud in his already damaged eardrums. He heard the tall man from New Years speaking to some gruff man with a scouse accent.

“I hated the damn thing, got shit from the brass about regulation. Kind of missing the ugly thing now.” The gruff man said. He didn’t want to know what he was talking about, clearly regulations were broken and therefore he had to be punished. It’s not like he could avoid it, he was a prisoner to an unknown army.

“I kind of miss when he wasn’t a suicidal maniac who let me call him Johnny. Now that you mention it though he does look like an egg.” The man from New Years quipped back. Who were they talking about, who was Johnny, and how has he never seen him before. He’s gone against this group two times and has never seen a Mohawk, and that’s something he was sure he would if remembered. He listened for a few more minutes before he was to exhausted to listen any more. He fell back asleep for three more days.

——————

Five days in he woke up fully. A younger man in a baseball cap sat next to him, asleep and snoring lightly. He didn’t attempt to wake him up, that would get him a beating.

He found himself barefoot and not covered with a blanket, instead restrained and in just a hospital gown. The skin (could it be considered that if it’s just scar tissue?) was tight and sore. The air conditioning was in high and blowing right on him. He had no time to get back into his body before he was screaming, he could take most any kind of torture, but the cold room as he called it was the worst. Old wounds would become tight and sore, and he was almost always left unable to walk because whatever wet skin was on the floor would freeze to the concrete and rip his skin when he was stood.

This was the first time he had been tied down, maybe he wasn’t supposed to be injured. As he fought up against the restraints he felt a pop and then throbbing pain in his wrist.

He fought more and more, he could feel warmth spreading throughout his wrist. He couldn’t hear anything other than his own labored breathing and the sound of air whooshing. Distantly someone was screaming, not completely unusual, definitely not something that would freak him out.

He was writhing, trying to get out of there, he was in so much pain already, but it wouldn’t be much help as a strangely warm hand fell on his chest. He instinctively shouted some Gaelic and Russian mixed insults and thrashed even harder. The hand stayed for a second before hastily removing his restraint in his good arm. He went to grab 1’s hand and put it in his pulse point, but when he grabbed it he got punched in the head.

1 was now shouting desperately and trying to find his way out, the world was blurring and blackening at the edges. As his hand tried to grab something he hit a IV pole and knocked it over. That proceeded to rip out a NG tube they had stuffed in his nose to try to start reversing the malnutrition. He gagged at the sensation and threw up onto his lap as the nurses and security burst in. He was laid back down and restrained again. When he couldn’t vocalize that he was panicking because he was getting tortured in the cold room they sedated him, “for his own good”.

#fanfic #ghoap #ao3 #soapghost #ao3 crosspost #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #mw2 #mw3 #cod mw2 #cod mw3

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blood-mocha-latte · 5 months

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damp - hilldane drabble

for an anonymous ask || request an edit/drabble || i… don’t know what this is. i call it ‘rie accidentally projects a lot onto two characters simultaneously and accidentally makes herself cry’ and also 'rie needs to stop obsessing about keaton st james poems before they Consume her'

9 LINES ABOUT EITHER ROMANCE OR DEATH

The damp, damp dark seemed to find Andy always wanting, always in a limbo between humanity and something else. Something more, something less. A change, but never one big or small enough to be important.

Eddie sat by him, carving a stick with his knife, warm at Andy’s shoulder.

“Ya ever think love stories will be told about people like us?” He asked. Andy shrugged. He knew the answer that Eddie believed. The same one most men like them believed. A story that ain’t ever worth telling. That wasn’t the answer Andy wanted to give.

“Maybe one day.” He said, watching the way the wind shifted through the palm fronds, the men laughing and talking and playing around in the sand and around the camp. “If it’s a good story.”

Eddie snorted. His knife slipped, and he nicked the pad of his thumb. As he held it up to his lips to suck on the cut, he said, “or a tragic one.”

1. It guides our every action.

Andy walked in front of a tank, and didn’t have to turn around to know that Eddie would follow him. Like a soft string that was tethered to his heart with steel, he never had to think too hard about where Eddie would ever be.

He watched as Eddie bent over, pistol loose in his grip, and talked lowly to the army tanker. Andy didn’t need to see him to know how his eyes flashed on certain words, how his lips twisted around others.

Talkin’ and killin’. Sometimes Andy thought it might be the same deadly dance.

The army tanker bowed his head, and Eddie turned on his heel and back to their boys, gripping them by their arms, pulling them to their feet. Dusting them off, helping guide them Away.

Andy wondered if the seraphim of his mothers bible could even hold a candle to Eddie Jones.

He stood in front of the tank until Eddie was done. He watched the treads of the tank, its gun, the crew that he couldn’t see but stared down anyways.

He’d probably let the damn thing crush him, if it would buy Eddie more time, help more of their boys.

2. Do you remember when we rode the train home from the ocean with salt dried in our hair, and yet, somehow, your mouth still tasted so sweet as i kissed you goodnight on your porch? while the dark-winged sedges sang?

“C’mon, just one.”

“No,” Andy laughed, crossing his legs under him to sit in the shallow foxhole with Eddie, who's smile was wide and eyes even brighter. “You're drunk.”

Eddie laughed, and it was warm and free. “Turns out, the more Saki you drink, it does not taste better.” Andy smiled, leaning against loose dirt and feeling the warmth of the setting sun across his face.

“You know, I never would've guessed.” He said dryly. Eddie laughed again. He held the near-empty bottle by its glass neck, and extended it to Andy, shaking it slightly.

“Probably should drink some all the same, though.” He said, and Andy couldn't tell if his pupils swallowed his irises because of the drink or something else. “Just to make sure.”

“Nah.” Andy said lightly, in reference to the Saki. “I've got all the proof I need.”

Eddie smiled and, after looking over his shoulder as if a conspiracy, cheeks flushed red and eyes ink dark, he whispered, loudly, “just one kiss, huh, Skip? ‘M probably drunk enough that it's run off on you.”

Andy watched him seriously, if only for a moment, if only to see the way Eddie leaned against the shallow foxhole again and smiled at him with bitten-red lips and dark, happy eyes.

“Well, you could be stone-cold sober and I could still get drunk off you.” Is what he ended up saying, and Eddie's laugh was warm and bright and it made Andy want to reach for him.

“Hopefully I taste less shitty.” Is what Eddie said back, and drank the rest of the Saki in one go.

3. i dream about you all the time.

Eddie loved, loved, loved Australia, with such a fervor that Andy almost forgot about taking him back home entirely to focus instead on buying them a house Down Under.

They sat in a darker corner of the bar, other marines shouting and singing and drinking and dancing with laughing women.

Eddie sat with light eyes and a whiskey in front of him, running his index finger along the rim of its glass.

“I wonder what it's like in the middle of Australia.” Eddie said thoughtfully, his hand stilling. “I know it's wild, but I'd like to know how.”

Under the table, their knees knocked together, and Andy risked hooking his foot around Eddie's calf, downing the rest of his own drink. “I’d guess somewhat like how the west was, before Lewis and Clark got there.” He said, the whiskey burning down his throat and settling in his chest, curling around his heart.

Eddie hummed, finished off his own drink. “I heard from a woman at a corner shop that they tried to send their own Lewis and Clark out there.” He said. “But nature doesn't want them out there. It's just… meant to be wild. Meant to be sand and dark and stars.”

Andy thought about that, for a moment. About a place that can’t be tamed by man, not really. Not like back home, in Lawrence, or even like their camps along every island the Marine Corps sends them to. Just really, truly wild. Home to no one but itself and those who were there first.

“It sounds nice.” He said.

“Yeah.” Eddie said back.

He downed the rest of his whiskey in one go, picked up his and Andy’s empty glasses and tilted them towards the door. Andy huffed, pushing his chair out and standing up.

“Thought I was the one that made orders.” He said dryly. Eddie smiles, small and barely there, the corner of his mouth ticking up and his eyes brilliantly, brilliantly bright.

“Yeah.” He said, slowly. Like a joke. “Don’t get too used to that, Skip.”

4. i’m so constantly hungry sometimes i feel as if i’m nothing but ache

They traded the cigarette back and forth, and it was gone entirely too quickly.

Andy turned to watch Eddie, just out of the corner of his eye, just like he always did, and watched him stub the smoke out against a rock.

“You did what you had to do.” Andy said softly.

The sun, still sleeping along the horizon, wasn't showing herself. In her absence, shadows stretched across Eddie's face, making him seem older. Haggard.

“I know.” He said. His voice was quiet, his voice slightly off. He swayed slightly, where he rested on his knees, and scrubbed a hand down his face.

Andy turned to face him fully. Eddie was close enough that he could reach the hand not covering his eyes easily, tangling their fingers together and linking their pinkies.

“When this is over,” He said, “I'm going to take you to the park just outside my neighborhood, and we can watch the sunset there instead, and not worry about this. About any of this.”

From the way Eddie looked at him, Andy knows he didn't believe him. He still tightened his grip in Andy’s hand.

“Yeah.” He said. His voice was rough, like he'd been crying. He'd given his entrenching tool to Andy – it still had blood and brain matter across the flat edge of it – and wouldn't take it back. They both knew the boys were worried now, about having nightmares. They were having their buddies wake them up every fifteen minutes, so they couldn't fall too deep into it.

Eddie didn't say anything else, but Andy nodded anyway.

“One day,” He said, “I'm going to take you home. And you don't have to believe it, because I do.”

He went back to watching the sunrise, and smiled when he felt Eddie's chapped lips press to his knuckles.

5. every sentence i try to write starts with you and ends with my heart wanting to burst open, less like gates during a flood and more like a peach growing on the vine. so ripe, so ready for the fall.

“I read the book about Huck Finn, once.” Eddie said, one day, while they led their platoon down a water-swollen, muddy crevice. He was quiet, after that, and Andy looked at him sideways, keeping his eyes on his feet and the treacherous path in front of them.

“Yeah?” Andy asked, after a moment, to prompt him. Eddie blinked, like he'd forgotten he'd spoken at all, but nodded after a moment.

“Yeah.” He confirmed. “When I was thirteen. It was hard as all hell to read, it took me almost a year to get through the damn thing. But I read it. Was real proud, too. Gettin’ through that big book like that.”

“Yeah.” Andy said, trying to remember anything about the book. He'd read it, what seemed like ages ago, but trying to remember its contents or words was like trying to recall the face of a long gone childhood friend. No memory, only feelings. “Did you like it?”

Eddie was quiet again.

When he finally spoke, his eyes stayed on the ground, boots sinking four or five inches into the mud with every squelching step. “I did.” He said, vague. “But my daddy—”

He stopped, face doing something complicated, one of his hands twitching on his rifle as if, by habit, to have fingertips ghost along a scar.

Andy half-turned, looking over his shoulder and counting the helmets behind him. He counted them one more time before turning back again. By the time he did so, Eddie’s expression had smoothed back out, eyes ahead.

“He wasn't as proud that I'd read that book as I was.” He said, quietly. “He didn't — I guess he didn't much like what… what Huck Finn was. Or maybe how Tom Sawyer was. I don't know.”

Andy was quiet. He didn't say sorry. He knew Eddie hated that.

“I'll have to read it again sometime.” Is what he said, after a long moment. “So we can talk about it.”

Eddie huffed a soft laugh, and Andy, as always, was angry so quickly it made his head hurt.

He imagined a thirteen-year-old Eddie Jones, reading The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn whenever and wherever he could, a finger tracking the words and his mouth moving silently around them, working steadily through the pages, sentence by sentence.

He imagined the kind of father who couldn't be so goddamn proud of his son for that, who wouldn't be able to see much past his own beliefs, like rotting teeth in a crying child's mouth. He felt, rather guiltily, a wave of gratefulness towards his own father at the thought.

The anger passed as quick as it came. It always did.

“I'd like that.” Eddie said, and Andy tried to remember what they were talking about, in the split second he'd gone somewhere else. “I'd like to talk about Huck Finn with you.”

Andy wished he could let go of his rifle for just a split second, if not to just knock his knuckles against Eddie's.

“I bet I could scrounge one up by next week.” He said instead, just to see Eddie's mouth curl into a smile, and it would have to be enough.

6. i bring up your name any time i eat black raspberry ice cream with someone who isn’t you.

“I'm a shitty writer.” Eddie began out of nowhere, and Andy looked up from where he was trying to clean clotting sand out of his rifle barrel. Eddie wasn't looking at him, his face turned towards the blood-red sun.

“You're not so bad.” Andy said. Eddie wasn't, was the thing, for all he pretended to be illiterate. It made boys with similar experiences, like Snafu Shelton, laugh; and boys like Eugene Sledge, with enough money to drown in, uncomfortable.

It just made Andy smile.

Then again, everything that Eddie did made Andy smile.

“I can't spell for shit.” Eddie said. “You're the only one that can read my handwriting.”

That, at least, was true. Andy shrugged.

“I like rewriting your reports.” He said. Eddie waved a hand, dismissive.

“Whatever.” He said. “The letters are always fucking moving around, that’s their fuckin’ problem.” Andy smiled. He looked back down to his rifle and continued to unclog it. “My point is that I can't write a letter to save my life.”

Andy shrugged again, but kept his eyes focused on the rifle stock. “I can write a letter for you, if you want.” He offered. Eddie snorted.

“Nah.” He said. “I'm just… well, I’m glad that we're together, here. You know? Because if we weren't, I'd want to write you a letter, and then you'd just be wondering who in the hell gave their blind chicken a pencil.”

Andy’s chest felt warm, like there was hot coffee spreading throughout his veins, and he huffed. “Your writing isn't that bad.” He said.

Eddie turned to look back at him, for the first time, and the bright horizon dyed the side of his face a brilliant orange. His lips were twisted into their same ever smile.

“No.” He said. “But I'm glad it doesn't need to get better. I'm glad I have you for that.”

And with that, he went back to watching the sunset and Andy went back to his rifle.

Eddie leaned against him, when it was too dark to do anything but be quiet and sleep. Andy took his hands and pressed his lips to his fingers and thanked God that he was able to translate what they were able to show.

There were no artillery barrages, no death, that night. It felt like God had heard him.

8. do you remember when we went running through the wet city streets late at night, how we glowed rose-pink in the shop-lights. how we held hands and laughed and thought we’d never feel this happy again?

“D’you think he'll be alright?” Andy whispered into the dark, Eddie's curls brushing warmly against his jaw.

Eddie shifted against him, head resting on Andy’s shoulder, and said, “I don't know.”

Andy stared straight ahead. Both of Eddie's hands were tangled with one of his, and he brought his other hand around to run his index finger along the ridges of the others knuckles. “I've never seen it that bad, before.” He murmured.

Eddie sighed. It was weary, and heavy, and Andy closed his eyes to the melody of it and thought of their park, the one that Eddie's never even been to. It only helps somewhat.

“What matters,” Eddie said, slowly, like he was waiting for Andy to really understand what he was saying before he continued, “is that you got him off the line. Better for him, better for the other boys.”

Andy lifted their tangled mess of hands from his lap, resting his forehead against them. Eddie shifted against his shoulder to press a kiss to his jawline.

“Maybe countin’ blankets is like counting sheep.” He said, and Andy leaned further into him. Eddie bore the weight without any effort, but Andy still worried about it being too much. He always worried about it being too much.

That's what causes combat exhaustion. That's what causes men to break apart and start counting things they couldn't see.

“Eddie.” He said, just to say it, against the back of Eddie's hands, to his calloused fingers and warm skin. Eddie's hands tightened around his.

“I know.” Eddie murmured back. “But it's… it's okay. We're… we're right here, you know? Right here together. Here and in the park and wherever else. It’s okay.”

Andy didn't say anything. He just turned his head and buried his face in Eddie's hair, rough with ocean spray and curled with humidity.

9. it consumes us.

As Andy turned around, he almost knew what he was doing. The rational part of him knew that no one would be there, just at his shoulder. Not ever again.

Least, no one he could ever know and love the same.

But the rational part of him died two days ago.

So Andy turned around anyway, maybe wanting to say something over his shoulder to someone that wasn’t there, and between one split second and another that never came, he could almost see Eddie over his shoulder, eyes intent and bright. Could almost feel his hand in his.

#rie writes #hi and welcome to rie doesn’t know a lot about the pacific so she makes shit up to be sad some more #i hope this is ok anon because i sort of took your ask and fucking BOOKED it #anyways i did No research before writing this so everything is either shit i a) made up or b) was in the miniseries #or c) i read it in a fic somewhere i don’t remember #the pacific #hilldane #andyeddie #andrew ack ack haldane #eddie hillbilly jones #hillbilly jones #hbo war

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radiojamming · 1 year

Text

AUGH FINE

---

The first time is memorable, to say the least.

He doesn’t tell Goncharov about it, because the last thing he wants is his boss to look at him like he’s grown a second head. Goncharov never questions Sascha’s methods, simply remarking in his usual way that as long as the job gets done, then there’s nothing to ask about.

Katya, on the other hand, laughs like a goddamn maniac.

“Bagpipes?” she wheezes. She has to set down her champagne glass, giggling too much to hold it. “How in the hell—��

He blushes despite himself, quickly stuffing his face with the tapenade she’s brought along. He talks with his mouth full, hoping she doesn’t make out what he’s saying, “If’htuck n’ifepick im f’pipef.”

“You stuck an ice pick in the pipes?” she repeats, perfectly clear. Her grin is catlike, pleased as if he’d dropped a mouse right in front of her. “They’re called drones, Sascha.”

He swallows down the tapenade, quickly taking a swig of water to wash away the saltiness lingering in his mouth. “It worked, at least,” he says at last.

Katya just grins and elegantly swoops up her champagne, eyes glittering in the dim lights. “I’m sure it did,” she replies.

---

Goncharov vetoes the wedding cake idea, but Sascha decides that if Goncharov doesn’t see it, he can’t complain about it.

Leo thinks it’s a good idea, and if Leo thinks so, then Sascha knows it’ll be fine. He even watches Sascha’s back as they slip into the executive kitchen, skirting around racks of shining copper pots and dodging baffling displays of desserts that Sascha couldn’t put a name to if he tried. The wedding cake is out of the way, tucked in a corner where someone can’t accidentally bump into it and ruin thousands of lira worth of pastry.

He chooses his favorite thin knife, a carving implement left over from his days in the butcher shop. With the exactitude of a surgeon, he slides it neatly underneath the frosting at the base of the cake, hiding the tip of the handle with a dollop of frosting. Then, he stands back and admires his work.

“Does it look good?”

Leo looks over his shoulder, surveying the cake top to bottom before his eyebrows go up. “Where is it?”

Sascha grins and pats Leo on the shoulder, leaving a smear of frosting.

And when Sascha saves Goncharov’s life by opening that bastard of a double-crosser’s throat with a carving knife covered in buttercream, he feels all the better for it.

---

“You can’t— Sascha, that is blasphemy!” Leo practically groans.

“It’s not,” Sascha retorts, shoving the sculpture of Jesus with one hand so it gives a hollow wooden thunk. “It’s just wood, Leo.”

“That’s Jesus Christ!”

He looks up at the beatific face of the lord and savior himself, and then shrugs. “Jesus is made of wood?”

“He’s not— Sascha, you can’t use a statue of Jesus to hide a gun. You’re going to—” Leo’s hands start moving at an incredible rate, apparently spelling out in gratuitous motion the sort of journey to hell that Sascha’s guaranteed to take for this act.

Sascha gives him a look. “I’ve killed people, Lyova.”

He doesn’t miss Leo blushing at the nickname. But Leo turns all the more red as he gets flustered. “Why can’t you hide it in one of the angel statues?”

“That’s better?”

“It’s not Christ!”

Sascha rolls his eyes, then walks by the statue of Jesus to one of an angel raising his hands to heaven. “Next time,” he says. “I’m picking a less devout partner.”

---

Once again, Goncharov gives him a negative.

To be fair, Sascha doesn’t know how he would have pulled off hiding the gun in the focaccia, but a knife is not a gun. And a knife can be baked into the base of a focaccia by a very clever baker.

Leo nearly loses his mind at the suggestion, tugging at his already wild hair until it’s a bird’s nest on one side.

But once again, it pays off in spades when Sascha expertly throws that same knife (now coated in olive oil for a very slippery throw) into Vercelli’s face. When he retrieves the knife, he waits until Goncharov’s turned away to wipe blood off his face before he sniffs the blade. Sure enough, Vercelli’s blood smells pleasantly herbal.

---

Sascha looks damn good in a dress. Just like he thought.

Katya fusses with the slit on the side, trying to find a way to make it lay just so.

“Your thighs are too big,” she complains, not for the first or last time. “I can’t find a single garter that fits.”

“Is that a compliment or an insult?”

Katya snorts in a decidedly inelegant way, then throws her hands in the air. “I give up,” she says. “Everyone’s going to see the holster.”

Sascha turns and looks at himself in the mirror, twisting his body this way and that to admire the curves of the dress. Then, he looks down at his chest, reaching up to grip the cotton-filled bust. “Could I hide a knife in here?”

She looks up at him, then down at herself as though assessing and comparing. Finally, she gives a slow, thoughtful, “I think...?”

Sascha walks across the room on his tip-toes, trying to practice walking in heels, then grabs his favorite knife off of Katya’s boudoir. Carefully, he shimmies the knife down into the bustier, shivering a bit as the cold metal presses against his skin. The handle’s small enough that it doesn’t protrude much, and if he angles his shoulders in just the right position, his false bust can hide it.

“Perfect,” he tells himself.

“What a femme fatale you are,” Katya responds, walking around to his front and giving his chest an appreciative pat. “I’m almost envious of you, Sascha.”

He gives her a coquettish wink before the two dissolve into laughter.

And while he goes over the plan for the night in his head over and over again, the only thing he hopes is that he has enough time to flirt with Leo before blowing his own cover.

---

He’s cold.

Colder than he was in Siberia. Colder than those nights when he lay awake, all alone, listening to wolves howling in the distance and praying that it wasn’t his last night alive. Cold, cold, cold.

He shivers and tries to reach out, but there’s some strange disconnect between his brain and his arm that’s impossible to solve. His hand flops uselessly at his side, fingers touching wet concrete.

Sascha groans and turns his head, seeing the handle of his knife by his shoulder.

No.

In.

In his chest.

It’s holstered all the way into his chest cavity, his body hiding the metal. Yet he can’t feel it. He can only feel the cold, the growing curls of frost running through his entire body, freezing his fingers and toes first before rolling up his arms and legs.

He closes his eyes as his heart thunders in his chest, trying to run those last few laps to keep him alive.

And in his head, he finally sees Venice.

He sees Leo.

#hope you'RE HAPPY #goncharov #goncharov (1973)#sascha the bodyguard

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parkersbliss · 3 years

Text

Diamonds | K. Brekker

pairing; kaz brekker x female!reader

warnings: cursing, I think that’s it

wc; 2.3K

synopsis: dirtyhands doesn’t need anyone, but he wants you, even if he can’t have you

prompts: 001: “why do you care?” 047: “please just let me in.”

a/n: this went in a very different direction then I planned but I love it??

Masterlist | Taglist | Prompt List

—

Kaz Brekker was a lot of things.

Emotionally unavailable was one of them.

But you never thought much of it. You didn’t think less of him because of that. Surviving the barrel meant being cold, ruthless, and cunning.

Everyone had to have some dark side to them. It was a given.

But Kaz’s dark side never turned off. He was always in a constant state of brooding, thinking about all the ways the plan could fail or coming up with a new heist.

His brain never shuts off.

You never considered that a bad thing, but everyone has to rest eventually.

But rest wasn’t a word in Kaz’s dictionary. For him, resting meant thinking about other things.

Things that he wanted to forget.

So he busied himself with work, numbers, and other things to push the other thoughts out of his mind. Sometimes they were about Jordie and the harbor, sometimes they were about Rollins or you.

Kaz never wanted to forget you, but he didn’t want to think about you either. About the way, your lips curved up into a smile every time Jesper threw his arm around you. Or the way you throw your head back every time Nina makes a joke, the way you sit patiently with Wylan when he tries to read, the way you train so gracefully with Inej, and the way you make fun of Matthias’ accent.

He wants to push it all out of his mind because he doesn’t understand it. He doesn’t get how he manages to notice every detail about you.

It would cost him eventually, which is why he didn’t think about it. It’s why he tried to busy himself with things that have nothing to do with you.

But sometimes, it doesn’t always work out that way.

It was moments like these where Kaz is in a constant state of don’t fuck up and don’t say anything.

Which never goes in his favor.

The plan was simple, break-in and walk-out. There were three separate sections to the museum, and the event kept everyone pretty busy.

All you had to do was get in, steal a few jewels and then blend in with the crowd for the rest of the night.

It should be easy enough.

You all dress in your best attire, at least, the best attire that wouldn’t slow you down if you have to run. Kaz’s breath hitches in his throat when he sees you. Silky fabric, exposed skin, and all your beauty.

He nods at you as you fall into step behind him.

“You look nice,” You said.

“Thank you. So do you.”

You all find yourself in an ally by the museum as Inej scales the roof for her way in. You know she’s successful when the back entrance pops open, and she leans against the door frame with a satisfied smile on her face; her green dress trails along the floor as you make your way inside.

Bright fluorescent lights illuminate the hallway, and the sound of heels and Kaz’s cane echo down it. Kaz pick locks the three doors with ease, signaling for the groups of you to go in.

Matthias and Nina are responsible for the smaller riches, Inej, Wylan, and Jesper take care of replacing them, and you and Kaz get the big stuff.

The room sparkles with diamonds, almost blinding you. To Kaz, it smells like money. For each piece stolen, the two of you replace it with a cheaper place holder.

By the time anyone noticed, you would be gone.

You grab a ring off a stand, slipping it on and examining it in the light.

Kaz coughs, and you turn to face him.

He holds the most expensive piece in his hand, a diamond necklace.

It’s worth more than a quarter of a million kruge.

“Woah,” you breathe out. The diamonds are arranged in such a way that it sits close to the neck, and looks like small interconnected leaves.

“Wear it,” Kaz said.

“Kaz-”

“You would look… pretty with it,” The last part is barely above a whisper.

“Okay,” You agree, taking the piece from his hands. Your fingers barely brush his gloved ones as you take the necklace, clasping it around your neck.

Then, Kaz steps back. “I think we got most of it.”

You can’t take all of the riches, but you can take enough to make some serious bank. You exit the room, Kaz locking it after, and meet back in the hallway with everyone else. Inej and Nina both drip in equal expenses and gasp when they see your necklace.

“I almost want to keep it,” You said, touching the diamonds.

“It does look stunning on you,” Nina said.

“I’m sure we have enough to keep that piece,” Inej said, gesturing to the jewelry between you all.

“I do not understand the need for stones to prove one’s worth,” Matthias said.

Nina pats his shoulder, “It’s like you Fjerdans and your fur coats.”

"Witch," Matthias mumbled under his breath.

Kaz takes the lead, directing you to the main room. You can hear the sounds of people chattering, classical music floating in the air. You all split into smaller groups, mostly pairs, to avoid detection.

You and Kaz stay towards the center of the room, observing everyone else and waiting till the event ends.

As Kaz’s eyes sweep the ballroom, yours sweep over his face, familiarizing yourself with his features.

He has sharp cheekbones, fair skin, and a pointed nose. His lips are drawn down into the softest frown, and there are bags under his dark eyes. His eyebrow twitches ever so slightly whenever he sees someone he doesn’t like, and he runs a gloved hand through his hair, slicking it back more if it’s possible.

He was beautiful.

After a few more moments of mingling, they prepare to bring the jewelry out on display. You and Kaz back towards the exit, just in case something goes wrong.

The fake one sparkles just the same, and a clear difference can’t be seen. It’s only glass that Wylan had managed to craft by himself.

The servant gulps, taking careful steps with the case in his hand. His hands shake, and as he takes the first step up the stairs, he stumbles.

It shatters.

The glass scatters across the floor, the fake necklace you planted aside does the same, the pieces landing everywhere.

You can practically feel Kaz tense next to you when the crowd gasps; actual diamonds wouldn’t break.

“Don’t move,” Kaz whispers. He makes a hand gesture to the rest of the Dregs around the room that means remain still. “Act just as surprised.”

On any other occasion, it would be easy, but when the original necklace is dangling from your neck, it’s like an open target for anyone with eyes. Murmurs flow through the crowd, but no one pays any mind to the Dregs because you all look like you belong here. They’re looking for the black sheep among the white.

But they all look just the same.

“We will be conducting manual searches,” The guards announce.

“Saints,” You whisper, hand instinctively grabbing the diamonds on your neck.

“Plan B,” Kaz said. He meets Jesper’s eyes across the room, nodding his head, and Jesper smirks. He grabs one of his revolvers, firing a single shot and tucking it away before anyone notices. The crowd screams, everyone rushing to the exits as more shots are fired from various parties (some from Jesper, some from guards, or others who just love chaos).

You all make a run for it, using the main exit where guards were desperately trying to keep everyone in.

You watch Inej slip through with ease, Nina and Mattias next. Jesper gets held up, but he managed to talk his way out of it as Wylan tugs on his sleeve.

You and Kaz are last, taking your time to avoid being pushed in by the crowd. You could run ahead, get out before Kaz, but you don’t.

You stay by his side and maintain the slow pace, even when there’s a quarter of a million kruge hanging from your neck.

As you approach the exit, you’re one foot out when someone grabs your arm.

“I got her!” The guard shouts. He starts dragging you back inside as you try to dig your heel into their foot.

Then, in the span of a second, a cane comes down on his arm, a clear snap ringing out.

You stumble from their grasp, unknowingly using Kaz’s shoulder to steady yourself. He hisses but says nothing more because as soon as you notice, you let go.

“Nina!” You scream as the guards come pouring out the entrance.

It was clear who the target was.

The heartrender holds up her hands, effectively dropping their beat, but you underestimate how many there are.

“Run!” Jesper shouts.

And you do as you’re told. The guards open fire, and you bunch your dress in your hands, running through the streets of Ketterdam. Kaz begins to fall behind, and you slow down your pace.

“Jes, throw me a revolver!”

“What?”

“Throw it!”

Wylan rolls his eyes, fishing the gun from his boyfriend’s pocket and tossing it at you.

“What are you doing?” Kaz said.

“Saving your ass!” You reply.

“I don’t need your saving!” Kaz retorts, glaring at you.

You roll your eyes, “Fine, I’m covering you.”

“I don’t need that either.”

“Kaz-”

“I don’t need you!”

You nod, turning away from him to hide the hurt on your face. “No, of course, you don't."

You fire a single shot at a guard, busying yourself in taking a few out, so Kaz doesn’t get hit. When he’s a good way ahead, you sprint after the rest of the Dregs. You see the tail of Jesper’s coat disappear down an alleyway.

You fire one last round of shots and duck behind it. You move past Kaz, catching up with Jesper and thanking him.

He smiles, bumping your shoulder. “Anything for the lady.”

The slat is in sight, and you sigh in relief, happy to rest and unload all the jewels everyone is dripping in.

You could only imagine the amount of kruge you’d come up with.

Jesper opens the door for the Dregs, and you all practically collapse on the couch. You Nina and Inej are all on one, kicking off your heels.

“I hate heels,” You said.

“You’re telling me,” Inej replied. “Never again.”

Nina shrugs, “Annoying as hell, but they do work in place of a knife every now and then.”

“I am never without my knives.”

“We know.”

Kaz walks past you all, limping a bit worse than usual and going up to his office.

You don’t bother following after him. Instead, you all dump the jewelry on the table.

“Oh, saints,” Inej gasped.

Jesper leans back in his seat, “I think we’re set.”

“You’ll gamble it all away before we even cash it in,” Matthias said as Jesper scoffed.

“It’ll take me at least a few months to lose that.”

“Months?” Wylan asked.

“Like six tops.”

Everyone begins to argue, and you tune them out. You forgot about the most expensive piece hanging from your neck, absentmindedly playing with it. When you remember, you figure the best thing to do with it is give it up to Kaz.

With a sigh, you stand up, the fabric of your dress falling back into place.

You don’t bother knocking on his door, you know you should, but you didn’t care all that much.

“Here’s your necklace,” You said bitterly, dropping it on his desk.

“(Y/N)-”

“A quarter of a million kruge, enough to set you for life. That’s all you need, isn’t it?”

“I didn’t mean that.”

“Sure felt like it,” You snap.

“I just-,” Kaz sighed, avoiding your gaze. “Keep the necklace.”

“I don’t want it.”

“You don’t?” Kaz asked, eyebrows raised. “I thought you liked it. You should have it if that’s the case.”

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t.”

You click your tongue, “Keep the fucking necklace, Kaz.”

Kaz curses himself, tugging at his hair. He was making the situation much worse. He didn’t know what to say that wouldn't piss you off. He thought the necklace would be like a peace offering, a sign of his thanks.

It backfired on him.

He’s bordering the line of being cold or grateful. When grateful didn’t work in his favor, he went for the other.

“I want you to have it.”

“I don’t want it.”

“Please, take it.”

“It’s worth money. That’s far more important to both of us.”

Kaz shuts his eyes, “(Y/N), please.”

And you know this isn't about the necklace anymore. It never really was.

You shake your head, crossing your arms over your chest. You were tired of pretending to brush off your feelings. It was killing you. Every time you tried to do something, Kaz pushed you back. You couldn't keep doing this to yourself.

“You either want this, or you don’t. Which one is it?”

“Please,” he said softly.

You sigh, blinking harshly. Your heart hammers in your chest. You take a breath, trying to calm yourself.

“Kaz, I need you,” You said softly, “Please just let me in.”

“I can’t,” He said, voice strained as he fights his demons. God, he wants to, but he's scared. He's scared of pushing you away or hurting either of you in the process. He couldn't go through that kind of loss again.

“I will wait,” You said. “I will wait as long as you need. I just need to know that you’re in this too.”

Kaz meets your eyes. His are glassy as he holds the necklace tightly in his hands, running his gloved fingers over the diamonds.

He could lose you.

And that is far worse than not having you at all.

He slowly peels his gloves off. His movements are slow and deliberate, taking his time. When they’re off, he grabs the necklace and stands up.

You hold your breath as he stands behind you, brushing your hair out of the way. His fingers just barely dance across your skin, but they’re there.

He clasps the necklace, and you turn around to face him.

“Kaz?” You question.

“I need you too, (Y/N).”

“I’m not leaving," You assure him.

“Good. We’re in this.”

“We’re in this.”

#IM OBSESSED WITH HIM #I love kaz #I am speedrunning this requests #hehe #kaz brekker fanfic #kaz brekker x you #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker fluff #kaz brekker imagine #kaz brekker one shot #kaz brekker angst #kaz brekker #grishaverse #six of crows imagine #six of crows #soc #crooked kingdom #shadow and bone #s&b

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lovelybarnes · 3 years

Text

reckless- b. barnes

pairings: bucky barnes x reader, platonic!sam wilson, platonic!natasha romanoff, platonic!steve rogers

warnings: mentions of injuries, descriptions of fighting, angry bucky, a horrible ending, i kind of really hate this

about: “the things i feel for her are unlike anything i’ve ever felt before.” for a sleepover!

i actually wrote another one with the same quote but i didn’t think it fit so i changed it (that one will be posted tomorrow or the day after so i can edit it)

you’re annoyingly reckless to a point where it gets dangerous.

he’s told you this a thousand times before but you don’t listen- aren’t listening at the moment.

he knows it’s ironic that he’s being reckless by not paying attention to what’s going on, too concentrated on you- even if you’ve told him countless times that you literally can’t die (to which he responds with a “you never know!” because, really do you?)- but he has a metal arm and sam, who’s been hovering around him like a vulture after noticing his lack of concentration.

before he can react to it, a slimy arm is promptly cut off by you, the blade you threw now back in your hands and stained green with the things’ blood. you scowl at it and shoot him a dirty look, “pay fucking attention!” you demand, shaking the weapon haphazardly to get the goo off. he can’t believe that the words came out of your mouth but rolls his eyes and obeys, knocking an ugly alien down and crushing its chest with his boot.

he can still hear your cocky remarks and giggles- yes, giggles, you giggle when you fight life threatening menaces- paired with the gross sounds of your knife impaling the aliens they’re fighting. it’s the only thing keeping him from practically babysitting you, a reassurance that you’re there, careless and impetuous, but alive and close.

suddenly, he can’t hear you, and he turns to what he quite possibly believes to be the most disgusting thing he’s seen in his life (and it’s been a long one, so far). you’re blue, covered in a slimy substance, and your face is so red, it’s beginning to look nearly purple with the cyan sheen over it. you screech abruptly, wiping at your face angrily and jumping at the thing that probably did that to you. he nearly feels pity for it. nearly, because, in your rage, you hadn’t even noticed the large gash along your shoulder. before he can go to you before you kill yourself, his metal arm feels like it’s being sucked, taking him with it, and he grunts. “what the fuck-” he manages, unsure of what he’s looking at, but trying to cut through the sticky arm attached to his own. you’re there in five seconds flat, still blue and still angry, which he notices makes the slicing through the appendage easier.

you seem to decide to stay with him after that, and he’s not sure if he’s offended because you don’t think he can take care of himself- which is ridiculous, since this only happened because he was taking care of you- or touched.

“god, i wish i had wanda’s powers. chaos magick works a lot faster than causing chaos,” you complain, trying to wipe away the blue sludge at the same time and wincing when it tugs at your injury. he is reminded of the shoulder wound he nearly got his arm ripped off for trying to warn you, and he stops your hand. “you’re bleeding, you should probably be a little more careful with this.” he motions to your arm, avoiding touching it.

you frown at him, “it’s fine, it’s just a little cut.” (it’s most certainly not a “little cut.”)

“y/n-”

you extend the hurt arm over him and flick your hands when you see an alien about to rip bucky’s head off, a grimace passing your face that he sees but you try to cover up anyways. “see? it hurts you, you need-”

“i just saved your life, would a hurt person be able to do that?” you cut him off, and he stares at you. noticing a green thing coming up behind you, he grabs your waist and moves you out of the way, shooting it with his gun and watching as it drops to the ground. “ow!” you protest, “you hurt my-” seeming to realize you’re about to prove him right, you shut up and roll your eyes. “you’re welcome,” bucky huffs, wiping away some of the blue stuff from your cheek.

your cheeks warm against his touch without your permission, and you turn away. bucky smirks at your reaction.

“shut up,” you grumble, extending your fingers and aiming at a group of the aliens ganging up on natasha. they freeze for the few seconds they’re under your control, and nat manages to take out two in the moment. the three left break out of the trance, turn to each other, and begin to fight. natasha makes eye contact with you in a form of thanks and starts to take the rest out. you hear a gun go off behind you and turn to see one of the things that sprayed you on the floor. bucky saved you again, great, it’s not like he’ll rub it in your face forever.

“you need to pay attention, what if i’m not here?” bucky scolds. “then never leave,” you flirt casually in response. with a few twirls of your finger, most of the aliens stop paying attention to your team and begin attacking their own teammates.

you don’t notice when one of the few unaffected beings picks up a discarded gun and shoots at you twice. bucky moves you away from a head shot, but one lands opposite to the bleeding slash on your shoulder, and the other hits your thigh.

“goddamnit, y/n, pay attention!” bucky growls, holding up your full weight when your adrenaline begins to run out and everything becomes blurry. “‘m fine,” you try to reassure, attempting to stand back on your wobbly legs. bucky doesn’t let you, shooting at as many aliens as he can with one gun. he turns to look at your state after he shoots most of them, allowing the others to take care of it while he tries to take care of you. his metal hand is touching the small device in his ear, telling the others the situation while his other arm holds you up. you might be delirious now, and your eyelids are becoming increasingly difficult to keep up. “hm, i’m not going to die, b’cky.” you tell him, noticing the increasing panic in his voice as he talks to steve. “stop saying that, how would you know if you haven’t died yet?”

his question is confusing for your foggy brain, so you decide to skip it, unknowingly making his worries worse. the blood running down your back isn’t stopping, and bucky stops for a second to lift you up completely, tucking his hand underneath your knees to carry you. at the tug at your thigh, you bite back a scream. bucky pretends not to notice; his hands are covered in a warm red. he’s trying his best to ignore it.

“don’t die,” bucky whispers again and again, making you frown, “how many times do i ‘ave to tell you i can’t die?”

“i’ll believe it when you don’t,” bucky mutters, and the blue sky turns to gray when he’s inside the quinjet. he sets you down on the medbay cot, looking lost as he calls out friday’s name. “yes, mister barnes?”

“y/n- uh-”

“do a scan on me and… and treat accordingly,” you interrupt. “scanning now,” friday obeys, and you turn to bucky. “by the time you figured it out i would have bled out.”

“that’s not funny, y/n,” bucky says seriously. you squeeze your eyes shut for a second, “calm down, i’ll be fine.” friday has enclosed you in some clear glass, red grids letting you know of your condition. “ooh, that’s bad,” you mumble, much to the dismay of your boyfriend. “what?” said boyfriend asks, and you wave him off as best you can- which means a pathetic bounce of your arm- and tell him to let friday do her thing. “we are not done here,” bucky instructs, but sits next to you and holds your hand. you can see his glossed eyes now, you wonder how you didn’t see them before.

“shouldn’t you be fighting?” you ask, a wave of exhaustion crashing over you. rest, your body begs. you’ll comply later. “they’re almost done, the chaos thing you did makes their job a lot easier.”

“‘s what i do,” you say breathily before falling asleep.

you’re still in the quinjet the next time you open your eyes, which lets you know it’s only been a few hours and you’re feeling better already. goddess healing, you think, looking around to see bucky’s hand still around yours. he looks worried, the hard lines usually softened by the sound of your voice as hard as you’ve ever seen them. you squeeze his fingers gently. “bucky,” you coo, “i’m not dying anymore.”

bucky turns to you immediately, squinting, “that’s not funny.” it’s like deja vu, but you’re not sure from where.

a vein on bucky’s neck throbs, and you’re aware that you’re pushing it, so you stop for a second, “i was just kidding, i-”

“no!-” bucky’s voice is near yelling, so he shuts his eyes for a moment, continuing in a lower voice, “you almost died, do you know how terrifying that is? you nearly bled out in my arms.” sam, nat and steve, who were waiting for you to wake up next to bucky, pause when he raises his voice. “bucky-” you start, softer now, trying to sit up. bucky stands, “listen to me!”

steve stands, beginning to put a hand on bucky’s shoulder, “buck-” he’s silenced with a cold look from bucky. sam gets to his feet too, telling steve and nat to give you both a minute. they do, after nat kisses your cheek like she always does when you get hurt. you’re sitting on the edge of the bed now, reaching for bucky, “bucky?”

“you don’t… you don’t know how much you scared me, y/n. you have to stop being so careless,” he says after a few seconds. you furrow your brows, “i’m not careless, i’m confident in my skills.”

“you are. you’re careless and reckless and hasty and i need you to not be,” he says harshly, you frown. “why? i’m fine and i’m always going to be-”

“you don’t- you don’t understand!-” bucky snaps. “then help me understand,” you implore. bucky closes his eyes tightly again, breathing in slowly. “the things... that i feel for you are unlike anything i have ever felt before, and i can’t- i can’t lose you, okay?”

“you’re not going to,” you assure, extending your arms towards him, noting the tiny ache in response. he walks over to you, letting you grab his jaw when he’s close, you run your fingers over his cheeks gently. “i’ll be more careful,” you promise. bucky nods, tucking his face into the dip of your neck. you run your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, letting him squeeze your waist almost to reassure himself you’re actually there.

“hey,” you say quietly after a few moments, pressing tender kisses to bucky’s cheek, “sit down, i want to do something.” you stand, grabbing onto bucky’s arm when you stumble a little and promise him you’re fine and are taking it easy. you take out the first aid kit from one of the cabinets, setting it down next to bucky, opening it and taking out everything you need. you begin to clean his cuts, putting a pink hello kitty bandaid over one of his particularly bad ones. it’ll be gone within a day, but you can’t resist, and it makes him laugh.

you hum while you dab at a small scratch next to his eye, and he chuckles lowly, you look up at him, “what?”

“you’re still a little blue.”

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seijorhi · 3 years

Text

Rabid.

The brainrot was real, guys. Hope you like it :))

Kyoutani Kentarou x female reader

tw blood, violence, implied minor character death, non-con, smut, nsfw

There’s blood splattered across the back of his hands the first time you make the unwitting mistake of catching Kyoutani’s attention. He usually can’t be fucked wasting time wrapping his fists; the skin across one of his knuckles is split and raw from his last job, but most of the blood isn’t his.

And the other guy got off far, far worse.

But he wouldn’t have noticed – it comes with the territory and he’s never really given a fuck whether there’s blood on his clothes or not – if it hadn’t been for that tiny gasp.

That soft, sharp little intake of breath, and like the rabid dog they claim he is, he snaps to the threat.

Nobody else at the table notices, and you seem to realise your mistake, freezing up the moment those honey brown eyes flash and zero in on you. Your throat bobs unsteadily – you look like a deer caught in headlights. Startled. Terrified.

Kinda fuckin’ adorable, if he’s being honest.

“I– I’m sorry, sir,” you mutter, ducking your head as you set down his drink with a tremor in your hand.

Vaguely, he registers Makki’s choked snort at the honorific – nobody’s ever called him sir before – but he can’t really find it in himself to give a fuck that the two of you have drawn an audience.

Not when you’re still frozen, hardly daring to draw breath at his side.

You’re new, that much is painfully obvious, but not stupid. You know who he is – who they are, and despite his reputation, he’s never been one to get off on fear or some fucked up version of a power trip; Kyoutani simply likes the feeling of lashing out, beating the absolute shit out of some asshole just because he can.

Because it feels good, gets his blood pumping.

Nobody would lift a finger to help you if he decided to take offence to your little slip up. And truthfully, he couldn’t give a shit – he’s used to people being on edge around him and it’s not like you’ve reacted any other way than how you’re supposed to.

It’s natural for you to be startled, scared even. But not here, not with them. Here you should know better, because here is filled to the fucking brim with men like Kyoutani. Oh sure, they might be prettier, polished and charming like Oikawa, but you’d have to be a goddamn idiot to think the man hasn’t stepped over bodies he’s put in the ground to get where he is.

At least Kyoutani never has to pretend to be anything other than what he is.

But a little blood in a place like this shouldn’t raise an eyebrow, and the way you’re staring at the table, eyes cast down and wide; Kyoutani can almost hear you cursing yourself out for your own stupidity. And it strikes him as he stares at you, drinking in every subtle shift in your body language, wondering why you don’t just tuck tail and run off like you so clearly want to, that you really don't belong in a place like this.

“Something the matter, Mad Dog?” a silken voice purrs, and he tears his eyes away from your trembling form to glance back at his boss, sitting at the head of the table. The brunette’s smiling idly, appraising the two of you and Kyoutani feels you stiffen beside him.

You don’t dare open your mouth, don’t so much as twitch, not even as Kyoutani returns his attention back to you. By now the entire table has quietened down, most if not all of the gathered men staring at you and you – pretty eyes filling with tears, hands clasped together and trembling in front of your dress – look like you just want the floor to open up and swallow you whole. And somewhat selfishly, there’s a part of Kyoutani that wants to keep you there like that.

Not afraid, exactly. Just… there.

He can’t explain it, doesn’t know why he hasn’t just told you to fuck off back to the kitchen, dismissed you with a grunt like he would have if any of the other servers had made the same mistake. He has bigger shit to worry about than some perceived fucking offence, but he finds himself pausing, drawing this little moment out for a lifetime before finally putting an end to it, “No.”

He jerks his chin, breaking the moment between the two of you to reach for the drink you’d set down before him, but still you don’t move, glancing between him and Oikawa like you’re afraid to move – as if you’re terrified that you’ve read this situation wrong and one wrong step and you’ll just make things worse. It’s so fucking endearing that he almost snorts, but it takes Oikawa’s voice, calm and level and almost kind to shake you out of your frozen state, “Run along now, cutie.”

You scamper off without a backwards glance, and if anybody notices Kyoutani watching you out of the corner of his eye while he nurses his drink, they have the better sense to keep their mouths shut about it.

And honest to god, it’s the last he expects to see of you. He’s not so stupid as to think you landed the job because you genuinely wanted it; people don’t end up in places like this because they have choices, they end up here because somebody somewhere along the line fucked up.

This city’s filthy, full of irredeemable pieces of shit like him and it takes innocence like yours, chews it up and spits it out. If you were smart, you would have left after your little run-in with him, so why the fuck are you right back in their private room less than a week later, nails biting into your palm and resolutely refusing to meet his eye?

Oikawa’s busy rattling off a list of drinks he wants, but this time it’s Kyoutani who’s frozen in place, staring at you with a scowl that has you shivering even as you nod at the Oyabun. He knows Iwaizumi at least is watching him with some kind of morbid combination of curiosity and concern, can’t find it within him to care as you try and slip from the room, giving him as wide a berth as you can without it seeming rude–

Not wide enough. Before he even registers that he’s moved Kyoutani’s reaching out to grab your forearm – his grip not tight enough to hurt, just to stop you from running off on him again. And the little squeak that leaves your soft looking lips sends a ripple of something electric jolting down his spine, but you know better than to try and pull away.

God, he can feel your pulse racing beneath your skin, every terrified thump of your heart. It’s addictive, he thinks, the feeling he gets just from touching you.

“Gimme a beer,” he grunts, waiting until you finally meet his eye.

The nervous little nod you give strokes some part of him he hadn’t realised existed. Kyoutani likes you like this; all timid and obedient. A little too much, maybe.

There’s a sharp elbow in his side courtesy of Yahaba, and he reluctantly releases his grip on you, leaving you to scamper away once more. Cute.

Yahaba makes some snarky comment under his breath and he barely fucking registers it, fixated instead on the skin of his palm; still warm and tingling from your touch. His hands are rough, scarred and calloused, the skin over his knuckles split from another job last night, a little red and bruised – even as he tightens his fingers into a fist they sting just a little.

Guns have their purpose, he’s not against a knife if he’s feeling particularly fucking vindictive, but Kyoutani’s favourite has always been his fists. There’s something about the feeling of skin and muscle giving way beneath his blows, taking all that pent up rage and aggression and letting loose with his fists. It’s a kind of euphoria he’s never found anywhere else; not in women or men or drugs or alcohol. Nothing comes close to the feeling he gets straddling some pathetic piece of shit and beating the absolute fucking crap out of him.

Sometimes if he goes a few days without a fight, he gets a little jittery. Not like the tweakers do, it’s not withdrawal so much as… a building up of restless, rabid energy. He gets on edge, snaps more, lashing out over petty shit until some poor asshole makes the mistake of looking at him the wrong way and Kyoutani just fucking looses it.

He feels it now, that same burning itch under his skin. He’s never thought of his hands as anything more weapons, but touching you, the warmth of your skin, how smooth and soft it was–

Kyoutani wants to do it again. Wants to touch more of you. And he’s not so fucked up yet that he doesn’t realise how twisted this all is, how a guy like him doesn’t belong within a thousand miles of some sweet, cute innocent thing like you. But the world ain’t fucking fair; you’re here and for whatever reason Oikawa’s taken a liking to you and so whenever they’re at the club, you’re the one management send to make sure they’re happy.

And Kyoutani wonders, golden eyes burning a hole into your back as you hastily clear away their empty glasses, whether you realise that if any one of them asked for a dance or for you to get on your knees and blow them, you’d be expected to do that, too.

You might as well be on Seijoh’s payroll now, just be thankful that as far as that side of things go, they’re not the monsters that the rumours make them out to be.

Not that he hasn’t noticed Mattsun’s gaze drifting to your ass when you lean over the table to grab something, the older man shooting him a salacious wink when he notices he’s glaring.

Not that he hasn’t let his own imagination take hold, leaning up against the glass wall of his shower first thing in the morning. His fist pumping along his throbbing cock, wondering what it’d be like to see you on your knees, those pretty eyes full of tears, staring up at him as you swallow him down like the good girl he knows you are.

The thing is, he’s never made all that much of an effort to hide his feelings from the others. He doesn’t give a shit if it makes him the butt of their jokes, doesn’t care what they think about the way he watches you – his attention snapping towards you the moment you slip past the door, purposefully trying to avoid his gaze. Not that it ever does you much good.

Oikawa hasn’t said shit, and that’s enough of a go-ahead as Kyoutani needs. It’s none of their fucking business anyway.

You’ve managed to get under his skin, push him to the fucking brink when he goes more than a few days without seeing you. He knows you don’t want any part of this; that you’re still fucking terrified of him. Kyoutani’s never been one to chase after somebody who wants nothing to do with him – there are plenty of women more than willing to spread their legs for Seijoh’s big bad Mad Dog if he wants an itch scratched. There’s no good reason why he can’t get you out of his head, why you’ve sunk your teeth into him and refuse to let go – even when it’s clear that that’s so fucking far from what you intended with the blonde.

It doesn’t matter. At the end of the day, it doesn’t change shit; you’re his, whether you’re willing to acknowledge that or not.

And maybe he’s just living with his head up his ass, but he doesn’t quite realise how fucking inadequate this whole arrangement is until he needs a piss one night and ventures out into the club only to see some asshole trying to cop a feel and tug you down to his lap, his friends drunk and howling with laughter as you try to politely escape them.

Distantly he registers that he recognises the piece of shit as some low level fucking drug lord who’s been all but sucking Oikawa’s dick trying to get a bigger piece of the pie, but in that moment, he honestly doesn’t give a fuck who he is.

Kyoutani just sees red.

Nostrils flaring, steam practically pouring from his ears, he storms over. And adrenaline’s surging through him with every pounding beat of his heart, every synapse in his body’s electrified, ready to lay into this piece of shit for daring to lay a finger on what’s his.

He wants to beat him bloody, wants to fuck up his face – to whale on him until muscle and bone give way and there’s nothing left but bloody pulp where his head used to be. Him and his fucking friends.

But Kyoutani has his priorities, and he reaches you first, grabbing you by your elbow and ripping you away from them, a muscled arm curling protectively around your waist. And he’s deaf to whatever protests you have, to the excuses the pieces of crap in front of him offer up, can’t hear a goddamn thing over the pounding in his head as he fixes them with a snarl and all but drags you back to their room, shoving you less than gently in through the door.

“Stay here, don’t move until I get back,” he orders, and he loves you, he does, but when you open your mouth to argue, something inside of him tightens and snaps. He grabs you by the jaw, jerking your face up as he crowds in over you, golden eyes ablaze, “Not a fucking muscle, understand?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, crashing his lips down on yours to steal the kiss he’s been waiting fucking weeks for before stalking back out.

Kyoutani is beyond caring about ramifications, Oikawa’s always given him a fairly loose leash to do as he pleases and if this is what puts an end to that so fucking be it; he’ll take you and go. But he hears Iwa and Mattsun on his heels and neither one of them are trying to stop him as he storms back towards the drug lord and his little cronies, so he figures the boss ain’t too fucking bothered with what he’s about to do.

And maybe if he’d had a clearer head, he might’ve found it funny how quickly the floor clears when he vaults the couch, grabs the asshole by the front of his silk shirt and heaves him forward, sending him careening face first into a table full of drinks.

With the taste of you on his lips, the memory of this piece of shit’s hands all over you, Kyoutani doesn’t hold back.

The others are gone by the time he, Iwa and Mattsun return, it’s just Oikawa casually leaning back in his seat, you sitting rigidly in the one beside him, his arm casually draped over the back of your chair.

Kyoutani’s eyes flicker tensely between the two of you – he’s still on edge, still not right. He needs something more to feed that rabid fucking monster lurking beneath his skin, and his Oyabun knows it.

Oikawa smiles genially, patting your knee for just a moment (and oh, how Kyoutani hates the flash of jealous rage that rears its ugly head when he leans over and whispers something in your ear) before standing up.

“Mad Dog,” he says, eyeing him with a shrewd look he recognises all too well. “We’ll talk tomorrow.” He nods at the two behind him and without another word the three of them exit, no doubt to try and smooth over the mess he’d just made.

Leaving Kyoutani alone with you.

And there’s a part of him that’s pissed off, because this was always gonna happen, but fuck, he was gonna make an effort. He’d wanted it to be nice for you… romantic, or at least as romantic as somebody like him was capable of.

You deserve that much.

His blood’s still thrumming, remnants of blind fury and jealousy and possessive need still burning through his veins. The fight wasn’t enough to sate him; it should’ve been – he’d left them in fucking pieces – but then again you’ve been toeing this line for a long, long time, and Kyoutani’s patience only goes so far.

He should at least take you back to his apartment, try and salvage this disaster of a night, but he knows deep down he can’t make himself walk out of here with you without taking what he needs.

He’s still not entirely in control, breathing hard as he stares at you, watches you fiddle with your hands in your lap, refusing to meet his gaze. “Stand up,” he says, his voice a rough growl.

On shaking legs, you obey, eyes flickering towards the doorway behind him, and distantly he wonders what you’re thinking. You’re foolishly naive, he’ll admit that much, but he doesn’t think you’re stupid. You know where this is going, and you must know that there is nobody and nothing that’s gonna stop what’s about to happen. Not even you.

His tongue darts out to wet his lips, and now he’s the one to draw in an unsteady breath. “Strip.”

You blanch, eyes widening in pure panic. And there’s a part of him that feels guilty, that knows he’s scaring you right now and hates himself for it, but any chance of rationality winning out fled the moment he saw somebody else put their hands all over you.

“Strip,” he repeats when you make no move to start taking your clothes off. “Or I’ll rip that pretty fucking dress off myself.”

Kyoutani adores that little catch in your breath, the way you bite down on your bottom lip as you give in, meekly reaching for the zipper at your back.

You’re so fucking beautiful, every mouthwatering inch of you. Tentatively, you glance up at him after your dress hits the floor, as if you’re hoping that that’ll be enough, that he doesn’t want to see all of you. Any other time, and the sight of you in your matching set of lingerie might’ve been enough to calm him, but it’s not what he needs tonight.

His scowl deepens, and you’re clever enough to read between the lines. Your bra goes first, pretty lace panties joining the small pile of clothes on the floor a moment later.

Good girl.

His eyes darken as he stares, hungrily taking you in. Soft tits, nipples pebbling under the cool air, he’s dying to touch them, suck on them, mark them up nice and fuckin’ pretty. The gentle swell of your ass, smooth, supple thighs he can’t wait to get his hands on, and that cute little cunt of yours, all his. His to play with, his to tease, his to claim. Fuck, this is better than all the images he’s conjured up of you in the heat of the moment, stroking his cock to get off with his head thrown back and eyes squeezed shut. He wants to compliment you, tell you how perfect you are, how cute you are – trembling naked in front of him, but he’s beyond words right now, hanging onto his control by a fucking thread as his cock twitches in his pants, all that blood rushing south.

You look like you’re about to burst into tears as you swallow, taking in a quick, hitching breath. “Kyoutani,” you begin in a soft, tiny voice–

And that last little thread snaps.

He’s on you before you can stop him, spinning you around and roughly slamming your hips up against the table. There’s no time to be soft or gentle, no time to even take off his pants, he just shoves them down to his thighs and reaches for his cock.

Fuck, he’d wanted to eat you out, to stuff you full of his fingers and make you cum on them first, get you nice and stretched out, but he’s still too wound up. Kyoutani needs to be buried inside of you, needs to fuck you – he’ll make it up to you afterwards, he swears it.

He’ll treat you like a fucking princess, just be good for him now.

And the scream that shatters that calm night air should tear at him – he doesn’t want to hurt you, not ever, it’s his job to protect you – but he can’t focus on that when your pussy’s clamping down around his fat cock, a dizzying heat enveloping him as your walls flutter and squeeze against the unwanted intrusion.

It feels like fucking heaven. Kyoutani’s hands are everywhere; your tits, your ass, squeezing reassuringly at your hip when a broken sob leaves your lips. And he’s kissing at your shoulders, nuzzling at your neck even as his teeth nip at the sensitive skin, desperate to be as close to you as he can as his hips draw back and he pounds back in, grunting like a beast in heat.

He fucks you savagely, your hips slamming against the table with every thrust – there’ll be bruises no doubt, but he’ll look after those too. He swears to fucking god, he’ll take such good care of you. You’re gonna be his girl. You are his girl.

It’s easier than it should be to drown out your agonised cries and pleas for him to slow down, to chase his own pleasure within your tight, wet heat, his cock ramming up against your cervix with every stroke.

He loves you, loves the feeling of being inside of you – fuck, Kyoutani doesn’t think he ever wants to leave. His fingers find your clit and you cry out, a shudder wracking your body that almost has him seeing stars with the way your pussy tightens and convulses around him in response. He loses his rhythm as he nears his end, hips jackrabbiting into your poor, abused cunt as his balls tighten.

You’re slick now, cunt drooling around him as he fucks you hard and fast, lewd slaps echoing out with every brutal thrust. Kyoutani knows he’s holding you too tight, knows it’s probably hurting but he can’t fucking care when he’s so close and you feel so fucking good–

His teeth sink into your neck as that blinding pleasure takes hold; his entire body seizing up, abs tightening as his orgasm slams into him. Kyoutani cums with a hissed snarl, crushing you against him as thick, warm spurts fill your perfect little cunt right up. He fucks you through it, a slow, lazy grind of his hips against yours as he milks his orgasm for all it’s worth, pressing gentle, soothing kisses along your collarbone while you sniffle and sob pathetically.

“Love you,” he grunts quietly – truthfully – letting your exhausted body collapse back against the table. And it’s now he regrets not having taken you home to do this on an actual bed, just so he could lie you down somewhere soft afterwards and curl up beside you.

Still, there’s not much he can do but try and comfort you as best he can, rough fingers running soothingly up and down your back as he waits for you to calm down. He pauses after a moment though, staring oddly at his hands.

There’s blood smeared across his skin, caked under his nails, splattered up his tattooed forearms. And Kyoutani can’t help the satisfied smirk that tugs at his lips as he leans over to kiss your shoulder again, his cock still stuffed inside of you.

Most of it isn’t his.

And the other guy got off far, far worse.

#yandere haikyuu #yandere kyoutani #yandere kyoutani x reader #yandere kyoutani kentarou x reader #yandere kyoutani kentarou #tw blood #tw violence #tw implied minor character death #tw non con #i love the angry tennis ball

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4dtk · 3 years

Text

pink in the night

anon: “Hi can I request a Renjun oneshot with 33 (hand holding), 27+46 (kisses), 24 (touching) please? :)” sure! this is an au - renjun is a hitman in this

i wrote this to pink in the night by mitski, thought i'd use it as a title :)

hand-holding, 33: bandaging the other’s hand and not quite letting go

kisses, 27 & 46: desperate kisses, angry kisses

touching, 24: whispering in their ear, lips touching the skin

warnings: making out, just a lil suggestive, one mention of vomit but it's not descriptive, mentions of blood, fighting

“what the fuck were you thinking?” you yanked renjun’s hands toward you, stained red with blood that filled your room with the putrid smell of copper. sweat threatens to contaminate the wound, having had just ran away from the scene in a rush of adrenaline.

renjun’s hands are shaking in yours, and you figured you might have pulled them towards you a little too harshly when he winces, reacting a second time now that the alcohol was coming into contact with fresh skin.

“were you even in the right mind when you did that? i knew they were following us but-“ your fingers curl around the roll of bandage, almost cutting through the fabric if not for your blunt nails. securing it with a pin, you stay kneeled on the floor, while the ominous lamp in the squeezy bedroom above a tattoo parlour remained the only thing lighting your way.

the other's hand felt heavy in your hands, just like your footsteps a couple minutes ago.

run, run, run, were the only words in your head when renjun threw the first punch, accurately hitting one of the followers right in the jaw. there was a scream, glass breaking, shouts of panic, but none of them were yours.

after all, you both were skilled fighters, raised on contrasting conditions.

renjun was holding his ground with one person, but when the other agent came out of their shock, you knew you had to intervene.

you mirrored their speed perfectly, just like renjun was even if his throws were a little tipsy. you had to sneak in a laugh as the agents groan out in pain on the ground, before your moment of victory is interrupted by sirens

someone had called the fucking police. rolling your eyes, you grabbed renjun's hand without much thought, ignoring the warm liquid flowing from his knuckles.

your hideout was the place you felt the safest, undetected and unseen from cameras, but these agents of the society you once worked for could figure your whereabouts in no time.

they were skilled and swift, taking you in when they found you on the doorstep of their headquarters before anyone could see the brief release of their invisibility cloak.

your feet took you instead through winding alleys, gaining the attention of shophouse owners lounging at the back of their stores. they paid you no mind, assuming it was just a couple enjoying young love.

you skid to a stop in front of a shady door, although you haul it open with no hesitation that elicits a groan from inside the store.

"couldn't you at least knock?" johnny raises a brow, eyes not leaving his client's tattoo as the machine runs. it contributes to your irritation.

"shut up, let me camp here for a bit," johnny only hums at that when you bring renjun upstairs, feet heeding your command easily to grab first-aid items from the run-down shophouse.

and so now, you stare lifelessly into renjun's torso as your hand clutched onto his, not wanting to believe the events that had just ensued.

"give me your other hand," you mumble, chucking his bandaged hand aside before reaching for his other. you can't care much when he grunts.

"no."

the single word prompts you to lift your head, the curl of your lip evident in showing your exasperation.

"what? why not?"

"just 'cause!" renjun replies, hiding his other behind his back, "why are you worried, anyway? it's not like it's something i didn't tolerate before."

"what? you mean your bleeding knuckles or your feelings?"

renjun scowls at that, tackling you to the floor in a flurry of motion. you only raise an eyebrow at his outburst.

how dare you say that? how dare you taunt him as if you didn't give him the same lingering glances?

renjun has to look away from your hypnotising eyes that pulled him in each time. when you stumbled across a stakeout he was on, when they widened in surprise when you found out he was the person you were assigned to assassinate.

your teasing irises when you fought tooth and nail in the abandoned building, the sniper rifle catching the moonlight as it shines across your face. it's like fate had mocked him, illuminating your lips with him pinned under you.

they only held dejection, now. were they downcasted because of the traumatising things you've seen? oh no, it's anything but.

you were conditioned to mask your emotions from day one, vomit, disgust, sorrow. anything that develops from all the gore and blood. you've seen too much over the years that you can't bring yourself to feel anything.

yet, when renjun refuses you, you can't help but feel like an arrow's gone through your heart. you don't want to believe it's cupid, but rather something more foretelling.

you do what you do best: push people away.

"what? can't come to terms with- mmff!"

he kisses you. huang renjun kisses you, slamming his lips down onto yours a little too harshly. you have no time to react since he pulls away too fast. too fast for you to savour his plump lips again and again.

mouth parted, moonlight dancing across your eyes, hair splayed out. you looked ravishing.

his chest is burning from the clench of his heart, his thighs are burning from the uncomfortable straddling position, but nothing beats the burn of his cheeks when he feels you lean back up, no doubt capturing his lips in another kiss.

this time, it starts out soft. it doesn't last for long before everything turns eager. your hands roam over his sides, back, face. likewise with his, he brings you into his lap as he settles against the frame of the bed.

breathlessly, you pull away. you search his eyes, as does he, and you find nothing but a reflected portrayal of the one thing that burns in your heart: uncertainty, lust, desire.

renjun swallows at your uncharacteristic quietness. he takes the bait, anyway, reaching up to kiss you again with fervour. your lips dance with each other, groaning a little when he feels that your body's pressed flushed against him.

each kiss felt like a drug, leaving you both wanting more.

johnny doesn't seem to care, however, when he interrupts your intimate moment with a deafening knock.

"need condoms?" you separate yourself from the other immediately, panting like a dog by how long you've had your lips locked with his.

"get the fuck out!" you poorly throw a pillow at the tattoo artist, who only raises his hand in surrender, "come and get your blankets when you're done sucking each other's faces off."

you sigh at that, head lolled down in defeat.

you're not sure why you feel that way, anyway. were you ticked off by the fact that you let someone see your vulnerability? yes.

were you annoyed that johnny, your childhood friend and big-brother figure, saw you making out? yes.

were you pissed that you let huang renjun kiss you? you had trouble answering that one.

"hey," the one person on your mind softly whispers. you want to punch him for lowering his voice, for speaking so tenderly to you like he hadn't just left you gasping for air.

"yes. renjun. what- what do you want." it sounds out more like an order, your words coming out stiffly as the man in front of you takes a deep, shaky breath.

his eyes soften at your awkwardness, "i- you can bandage my other hand if ya want."

you grunt out a finally, preparing yourself to uncomfortably pry your body off him to grab the bandages left on the floor. he stops you before you can and his lips hover over your ear. you're not complaining.

"as long as i get to kiss you again," he can't help it, lips already nibbling at your ear before they move down your neck in a trail of hot kisses that set your skin ablaze.

"can you kiss me first? bandage later..." you're helpless and putty in his hands. the laugh that renjun lets out makes you giggle, and you have to rest against his forehead for a moment to collect yourself.

"oh... but who was the impatient one wanting patch me up earlier?"

renjun melts when your hands cup his cheeks. he loves your fingers that are full of callouses; they showed your excessive training with knifes, guns, spears.

but now, when they're gentle against his flushed skin, he finds that he's discovered a new use for your fingers. to hold him tight, to brush through his hair, to caress his forearm, he could go on and on.

"oh, shut up," you mumble with a smile.

"gladly," renjun answers, doing just that as your lips meet again.

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itsthestutterforme · 3 years

Text

The Next Step Part Two

Summary: A few kids were able to hear Hanseok's screams in the abandoned house Vincenzo left him in. They called the ambulance in time to take him to the hospital. Months later, Hanseok tracks Y/N down at a party with Han and tries to kill her. Han had something else in mind.

Notes: mention of Jang Hanseok, mentions of Vincenzo plots, SMUT warning, 18+, minors DNI, GIF is not mine

Despite it being months since Vincenzo's call saying that Hanseok was dead, Han still kept his eye on you. Once he saw you actively looking for apartments, he squashed it and said that you could keep each other company. Something fluttered in you when he said that he was willing to do anything to keep you safe.

For once, you enjoyed someone staking claim over you. With Han, he respects your individuality and free will. He doesn't restrain you from doing anything but when he thinks you're doing something dangerous, he'll keep you company.

Sean thinks that Han will ask you out or something but you said that wasn't going to happen he only saw you as a friend and he was still in love with Giselle. Sean asked Han the same thing and he was said similar things. So Sean decided to leave you two alone and let you two figure it out ourselves.

"Put something cute on, we're going to a party." Han says, poking his head in to see you doing yoga. "Who are you trying to be flexible for?" He asks. "For me, Han. Yoga calms me." You say, lifting one leg and tucking it on your pelvic bone in the tree pose. Han steps into the room and pushes you into the cushion in front of you.

"Han!" You scold. "Come on, Sean is waiting for us." He says, turning his back to leave but you jump on his back instead. You grab the chips from his hand and jump off his back to make a run for it but he already grabs you. The back of your knees hit the bed, sending you both hurdling onto the bed.

Your hair fans around your head as you stare up at him. A smile tugs on his lips and he asks, "Is that where you wanted this to go?" You were completely baffled by the fact that his hips were hovering over yours and his chocolate brown eyes drifting between your lips and your eyes.

"What? Cat got your tongue?" "Something like that." He leans in so close you could practically taste him. Your breath hitches in your throat and your heart bangs against your chest but your find yourself pulling him closer until your lips collide with his. A softly sigh into the kiss and he plants a hand on either side of you.

You were just getting used to him lips against yours when his phone starts to ring. He pulls away with a grumble and answers his phone with a sharp what. You smile up at him and you could hear Sean asking where you guys were through the phone but Han leans down to give you a few more kisses in response.

"We'll be there. Don't get your boxers in a twist," Han says against your lips. He ends the call and kisses you once more before getting up from the bed. "Get dressed."

"Roger that," you say, sliding to the edge of the bed. "You want your chips back?" "I'm actually in the mood for dessert, but I'll gladly wait until later tonight." He says, giving you a once over.

Feeling a bigger sense of pride, you walk up to him and press the bag of chips into his chest. "I'm going to take a shower, care to join?" You ask. "If I do that, we're definitely not making it to the party.

Han and Y/N finally pick up Sean thirty minutes later and he immediately felt a change in the vibe between you two. And he definitely noticed the stolen glances and smiles you would send each other. But he didn't say anything until he was alone with Han.

"So what happened between you two?" Sean asks before taking a swig of beer. "What are you talking about?" Han asks, trying to keep it cool by having his back leaning against the railing and not staring at her like he wanted to do. But at least Sean has eyes on her.

Han has body guards trained on her at all times but he still worries for her. It's like he can finally breath when he sees her. "Alright, well what if I tell you she was talking with a pretty good looking guy right now?" "She's her own person. I don't control anything she does." Han answers, popping a chip into his mouth.

"Oh, look at that, he's snaking an arm around her waist." Sean teases and Han wiped his head around so fast, Sean felt whiplash by just witnessing it. Han looked to see you softly swaying her hips to the music as you sipped on your Sake. No man in sight. Once Han realized that he rolled his eyes at Sean but couldn't hide the sigh of relief that left his lips.

"So what changed between you two?" Sean repeats. "We kissed. And it felt so addicting like smoking my first cigarette. I just want to keep kissing her until I can't breathe. And it scares me man." Han says, crunching on more chips.

Sean's eyebrow furrows when he realizes that you were gone and your normal guards are nowhere in sight. "Han, she's gone." Sean says. "Cut the shit. It's not funny."

"No, I'm serious. Look." Han looks at you were a few minutes ago to see . Little did they know that Hanseok tracked you down and followed them into the club.

He bought off Han's guards so you became easy access. Then he just pulled you into a room and shoved you in. Crawling away from him on the floor, you frantically searched for anything you could use as a weapon. Then your eyes fall on a mirror.

"You almost killed me, you know. Vincenzo nearly did it, but he was so caught up on making me suffer as you requested, that it gave me the chance to be saved." Hanseok explains, pulling off his hoodie to show his scarred body.

"Oh God," you whimper. "I'm going to enjoy this," He says, pulling a knife from his belt. You stand up in a wide stance and put your hands up so you could deflect his blows. Your hands were shaking, your worst nightmare has come to life but you can't forget what Vincenzo taught you after he left Korea.

He came to Japan to visit you and see how you were doing. In return for assisting with Hanseok's execution, he taught you how to defend yourself from any deadly weapon. "What? You really think you're going to fight me?"

"The days where I cower from you are over, Hanseok. You want to kill me? Go ahead and try." You snark, shifting your weight from one foot to the next as you waited for him to strike. "Where the hell could she be? She was just here!" Han snaps, looking around the crowd frantically.

You scrambled out of the room with blood sprayed across your neck from when she stabbed Hanseok in the chest with a piece of glass. He should be dead but knowing that he has a vendetta, he's not going to die so easily. You spot Han in the crowd and ran towards him.

"What the hell happened?" "H-hanseok, he's still alive. He tried to kill me." You whimpered, tears building in your eyes. "Where is he?" Han asked. You could see his eyes darken with anger but chose not to question it. You took his hand and followed him into the room where Hanseok held his chest heaving.

Han took out his phone to call DK who answered on the first ring. "Bring your gun. We have some business to take care of." Han says coldly. "Take her back to my place and don't leave her side until I get there." Han says to Sean, talking as if you weren't standing right there.

"No, I'm staying with you." You start, grabbing a hold of his arm. "I don't want you to see me like this," Han says, pulling his arm away hesitantly. "Come on, Y/N." Sean says and Han reassured, "I'll be fine." You nodded before following Sean to the car.

Hours passed and you were on the verge of taking Han's car and going back to the club when Han slowly walks through the door. Sean and you looked at him with wide eyes when you notice blood splattered across his clothes and face. He was practically drenched in it.

"You can take my car back home, Sean. I won't be leaving for a while." Han says softly and Sean nods his head, choosing not the say a word. He leaves the apartment and you spring to your feet. You try to cup his face to get a good look at him but he moves away.

"Han," "Let me get cleaned up first," he walks passed you and turns on the shower. You wait on the couch for him to finish his shower, chewing on the inside of your cheeks nervously. He finally walks back in with black sweatpants and a white tank top.

"I'm headed to bed. It's been a long day." He says. "Don't do that. Talk to me. Please." You say, standing in his way. "What happened?" You add.

"Do you really want to know?" "I want to know if you're okay." "Well I don't want to talk about it. Good night." He dismissed before walking upstairs to his room.

You respected his decision and decided to stay in the living room with a clear view of the door. Just in case Hanseok crawls out of his grave and finds his way back to you again. Truthfully, you didn't feel the need to sleep. But after you became hyper-vigilant of the door, your eyes closed on their own.

You woke to a soft hand touching your cheeks. Gasping away, you grab Han's hand. "Hey, relax, it's just me." He says and you loosen your grip on him. Sitting up, you tuck your knees into your chest. "What are you doing awake?" You ask.

"I couldn't sleep." He says, followed by a long silence. "Thank you, for doing that for me. I don't know how to repay you." You say. "You don't have to repay me." "Of course I do. What you did is traumatic. It'll effect you in ways I can't fix." "As long as you're by my side, Y/N. I can get through anything."

"Han," you start, but he turned your chin so you are facing him. "I love you," he says, making your heart flutter. You lean forward and pressed your lips to him. Piling yourself in his lap, you pull away to say, "I love you too."

He stands from the couch and carries you into the bedroom, occasionally pecking you on the way. He lays down on the bed and you straddled his lap. You unbuttoned your shirt and let it fall off your shoulders. Your hands found his chest but he sits up and rolls so you are laying on your back.

He glances down at your bare chest before wrapping his lips around one of your nipples. Your head falls onto his soft pillow as he continued to work on your sensitive nub. He pulls away with a satisfying pop before blowing cool air and pressing a soft kiss to your nipple.

He does the same to the other breast and your back arches off of the bed, gasping when your clothes buckle rubs against his crotch. He kisses down the line of your stomach before pulling off your fleece shorts, leaving more kisses in it's wake. He settles himself in between your legs and props your legs on his shoulder.

"Oh God," you whine when he laps your folds painfully slow and kitten licks your clit before lapping your fold again. Your hand rakes through his fine hair and he links one of his hands with yours, resting it on your stomach. You rolled your hips at the same time his kitten licked you clit and your legs spasm as you release yourself into his mouth.

"You taste amazing, ojo." He says. He uses his thumb to part your folds before going to work on your clit much faster now. "Han! Oh God, oh God, oh God," you chant as your grip on his hair tightens and you lift your hips off the bed. He push you back down gently and unlinks his hand with yours so his body could shadow over yours.

His free hand rubs circles on your clit and you moan into his mouth. "Han, please." "Shh, chisana hana." You moan at his pet name for you. Little flower. I think it fits. He captures your lips in a slow kiss that you were so caught up in, you didn't even notice that he pulled off his pants and started to pump himself.

He gently parts your legs and slides the tip along your folds to gather your juices. He slides himself in and your toes curl as his dick brushes up against a sensitive spot in your pussy. He waits for you to adjust and you signal him to move by nodding softly. His thrust are slow but deep and he buries his face into your neck.

You rest your hands on his lower back and he continued to rub your clit as he thrusted into you. A whine leaves your lips as you come apart under him but he continues to thrust into you. He lifted one leg over his shoulder and kept the other one hooked around his waist.

Digging your nails into his back, he moans and arches his back, digging himself deeper into you. "Of fuck," he moans into your neck and thrusting into you faster until you came undone once again. You were seeing stars as he cums after three hard thrusts.

He pulls out of you and lays down next to you, nuzzling himself into you neck and leaves soft kisses. The entire time, it felt like you were floating on a cloud. His touches felt light as a feather but burned into your skin the more he touched you.

It was nothing like sex with Hanseok. Han puts your needs before his own and he actually takes care of you in ways you didn't even know were possible. "Can I tell you something?" "Sure," you lay on your side, resting your hand on the side of your face.

"I think I fell for you and it scares the hell out of me." He confesses and you reach over to trace the side of his face. He waits for you to say something and a soft smile plays on your lips. "I think I fell for you as soon as we met. But we don't have to rush anything. We have nothing but time." You say softly.

"Come here," he says,.opening his arms and you wrap your arms around his neck, hiking your leg over his waist.

#han lue #fastfurious #fluff #smut #vincenzo fic #vincenzo

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wolferine · 3 years

Text

Unforgivable - Part 2

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Summary: When the reader loses their temper, it causes them to commit an act they can never take back...

Warnings: Violence, blood, torture, death

Word count: 2372

Part 1

Tags: @yeetus-thyself @phoenixofash @lilclownx @yeeterthekeeper @alessiapn @diaryoflife

AN: Please read to the end before you come after me. :)

Everything is a blur. The last thing you remember is cradling Natasha in your lap and seeing the pain of betrayal in her eyes. You did this to her. You couldn’t control your anger and now she had a bullet—shot out of your gun—in her back. You hurt her and there was no way you could ever forgive yourself for that.

You finally let Tony get close enough to take care of her, because you realized you don’t deserve her anymore.

You run away from the Avengers Tower, your leg slowing you down, but you don’t care. Each step feels like a knife rubbing against your bone, but even that’s not enough to distract you from the pain in your chest. It feels like someone has torn you open, ripped your heart out of your ribcage, and thrown it into a bonfire.

But you have no one to blame than yourself.

Tears stream down your face as you stumble through the streets, eventually finding some privacy in a nearby forest. Your sobs echo through the trees as you crawl hand over hand, your uniform shredding open on bushes and branches. The trickle of a creek calls to you and you dunk your bloody hands in the freezing water, desperate to wash yourself of your failures.

You can’t believe what you’ve done.

The scene of Natasha falling to the floor plays over and over in your head and you would pay anything to unsee it. You curl into a ball, wiping your nose on your knees. You deserve all the pain and misery for your actions. You’re so caught up in your head, thinking about all the ways you can punish yourself, that you don’t notice the group of men sneaking up on you from behind.

“Over there! Over there!”

“By the creek, see?”

“Wait—that’s an Avenger?”

“Looks like someone had a bad day.”

“Hey, Y/N.”

At the sound of your name, you finally lift your head, only for the butt of a shotgun to slam into your face. Your nose breaks and blood fills your mouth. You turn away, not even interested in protecting yourself. If they killed you, you would thank them.

“Aw, come on. At least give us a reaction,” someone says.

The shotgun butt smashes against the back of your head and you wouldn’t be surprised if it cracked your skull. Someone kicks your leg where you were shot, and you bite your lip to hold back a scream.

“Well, this is anti-climactic.”

“Hey, if it makes our job easier, I’m not gonna complain.”

“I still think Hammer’s weird for wanting Y/N over the other Avengers.”

“Given the circumstances, he couldn’t really be picky—”

“Stop standing around and get to it!” someone yells.

The men surround you, punching and kicking every inch of you. The bulletproof vest of your uniform does little to lessen the impact of their blows. You feel bruises forming along your ribs and your rattling teeth bite your lips bloody. It doesn’t take long for you to black out and the peace is blissful.

***********************************************************************

Sometime later—you have no idea how long—you jolt awake, finding yourself strapped to a metal chair in the middle of a dark, concrete room. A man in glasses and a gray suit with white gloves stands in front of you.

“Hello, I’m Justin Hammer,” he says, offering a hand, then withdrawing when he realizes your arms are tied to the chair. “Sorry, force of habit.”

You stare at him. Your tongue pokes around the inside of your mouth and you notice some teeth are missing. There is a painful crick in your neck every time you try moving your head and every breath you take feels like a razor blade scraping the inside of your lungs.

“You’ve probably never heard of me, but I’m very familiar with you and your work with the Avengers. But the reason I have you here today is to talk about this man.” Hammer pulls out a folded photograph from his pocket and shows it to you.

It’s Tony Stark, but you have no desire to even think of that man anymore.

“Your best friend, right?” Hammer teases and you curl your lip at him. “What’s wrong? He’s the one who got you a spot on the team, isn’t he?” You look away from him. “I heard what he did to your girl,” he continues. “That must’ve felt like the betrayal of the century.”

“What?” you ask, confused as to what he’s referring to.

“I heard about what happened at the Avengers Tower. So tragic.” Hammer crumples Tony’s photograph and drops it on the floor. “Romanoff didn’t deserve that.”

“W-What are you talking about? Is she okay?” Your bottom lip quivers in fear.

Hammer kneels in front of you. “She’s dead, Y/N.”

“No, no…” You feel like he’s punched you right through the chest. “T-That’s not possible.”

“I’m sorry. I know she meant a lot to you.” Hammer stands again.

“How do you even know what happened at the Tower?” Given its security, there was no way news like that reached the public. At least not the truth of it. Maybe Hammer was just trying to mess with you.

Hammer motions behind him and a blonde woman steps forward from the shadows. Her face jolts your memory, but you don’t remember exactly where from.

“Recognize her?” Hammer asks. “She actually works for me, but she’s been pretending to be a SHIELD agent for some time now. She was right outside the door when your little spat with Stark went down.” Your mind flashes back to when you returned from the mission with Natasha. On your way to the private Avengers’ quarters, you remember passing the same blonde woman right outside the door.

“She heard everything that happened inside,” Hammer says as the blonde woman retreats into the darkness again.

“N-Natasha’s…She’s…She’s not dead,” you stammer.

Hammer shakes his head. “She went into surgery after Stark shot her, but due to the placement of the bullet, there were some complications and she coded on the table. They couldn’t revive her. That part was all over the news.”

You feel so sick you want to vomit. “I…I killed her?”

“No. You didn’t kill her. Tony Stark killed her.”

You start gasping for air, only worsening the pain in your chest. “No—But—He—I’m the one who pulled the trigger—”

“But you weren’t aiming for her. You were aiming for Stark, and he’s the one who deflected the bullet into her,” Hammer says. “He’s also the one who sent you two on that mission to begin with, wasn’t he? The reason you lost your cool and pulled your gun out? Think, Y/N. All of this is Stark’s fault.”

But the sadness of thinking you’ve killed Natasha is too overwhelming. You can’t focus on anything but your own guilt. You will burn in hell for this and you won’t even mind.

“Listen to me, Y/N!” Hammer snaps, striking you across the face. His rings cut into your cheek and blood fills your mouth. “I hate Stark just as much as you do. He’s been my business rival for years and I need someone to help me take him down. Who better than you, a former friend of his, who knows how to hit him where it hurts?”

You start crying at the thought of having to exist in a world without Natasha Romanoff.

Hammer tries getting your attention by slapping you again, but you’re unresponsive. You’re too lost in your grief to process anything he’s saying, and eventually he gives up, promising to come back another time to reveal his master plan to you.

It takes an entire month before he can even communicate with you. Your depression is all-consuming and their threats on your life have no effect. They’re startled to learn you actually enjoy the torture because you believe you deserve it after what you did to Natasha. But Hammer is relentless and finally figures out how to manipulate you into his bidding.

Six months after your capture and the accident, you finally crack. Your agony and pain turns into pure rage and hatred for Tony Stark. You can’t bring Natasha back, but you can get revenge on the man who took her life. After training with Hammer’s technology, which is almost as advanced as Tony’s, you’re deemed ready to be let out in the real world. Hammer personally asks for your help to kill Tony Stark, and it’s an offer you accept gladly.

***********************************************************************

Three months after the accident…

Natasha wakes up and looks to her right, disappointed to see the bed still empty. She’s tricked herself into believing that one day you’ll show up, ready to pick up the pieces and continue where you left off. But nothing has been the same since you left.

She sits up and turns the lights on. She scoots to the edge of the bed and carefully lifts her body into the wheelchair parked there.

The bullet had struck her lumbar spine, shattering her L1 vertebrae and paralyzing her from the waist down. Tony requested help from the best doctors he knew, but even the greatest modern advancements couldn’t repair her spine. He had personally designed her wheelchair, and she knows she should be grateful to still be alive, but she’s never felt so helpless and alone.

After the accident, you ran off and no one could locate you. Secretly, she held onto the hope you would return one day, but she knows your guilt and shame are keeping you away. She wants to tell you that it wasn’t your fault and that she doesn’t hate you, but you’re not even giving her that chance.

Tony made the public announcement that Black Widow had retired from the Avengers. No one knew she had been paralyzed, nor that you had unofficially resigned from the team. Without you, without Black Widow, Natasha didn’t know who she was anymore.

She leaves her bedroom and goes into the kitchen. Tony arranged most of the food and dishes down to her new height but she feels like she’ll never adjust to not being able to stand anymore. She locates a bowl and a box of cereal and rolls over to the table. She chokes down dry Cheerios and pours her second bowlful when Tony walks in.

“Thank God you’re finally up,” he says. “When you’re done, I have something to show you.”

“Y/N?” She perks up.

“Uh…no…”

Natasha knows Tony blames himself just as much as she does for her accident, but it wasn’t his fault either. She wrestled between anger and guilt, sometimes blaming you, sometimes blaming him. But in the end, it’s easier to blame herself. She should have stopped you the moment you took out your gun, regardless of whether or not you pushed her. But she got so caught up in the moment she froze, and now she was paralyzed and you were gone.

“Just come down to my workshop, okay?” Tony disappears again.

With nothing better to do, Natasha takes the elevator down to Tony’s workshop. She doesn’t visit often, but when she does, she’s always impressed by his latest inventions and gadgets. She rolls down the aisle of old Iron Man suits displayed in glass cases, admiring the subtle differences in each one.

“Where are you, Tony?” she calls.

“Over here!” He waves her down from the other end. “I’ve been working on this for a while, and I know it’s a little premature, but I couldn’t help myself.” Tony stands next to another Iron Man suit, but it doesn’t quite look like it will fit him.

The suit is curved to fit a woman, black and red instead of Tony’s iconic red and gold. Natasha sees a red hourglass emblazoned on the belt buckle.

“What…What is this, Tony?” she asks, tears in her eyes.

“It’s an Iron Widow suit,” he says. “Or, whatever you want to call it. You’ll have to get in and test it out for yourself, but it’ll allow you to walk again and…be an Avenger again.”

Natasha wishes she could throw herself into his arms, but pulls him down to her level instead. “Thank you,” she whispers, wiping her face. She never thought she would be able to serve as an Avenger again, but she’ll take the opportunity if it means taking her mind off recent events.

“Ready to try it out?” Tony presses a button on the side of the suit and the suit opens up, bending into a crouched position so Natasha can get in it like a chair.

She smiles for the first time since the accident.

“I am.”

***********************************************************************

Six months after the accident…

Natasha is in the gym, lifting dumbbells on a bench when Tony walks in. Although she now has a legitimate excuse for skipping leg day for the rest of her life, she now has to make sure her upper body is twice as strong to make up for it.

“Look who decided to slide through my DMs this morning,” Tony says, shoving his phone in her face.

Midnight. Central Park Carousel. Come alone.

The text was from you.

“Oh, my God,” Natasha says, setting the weights down. You haven’t even texted her since the accident, and she’s a little hurt you didn’t reach out to her first. “What’s this about?”

“I have no idea.” Tony shrugs. “I know it says for me to go alone, but since it’s from Y/N, I wanted to ask if you wanted to tag along.”

“Of course.” In a way, Natasha feels like the text is really meant for her. Central Park was where you had asked her to be your girlfriend. That couldn’t be a coincidence.

“I’ll need you to be on your A-game. We have no idea what Y/N’s been up to these past six months. I don’t know if you’re gonna like what we find,” Tony says.

Natasha has spent countless nights wondering where you’ve been and what you’re doing. Now she has the chance to find out. “It’s going to be okay, Tony,” she says.

He shakes his head. “Just so you know, I’m praying more for you than me right now.”

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Click here for Part 3!

AN: I never went to medical school, so forgive my medical inaccuracies.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff fanfic #black widow #black widow fanfiction #marvel imagine #natasha x reader

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mangofetts · 4 years

Text

star wars filthy headcanons

NSFW UNDER THE CUT!!

din djarin

HUGE breeding kink. this man loves to fill you to the brim. every mandalorian learns from a young age about the resol’nare and he wants to fulfill his duty as best he can. on the subject of this, he cums a lot, like an unhealthy amount. this comes from the mando race in general.

big bondage fan. loves to use the binders on you or tie you up with rope. he uses the magnetic binders so he can pin your hands above you and keep them there without him constantly making sure they’re there. also helps him relax and make sure that you don’t make any moves to take off his helmet while he’s not paying attention (not that you would, but he likes to make sure). he also likes pinning you with his body. loves gagging you as well.

cum play. since his load is big, it doesn’t stay in you for long so he likes to go back in with his fingers and plug your cunt so no more comes out. he loves facials and/or cumming on your chest, belly, and thighs. something about that just drives him crazy, seeing you marked with him. he also scoops the cum up and feeds it to you or even rubs it into your skin like it’s oil for a massage (he’ll clean you up real good if he does that don’t worry ;))

gun play. he likes when you’re helpless under him with his blaster to your forehead as he tells you to not move or make any noise. there have beens times where he fucks you on his blaster and makes you suck all your juices off of it. HE ALWAYS MAKES SURE THE CHAMBER IS EMPTY AND THE SAFETY IS ON BEFORE HE DOES THIS. he does not want to hurt you unless you want it and he would never shoot you.

control and authority kink. he likes to have control over you. likes to pull your strings and make you do whatever he says. even better if you’re a brat, he’ll just have to be rougher with you.

a dom/sub relationship, with you being the sub most of the time. you guys use a lot of bdsm elements. you don’t call him any names in bed unless he wants you to. it’s either mando or din.

cockwarming!! he likes to make sure that his cum stays inside of you and he likes the feeling of you around him.

praise kink both ways. he likes to praise you for taking him so well, for listening to him. and he likes to be praised because he wants to know what he’s doing is good. he’s been deprived of praise since he was little (the mandalorians are proud of him, just never showed it) so he needs it when he’s with you.

paz vizsla

once again, huge breeding kink for the same reasons as din. he also just loves kids and would like to have his own clan instead of looking after other foundlings. he also cums an inhuman amount.

DADDY KINK. he loves being your daddy in bed, especially when you’re nice and desperate for him. this also has to do with the breeding kink, just all around big daddy vibes.

body worship. people are often afraid of him and he blames it on how big he is. sometimes he needs someone to tell him he’s not frightening. he loves doing to same for you, complimenting you endlessly if you need some pick-me-ups or if he’s just in the mood (which is literally all the time.

cockwarming. after filling you up, he likes to clean you up, and then put his soft cock back inside of you so his cum stays inside of you. will usually end up in morning sex.

praise kink. he LOVES being praised by you. telling him that he’s so good, that he’s absolutely beautiful, and that he’s strong makes him PREEN. he tries to return the favor by praising you, but he stammers and stutters it out because he’s not used to saying stuff like that out loud.

size kink. this man is 6’3”, almost 6’6” with his armor on. he loves smaller people because they’re tiny and fragile and he could just crush them in the palm of his hand. he is THICK. 100% GRASS FED BEEF MY GUY. big tiddies, big arms, big guy in general. he is very blessed under the belt, his cock is inhumanly big. he likes to hold you down and make you take it. likes to watch you take it too. if you want to drive him crazy, make it look like you are absolutely struggling to take him; any form of that will make him keen. tell him that his cock is too big for you, that’s he’s so big and that he’s going to split you in half. he will break you and you won’t be able to walk for days.

definitely a voyeur. he likes watching you pleasure yourself. he also likes being watched, even more than you’d think.

likes when you play hard to get. like he’s a predator and your his pray. alas you won’t run very far, his legs are longer than yours, but it’s what he does that makes it worth it.

boba fett

control kink, this is pretty obvious. notorious bounty hunter. he likes having complete control over you. this leads into his bondage kink.

bondage, also likes using the binders on you, no rope though, just the binders. he likes to watch you struggles and they make pretty bruises on your wrists and ankles.

likes to mark you up, make sure everyone knows that you’re his. he doesn’t want to lose his baby now does he? bites and bruises all over your body from his mouth, hands, and sometimes his boots if you’re into that.

spanking as well, he likes to make sure that you stay in your place. he doesn’t like a brat; he knows how to tame one though!!

gunplay FOR THE WIN. likes to hold the gun to your head while he fucks you, sometimes puts it in your mouth. he likes to fuck you with it and make you suck the barrel of it off. LIKE I SAID BEFORE HE MAKES SURE THAT THE CHAMBER IS EMPTY AND THAT THE SAFETY IS ONE. also likes using vibroblades on you too.

likes to slap and pull your hair.

HE CANNOT BE GENTLE AT THE BEGINNING OF YOUR RELATIONSHIP. you have to sit him down and explain/convince him to take some scenes slow. once he gets the hang of it he likes slow sex. likes to revel in the pleasure.

definitely likes to tease. he likes seeing you desperate. loves keeping you wrapped around his finger.

darth maul

breeding kink, he wants you to get pregnant SO BAD. he really wants kids of his own. he LOVES coming in you and plugging your cunt with a toy.

cockwarming. something about having his cock in you relaxes him immensely. he likes having you in his lap while he works and you sleep (or squirm).

likes to sub AND dom. he likes being fucked and fucking. ruling mandalore is hard and sometimes he needs to give someone else control. usually the scene is you fucking him with your cock, or you fucking him with your hole. either way is a great time for him.

likes to hurt you, but only if you like it. most of it is lightsaber play and knife play. he likes watching you scream and writhe under him. one time he used the saber to carve his initials on your thigh. another way he likes to hurt you is digging his sharp horns into your inner thigh while he’s eating you out. he likes watching you flinch away from him.

praise kink. he is not what people picture when they think of a handsome man. so whenever you praise him is a nice time for him.

MASTER KINK. he likes being called this, it’s like he has an apprentice even though palpatine told him he was incapable of having one.

likes collars and harnesses. he likes letting people know that you’re his. plus your chest looks amazing in those harnessses.

DIRTY TALK AND PET NAMES. this man is one smooth motherfucker. he’ll call you princess/prince, baby, kitten, darling, sweetheart. he will whisper dirty things to you, just to get you riled up.

kylo ren/ben solo

the biggest dom AND sub you will ever see. he likes being fucked and fucking.

pain kink, if he’s subbing, he likes when you pull his hair, cut him with his pocket knife, burn him with his own lightsaber, or even you stepping on his dick. not too hard, you don’t want to damage his goods, but hard enough for it to be slightly painful. the thrill of it all makes him blow his load HARD. if he has any open wounds he likes to press on them so more blood comes out + it’s painful. scenes like these usually end with a short trip to the medbay. if he’s domming he will not hurt you, not even superficially. most of the pain comes from him pulling your hair and pushing you to your knees harshly.

praise kink. after everything that’s happened, he definitely wants some soft loving sometimes. he likes giving and receiving praise!! although it takes him a bit to get the words out since he never says those things out loud anywhere else.

also kind of has a master kink, but prefers to hear his name over that.

he takes almost all of his stress out in your sessions so he’s nice a pliable after a good fuck or two.

aftercare is HIGH TIER. he has a nice bed, you like to stretch out on it while he gets you a glass of water and a warm wet towel to clean you up. usually some back rubs as well.

he loves being degraded. being told that his dick is too small, or that he’s a slut, or even that he’s nothing gets him going like nothing else. any insults you throw at him will be met with a groan or a keen if it’s especially mean.

can absolutely go more than one round. his stamina IS CRAZY.

these are off of the top of my head lol

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nothinghcppens · 3 years

Text

small talk- pietro maximoff

part 1

part 2 here

masterlist

pair: pietro maximoff x female!reader

summary: after being apart of the team of super soldiers that hydra experimented on, y/n was one of the successful experiments and had been released to the world. the winter soldier and the siren had become the most prolific assassin duo in the world. but what happens when they get taken in by the avengers? what happens when she meets a particularly fast superhero with an attitude?

warnings: swearing, slight mentions of trauma

bang. the bullet left your gun and went through the targets skull and his body dropped to the floor with a thud. behind you, your partner barnes did the same, the body hitting the ground.

“go.” he demanded, pushing you forward. you ripped off your mask and turned to face him.

“don’t touch me.” you spat. you bent down and grabbed your knife, twirling it round your hand and placing it in your belt.

“hurry up. we have to report back to hydra.” barnes said, checking the bullets in his gun.

“you don’t tell me what to do.” you barked, sending him a sharp glare.

“shut your fucking mouth.” he seethed.

you went to retaliate but stopped yourself when he raised his finger to his mask, looking around.

“get down!” he called, throwing himself behind the wall. you dropped and rolled behind a metal box, covering your head. two smoke bombs went off next to you, clouding your vision. you peered around the box, seeing barnes stepping out of his hiding place, gun raised. you put your mask back on so that your identity wouldn’t be compromised and stood up. you took your knives out your belt and raised them.

trails of blue flashed in front of your eyes. you furrowed your eyebrows, confused and spin round, slashing your knives through the smoke. you heard barnes grunt and heard his body hit the ground. that was your cue to leave, you were in danger. you broke out in a sprint, preparing yourself to jump off the roof. but those blue trails cut in front of you, knocking you on the floor. you felt a sharp pain in your neck and your eyes began to feel heavy. you tried to kick and push yourself up but it was no use. your vision went blurry and everything kept going in and out of focus. before your eyes completely shut you felt a pair of arms reach under you and pick you up.

“i’ve got her! someone got barnes?” the voice said, it was a man with a thick foreign accent. the world went dark.

your eyes shot open and you tried to sit up but you couldn’t, your arms and legs were bound by some kind of force. your eyes darted around and landed on tow people standing guard. there was a man with light brown hair, his arms were large and crossed over his chest and a younger man with bleach blonde hair and a scruffy beard.

“good morning, sleeping beauty.” there was that accent again, he was the one who took you.

“pietro, enough.” the other man said. “i’m steve rogers.”

“i didn’t ask.” you mumbled. the man you learned to be name pietro let out a noise of surprise.

“you are y/n y/l/n, more commonly known as the siren. you are one of the more dangerous assassins on the planet.” steve said.

“how do you know my name? no one knows my name.” you questioned, trying to free yourself from their restraints.

“we know a lot about you, you and your partner james barnes.” pietro explained. steve stiffened at barnes’ name, does he know him?

“friday, tell stark that she’s awake. i’ll meet him in the lab.” steve announced.

“of course, captain rogers.” a female voice replied from thin air. you looked around confused, where did that come from? he left the room and went to find whoever he’s looking for, leaving you alone with pietro.

“how did you find us? where am i?” you asked.

“you were pretty easy to track down considering the trail of bodies you two leave all over the globe.” he declared. he pulled a chair over and spun it round, straddling it.

“well how come it took you guys this long to find us?” you spat, not liking how much he’s enjoying this, “who even are you?”

“we’re the avengers.” a man announced from the door. he had dark brown hair and a beard, he was wearing a zip up fleece and jeans. stood next to him was the steve that you had met previously, “i’m tony.”

“stark?” you asked, having heard his name throughout the hydra base you were trapped in.

“the one and only.” he said with a bow.

“are you all like that?” you questioned, really not in the mood for their nonsense.

“like what?” steve asked.

“annoying.” you spat.

“she’s feisty. i like her.” pietro stated with a smile.

“yeah. i’m dangerous too.” you commented.

“not when you’re trapped like this you aren’t.” he replied. he stood up from his chair and peered over at you. you struggled against your restaints and tried to get yourself free, but it was still no use. he chuckled condescendingly and you rolled your eyes.

“right, we’ll let you out. but you have to promise not to go all super soldier on us. we stopped you once before, we can do it again.” tony said, stepping forward and pushing pietro away from you. “we’ll explain why you are here and what we want from you.”

you agreed to stay calm as long as they explain what’s going on. they removed the restraints and you practically leapt out of the bed, landing unsteadily on your feet.

“careful there.” pietro muttered, reaching his hand out for you.

“don’t pretend that you care.” you grumbled. a look of hurt flashed in his eyes but was quickly replaced by that sarcastic smirk that never seemed to leave his face. “so, why am i here?”

“come with me and i’ll explain it.” tony said. you looked down at your clothes and saw that you were still in the same clothes from your last mission except your belt was missing along with your jacket and bulletproof vest.

“where’s my belt?”

“confiscated, for obvious reasons.” steve explained. you groaned and pushed your way past the men and out the room, tony following behind you. you stopped quickly, realising that you didn’t know where you were going. he overtook you and you walked behind him.

“welcome to the avengers tower. we brought you here because we know that hydra have experimented on you and barnes and you have been their weapons for the past few years. barnes and steve knew each other during their war days so steve wanted to free him and you, well you just got lucky.” he looked back and saw your angry expression.

“i’m only kidding, you’ll be a good asset to us. we’ve just got to get hydra out your brain. they’ve wormed their way inside you and at any moment you could go all assassin and try to murder us all.”

“they don’t control me.” you stated.

“say what you want, but they do. you won’t realise it but they are using you.” he stopped you and his tone went more serious. “pietro and his sister wanda, they were experimented on by hydra. they got sent out to attack us. we helped them realise hydra’s hold on them.”

“maybe i don’t want your help.” you said, thrusting your head towards him in an attempt to intimidate him. he didn’t flinch.

“i think you do. would you rather go back to being tortured?” he queried.

“i-“ you didn’t know how to respond.

“that’s what i thought, so i suggest you take our help before we change our mind.” he said, turning away and heading up the stairs. you jogged up behind him and followed him as he led you along a hall lined with doors. “welcome to your room, get yourself cleaned up and when you’re ready just ask friday to alert someone and they’ll come and bring you down.”

“who the hell is friday?” you asked.

“friday?” he announced.

“yes mr stark?” that voice from earlier replied.

“this is y/n y/l/n, she’s new here. i’m just introducing you to her. make sure she doesn’t leave her room unless accompanied.” tony said, opening the door.

“no problem, it’s lovely to meet you miss y/l/n.” friday added.

“uh yeah, you too.” you spoke quietly, unsure of who or what you’re talking to.

you stepped into the room and turned round to see tony flash you a small smile before closing the door on you. you let out a sigh and looked around the room. there was a large king sized bed against the right wall, a rug across the centre of the floor. there was a wardrobe and a set of drawers which you pulled open and saw filled with clothes.

“uh friday?” you asked.

“yes miss y/l/n?” the robot lady replied.

“who’s clothes are these?”

“they belong to miss romanoff and miss maximoff, they are for you to borrow until you can purchase your own.”

why would they give you their clothes? they don’t even know you. do they not know who they’re dealing with?

you let out a sigh and turned to the door on the left side of the room and opened it. inside was a bathroom equipped with a large glass shower and a small smile crept onto your face. you stripped yourself of your clothes and ran the water at the highest temperature. you stepped into the shower and felt the hot water run over your body, goosebumps forming on your body at the change of temperature. picking up the coconut scented shampoo, you opened the bottle and took a long inhale of the scent before placing some in your hand and running it through your hair. then doing the same with the conditioner. you then washed your body with the body wash they provided you with, it was amazing. constantly being on the run and in hiding, you never got the opportunity often to take a minute to take care of yourself.

after the shower you brushed your hair and got changed into some sweatpants and a hoodie. you lay down on the bed and closed your eyes for a moment, you didn’t mean to fall asleep but as soon as your head hit those soft pillows you were out like a light.

you were awoken by a soft knock at your door and a voice calling your name, “y/n?” you recognised it to be pietro and you shot up. you glanced around and noticed it was darker outside, it had been a few hours.

“sorry, come in.” you called, your voice a little hoarse from sleep. he opened the door and leaned against the doorframe.

“uh sorry to bother you but tony wanted me to come and make sure you hadn’t escaped or something.” he explained.

“still here.” you stated.

“i see that.” he replied.

“is there something else you need?” you asked. all of a sudden he wasn’t standing at the door, those flashes of blue light whizzed past your eyes and he was next to you on the bed. “speedy, how fun.” you complained.

he chuckled and flopped back on your bed. “make yourself at home i guess.” you said.

“so, hydra huh?”

“careful you might trigger the super solider within me.” you teased. “seriously though, i don’t know what you guys did but i don’t have the urge to complete my missions. i don’t feel like i have to murder anyone in my sight.”

“well that’s always a bonus.” he joked, moving himself up the bed and resting his arms behind his head on the bed frame.

“what was it like for you?” you asked, sitting cross-legged.

“isolated in a case, random injections, training. standard stuff. you?”

“shock therapy. makes me forget who i am.” you explained.

“wow. sounds like fun.” you huffed out a laugh, “what makes you change? how do they control you?”

“they have these books, one for each of us and there’s a sequence of words that like triggers something in each soldier. they just say them and it’s like a switch flips and then i’m ‘ready to command’.”

“sorry to interrupt but i have a message from mr stark.” friday announced, tony’s voice came blasting through, “speedy you had one job. see if i come up and see that the siren has brutally murdered you, i will not be sorry.”

you laughed at tony’s message and looked at pietro who’s expression was the same as yours.

“friday, i have a message for stark. put me through.” he said, “fortunately for you i am still alive, you better watch it before i send her to brutally murder you. we’ll be down soon.”

“he seems nice.” you stated.

“he’s a pain in the ass. wait till you meet clint, he’s even worse.” he joked.

“god, can he be any worse than you?” you questioned, copying his sarcastic smile.

“rude.” he said, getting off the bed, “let’s take you down.”

he took out out of the room and back down the stairs, he stopped at a large set of double doors and turned to look at you giving you a nod. he pushed open the doors and opened his arms wide, “i’m back! and i brought a guest.”

“took you long enough.” tony complained.

“what can i say? we get on like a house on fire, don’t we love?” pietro teased, placing his arm around your shoulder.

“just because i’m not being controlled by hydra, doesn’t mean i won’t kill you.” you growled and shrugged his arm off you.

“you’re right tony, she is feisty.” a man said from the sofa. “hi i’m clint.”

“where’s barnes?” you asked, ignoring him.

“he’s resting, i can take you to him if you want.” a woman with long brown hair suggested. “i’m wanda.” she added as she approached you.

“you’re pietro’s brother. tony told me about you.”

“glad to see my reputation proceeds me.” she chuckled. “come on.”

the walk began quiet until she broke the silence between you two, “i’m glad to see you and pietro are becoming friends.”

“far from friends.” you mumbled.

“he seems to think you are. it’s okay to admit it.” she said.

“nope. not friends.” you stated.

she laughed, “whatever you say. anyway, what’s barnes like? are you two close?”

“honestly, no. we only go on missions together and we don’t exactly get along. i don’t know much about him, i only know his last name. i guess there’s a lot of rivalry, we both want to impress them.” you explained.

“why do you want to see him then?” wanda asked.

“i want to meet him and get to know him when we’re both... free. maybe then we’ll get along.”

wanda pulled open the door and revealed your partner, the winter soldier lying on a bed in the same restraints you had been in this morning. steve sat in a chair next to him, eyes closed and his head on his shoulder.

“why is he still restrained?” you asked wanda.

“well, hydra seemed to have had more of an effect on him than you. he has been under their control for a lot longer than you have, so it’s taking him a while to come to terms with everything.” she explained.

you nodded your head in approval. wanda approached steve and nudged him awake, he blinked rapidly and looked around before meeting her gaze. “go get some rest, we’ll watch him.”

he nodded slowly and yawned before slipping out the room, leaving you two alone with the sleeping super soldier.

“i’ve never seen him this peaceful.” you mumbled, sitting down on the chair that steve left empty.

“where’s steve?” he grumbled, stirring awake.

“he’s away to get some rest, you’ve got us for now.” wanda said.

“siren?” he asked, now noticing your presence.

“yeah let’s drop that, call me y/n.” you insisted.

“how are you out? why am i still tied up?” he questioned.

a massive grin spread across your face, “you, my friend, are even more mentally unstable than i am. because hydra had you for like, what? 500 years? and they only had me for 8.”

“i am not 500 years old.” he spat.

“you certainly look it.” you muttered.

“what was that?” he asked.

“i’m kidding!” you chuckled, “it’s good to see you barnes.”

“bucky.” he said. a smile grew on your face.

“bucky.” you repeated.

———

a month or so passed and you had began to train with the rest of the team, you took it easy because they didn’t want to risk you somehow freaking out and trying to kill them all. during the month you had spent many hours in the lab with tony, running tests on you and making sure you were 100% safe to be around. he is still wary of you, so you aren’t allowed on out missions just yet, but, even if you were you wouldn’t go with them, just in case.

occasionally however, they let you join in for a few hours of training and you really enjoyed it. as much as you hated hydra and everything they put you through, you loved training and fighting, it was your nature. training was your release, it was your opportunity to take out your anger against the world. every punch was a way of pushing out every negative emotion pent up within you.

grunts left your mouth as you punched the punching back hanging in front of you and sweat dripped from your forehead. you then stopped and picked up a staff and moved to the dummy across the room. you took your stance and began to hit the dummy, changing techniques every so often. you felt a rush of wind behind you and stopped before turning around and sticking out the staff. pietro stopped on the left side of the stick, his sarcastic smile present on his face.

“remind me not to get on your bad side.” he stated, pushing the staff away from his face.

you rolled your eyes and turned round, “carry on with that attitude and next time i won’t hesitate to hit you.”

“well i’ve caught you once before, what makes you think i can’t do it again.”

“you caught me off guard. it doesn’t count.” you said, going back to your training.

“don’t be a sore loser, i did it for your own good.” he replied as he sped around and stood behind the dummy.

you looked up at your teammate, seeing his stupid smirk. deciding to make training even more enjoyable, instead of hitting the dummy in your next swing, you swung at pietro. he moved his head out the way and the stick missed him.

“what was that for?” he asked, a shocked smile spread on his face.

“you got on my bad side.” you replied, glaring up at him.

he grabbed the staff and thrusted it towards you, aiming for your stomach. you dropped and rolled out the way, and pushed yourself up, landing on your feet.

“just because i can’t tavel at the speed of sound, doesn’t mean i’m not fast.” you teased.

“him, we’ll see about that.” pietro said. all of a sudden he was gone, those trails of blue light following behind him. he stopped behind you, staff across your throat. his head rested at your right shoulder and you could hear his light breathing in your ear.

“okay fine. you win.” you stated, but before he let you go you grabbed hold of the stick and bent forward, flipping him over your head. he landed on the mat hard and you dropped on top of him, straddling his chest. you placed the staff across his throat and held it there with a sly smirk on your face.

“what? didn’t see that coming?” you questioned.

“impressive.” he said as you stood up and grabbed his arm, pulling him up with you.

you unwrapped the protective bandages from your hands and threw on a zip up hoodie over the sports bra you were wearing.

“want to order pizza?” pietro asked.

“no.” you replied.

“oh come on! it’ll be fun.” he said, leaning against the dummy.

“nope.”

“please.” he begged.

you glared up at him while tying your shoes. “fine.”

#pietro maximoff x reader #pietro maximoff imagine #pietro maximoff #pietro x reader #quicksilver x reader #quicksilver imagine #quicksilver #aaron taylor johnson #marvel cinematic universe #marvel imagine

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littleredwing89 · 3 years

Text

AGENT OF CHAOS - PART THREE

Jason Todd x Reader

Summary: Everything flew by him in a blur as he sped through the streets of Gotham. His foot slammed down harder on the accelerator desperate to get there faster. Every second counted. He knew all too well what The Joker was like. The way his face slipped as you defied him, terrified Jason. He’d seen that look right before receiving a crowbar to the face.

Warnings – Language. Kidnapping. Stalking. Mild Violence. Angst. Hurt.

Word Count: 4,870

A/N: This is the final chapter everyone, sorry for the little delay, I was working on a few of the actions scenes to ensure they were good. I really hope you all like this xoxo

~~~

It had been almost a month. Every lead turned into a dead end. Nothing. Much like the Joker himself, no one knew a thing. The whole thing was tearing Jason apart. He’d barely slept. He’d maybe had 3 hours per night. If that, and he was convinced the only reason he got sleep was because Bruce had slipped him something in his coffee.

The fourth cassette tape came with a dead yellow rose and a rotten apple. He pushed play on the recorder and swallowed thickly as the grainy camera zoomed in on your face. You looked pale. Your cheeks looked hollow and your once colourful eyes looked gaunt. Haunted.

“Well Jason, I’m a man of my word...I’ve been looking after her so good”, Joker laughed hysterically and smoothed his hand down your cheek, smacking it lightly. The slap caused you to jolt in the chair. A sharp gasp flew out of your chapped lips.

Jason felt Bruce’s hand squeeze his shoulder reassuringly. The notion sent a brief wave of calm through Jason. Maybe this was how Bruce felt all those years ago...when he received similar tape of ..of himself. Jason turned back to the screen and focused his eyes. Searching for a clue. Anything. Something to bring you back to him.

“She’s been such a good little princess bird boy...she’s done everything I asked...and more”, Joker whistled happily as he tapped your nose with a wicked smile. Jason felt his heart stop and looked directly into your eyes through the screen. Good he wanted to hold you in his arms and never let you go.

The tape skipped and replayed the same thing back, “...and more”. It skipped again, “...and more”. Jason growled and the tape paused before going completely black.

His fist smashed into the computer keyboard, pieces of black plastic scattering across the desk. Jason released a loud sobbing noise and sank to the cold stone floor of the bat cave. His eyes scrunched shut tightly, imagining you were in front of him. Giving him that silly smile you always did when you first woke up. It was one of his favourite smiles. You had hundreds of different types of smiles. The one you gave him when he hugged you randomly. The one you’d give him when he told you a stupid joke. The one you’d show him when you were both standing down one of the grocery aisles for no reason at all.

“Jason...son - we will find her - I promise you”, Bruce’s deep voice shattered Jason’s illusion of you in his mind.

“It’s been so long...what if-”, Jason ran a hand over his face. The stubble was longer, causing him to itch.

“Don’t”, Bruce warned, “don’t think like that. We will find her”.

~~~

The last cassette tape Jason received was covered in a dark, red sticky substance. Jason knew what it was but he didn’t know if it was yours. Before Jason could even think about playing it, Bruce had prized it from his fingers.

“Jason we need to analyse the blood, it might give us a clue”, his voice was stable and deep. He attempted to reassure Jason with a firm grip to the shoulder but it did nothing. Jason felt empty without you.

“We need to watch-”, Jason started but was interrupted by Bruce.

“No, I’ll watch it. You need to get some sleep, let me do this Jason. Please”, Bruce pleaded desperately, “You haven’t slept in over 48 hours”.

Jason laughed but it was hollow and sharp, “You really think I can sleep knowing she’s stuck with that fucking psycho?!”.

Bruce sighed and ran a hand over his face, “Jason I know you want to get Y/N back”, he placed the cassette onto a high tech scanning machine, it bleeped repeatedly as it scanned over the material, “But we all need to be working together and that means recharging our batteries”.

Jason scoffed and pushed past Bruce looking over the computer scanner typing something into the system, “So you’re telling me you went and had an eight hour sleep when Joker caught me?”.

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose, “Jason”.

“JUST STOP!!”, Jason's voice cracked as he shouted and for a moment, he sounded like the broken man in the abandoned shopping mall that long Halloween night many years ago.

“I-I need to do this Bruce. I-I have to, for Y/N”, his voice was scratchy and raw.

Bruce simply nodded and turned around. He extracted the cassette from the blood stained cloth and pushed it into the player to the right. Bruce took a secondary glance to Jason, giving him one last option but Jason just stared at the screen, waiting to see what the tape would show.

The second the tape played, the batcave was filled with your screams. They sounded broken and dry. Jason’s heart shattered. The shards stabbing him painfully. As you came into view on the camera, your long h/c hair was matted and stuck to your face. Blood staining it a deep red.

The Joker came into the view of the camera and smiled wide, his teeth showing.

“Jason, I see why you’re so attached to this woman, she’s very fiery...her spirit is impenetrable”.

A flicker of evil flew through his eyes at that word and a sick smile slid onto his lips, “but that’s fine. I’m sure I can find more penetrable spots”.

You tug harshly at your binds as he turned and came closer to you, a small blade held in his gloves hand.

“Hold still princess or I might accidentally cut an important part of you...or slit something”.

The blade cut the straps of your top, and the material fluttered down uselessly to the floor, exposing your padded black bra. The Joker whistled appreciatively and winked back at the camera.

“I say Jason...maybe I’m missing out not having a significant other...especially when they’re as beautiful as this”.

Jason had edged so close to the screen Bruce had to pull him back. Tears were running hotly down his cheeks and he swore he tasted blood from biting down on his bottom lip.

Your voice echoed through the empty warehouse room and through the camera speakers, “GO FUCK YOURSELF”.

The Joker smirked down at you and the blade was pressed against the skin of your neck.

“You should watch your manners, princesses don’t speak like that”.

You gulped and looked into his soulless eyes and laughed. It almost sounded as maniacal as his.

“I’m not your fucking princess”.

You spat at his face. Your spit mingled with blood from the earlier smack around the face.

“He’ll come for me...I know he will. And when he does, it’ll be all over for you”.

Something snapped and you saw his eyes darken. His face twisted and the scowl was demonic.

“You filthy fucking bitch!”, he roared and dropped the knife to wipe his face.

Joker turned to the camera and glowered, “I hope you’re watching Jason whilst I teach this rotten little whore some manners!”.

The first blow caused you to cry out in agony. It was harsh and fast. The sound to Jason was ear splitting. The second hit was drawn out and heavy. Designed to bruise. The third was sharp and felt like hundreds of tiny needles piercing your skin. The Joker was laughing wildly all the way through it. Never ceasing his treatment. As he swung his arm back for the fourth hit, the camera jarred and caught a window. Streams of light shone through. Jason could just about make out a sign. It was blurry.

“REWIND AND PAUSE IT BRUCE! There!!!”, he called and waited for Bruce to zoom in.

“Can you clear up that image...that looks like a road sign...”.

Bruce skipped the tape back several seconds, muting the sounds on the screen. The sounds of you getting smacked in the face shaking him to his core.

“THERE!!! LOOK!! Can you see?!”, Jason pressed his face as close as possible to the screen as Bruce paused it, the image flickered but the road sign was obvious.

ACE CHEMICALS.

Before Bruce could even react, Jason had launched himself across the cave, guns strapped to his thighs.

“Jason!”.

Jason ignored Bruce and grabbed his helmet, securing it into place whilst dropping extra magazine clips into his inner jacket pockets.

“Jason, we can’t just go in there all guns blazing. That’s what he’ll want! We have to think about this”, Bruce reasoned and moved into his path.

Huffing in annoyance, Jason’s modulator covered it easily, “I’m going to get her whether you come with me or not”.

Bruce looked stunned for a split second before softening his voice, “You’re letting your emotions get the better of you - they’re clouding your judgment Jason”.

He knew he was right, deep down. But the pressure. The torture you must have endured. Everything. It weighed down on Jason and began to suffocate him slowly. The more time he wasted, the worse it was going to be. He couldn’t do it.

“Let me get into my suit and we’ll tackle this together”.

Nodding briefly, Jason watched Bruce make his way across to the darkened corner of the cave where his suit was behind a glass panel. As Bruce pressed his palm into the wall, the biometric scanner bleeped. The case slid open slowly and Bruce began to take out the suit piece by piece. The batarangs refracted the light they caught from the computer screens.

Fuck. It was taking too long, these precious seconds. He could be half way there by now. His bike was too far away, in the garage at the front of the manor. He side eyed the batmobile and swallowed thickly.

“Fuck it”.

Taking the keys from the secret sliding panel on the desk, Jason leapt into the batmobile before starting the engine and speeding out of the cave. He swore he heard Bruce shouting, he was certain he heard several curse words too. Unlike Bruce. But it was taking too long. He couldn’t wait. He couldn’t leave you. You needed him. You couldn’t wait any longer.

~~~

Everything flew by him in a blur as he sped through the streets of Gotham. His foot slammed down harder on the accelerator desperate to get there faster. Every second counted. He knew all too well what The Joker was like. The way his face slipped as you defied him, terrified Jason. He’d seen that look right before receiving a crowbar to the face.

“Come on...come on!!”, Jason cursed to himself, hitting the steering wheel in fury. All the money Bruce had and it wouldn’t go any faster? He took a sharp turn heading towards the abandoned warehouse behind ACE Chemicals. He was so close. So much closer to reaching you. He’d deal with Bruce later. He couldn’t have waited any longer. Bruce would just have to get over him ‘borrowing’ the batmobile.

Swerving another corner and narrowly dodging the underpass columns, he pulled up in front of the derelict building. Almost all of the windows were smashed and hued green with mould. Maybe some of the toxins spewed from the factory had helped taint the glass further.

Grabbing both of his pistols, Jason left the car and headed towards the building fire escape. He could hear voices chattering.

“Joker said to keep an eye out for Batman”.

A goon; Jason noted peering around the brick wall spotting two of them. He noticed the metal railings above them creaking slightly in the strong winds.

“It’s been over a month now and there’s been no sign of any of the Bat freaks, it’s fine, let’s go grab a beer. He won’t even notice”, a second one encouraged the other smirking.

“You really want to cross him? He’s fucking nuts. I’m surprised the girl has even lasted this long with him, you know what he’s like”.

Jason’s fist tightened around one of his guns at the mention of you. It had to be you. Silently firing his grapple gun, he flew up the side of the building and made his way towards the goons.

“Trust me”, the first one spoke again, “He won’t even realise we’re gone, plus we might find some chicks to-”.

Perching on the railings above them, Jason leapt down cracking the base of his pistols onto one of their heads.

“Pleasure to meet you both”, Jason kicked out at the second goon hearing the sick crack of his ankle snapping.

Spinning on his heel, Jason grabbed the other goon and threw him face first into the brick wall knocking him unconscious immediately before turning back to the other man on the floor whimpering in pain.

“Where is she?”, Jason’s voice was strained even with the modulator protecting him.

The man refused to answer, dragging himself away from Jason with his hands, mud covering his palms.

Taking a large step, Jason reached the man on the floor and purposely stood onto his swollen ankle before aiming the cocked pistol towards his skull.

“I won’t ask again, where is she?”.

The screech from the man was deafening as Jason applied a hefty amount of pressure to his fractured bone.

“Basement!! She’s in the basement!! Please!!”, he begged as his eyes flickered nervously to the gun.

Jason rolled his shoulders before smashing the hilt of his pistol into his skull knocking him out cold. He turned back towards the fire escape and grappled back up to the roof. He’d have to make his way through the building to get to the basement. To you. And if he knew Joker, he wouldn’t have made it that easy. The two idiots on the front door were a sick joke. Tormenting Jason. Getting you back wouldn’t be an easy task.

~~~

Silently dropping through the window on top of the building, Jason landed onto one of the rusty steel girders. It was dark but his helmet adjusted the night vision so he could see clearly. Several goons patrolling an old foreman’s office in the centre. You had to be in there. He needed to take these idiots out quietly before getting to you.

Swinging across to the next rafter, Jason looked down at the first unsuspecting moron. With the stealth of a panther, he landed silently behind the goon before wrapping his arm around his meaty neck. He struggled against the iron grip of Jason’s forearm but the pressure only intensified the more he thrashed. Eventually the squirming stopped and the goon fell limp in his arms. Jason dragged him across to a darkened corner and dumped him behind some barrels.

As he grappled back up to roof beams, he looked down across at the two henchmen digging out a packet of cigarettes. The idiots had left their guns resting against the far wall. Jason had to chuckle to himself, Joker really was hiring morons. Weren’t these guys supposed to be protection?

Jason creeped across the rafters towards the two men and grabbed both of his pistols. He had to be silent. He couldn’t alert Joker to his presence.

“This is my last smoke”, one complained bitterly as the cigarette perched between his thin lips.

“I’ll get the next packet, quit your whining”, the second growled and patted his jacket for a lighter, “Fuck, where did I put my lighter?”.

“You’re a fucking moron. You asked to come for a smoke and you don’t even have a light!!”.

Now was his chance. Jason landed between them both, his boots thudding as he hit the concrete floor, “You know, smoking is bad for your health”. Before either of the goons could react, Jason lifted his elbow into the larger man's throat before smashing his pistol into the other man's temple, causing him to drop onto his knees. He slipped his guns back into his holsters quickly before turning to the other goon. He dodged the larger man’s grapple before twisting with ease and kicking out his kneecap. The man gasped but the elbow to his throat had killed off his voice.

Jason threw a heavy right hook into the larger man's nose and watched the blood trickle down his face. This seemed to only infuriate him more and he launched himself towards Jason viciously. Gripping both of his arms, Jason flipped the man over his body and slammed him into the floor hard before hammering punch after punch to his face, knocking him unconscious.

He turned quickly to the other man who was scrambling on his knees for the gun resting against the far wall.

“Sorry bud, but that can’t happen”, Jason grunted and landed a heavy kick to the goons stomach. The man yelped but it was quickly cut off by Jason as he slammed his boot into his face. He dropped onto the floor instantly.

Jason panted heavily and looked around the room, his helmet advising him of one more goon loitering around the door of the office. Looking down at the floor he noticed the floor grates wrapped around the room and more importantly under the henchmen’s feet. Perfect.

He lifted one of the grate coverings quietly and slipped under the flooring. He crouched down and edged around the room. The last goon was much larger and bulkier, with a machine gun strapped around his wide chest.

This goon seemed smarter than the others. Looking around and even checking up in the rafters. He grunted and pressed a button on his jacket, “No boss, still no sign of them...nothing Sir”.

The voice that patched through sent a chill down Jason’s spine. It was a tone that would be forever cemented in his mind, a reminder of his own torment.

“If you get ANY inclination the bat or any of his costumed freaks are in the building, you tell me immediately”.

“Yes boss”.

The static of the radio crackled before cutting off completely. Jason cursed mentally. This had to be precise. Perfection. He had to disable the henchman’s radio unit. Padding over his jacket he searched for the disrupter shooter he had. It wasn’t there. Fuck. He’d fucked up in his rush and left it behind. Fuck. Bruce was right. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Then he heard it. A soft ping from above him. He knew that sound. Jason looked up from the grate and spotted Nightwing hidden in the shadows with his own disrupter. Pointed directly at the goon’s radio system.

“Thought you might need a hand”, Dick patched into Jason’s com line.

Jason growled under his breath, “Thanks”.

“Shall we take this moron out together?”.

“Yes”, Jason muttered before switching his com off and inched closer to the goon.

The second Nightwing flew down from the roof beams, Jason jumped out of the floor grate and kicked out the back of the goons knees. He cursed loudly before Nightwing’s foot landed in his face.

Jason swore he saw a tooth fly out of his mouth along with a glob of blood. He aimed several hard punches to the side of the henchman’s head whilst Nightwing disabled his gun and radio with a graceful poise.

“All this for the girl? She’s nothing but a shell”, the goon smirked across at Jason before choking at the next punch.

“Joker’s hollowed her out...she’s nothing”, he spat out.

His temper flared and his hand subconsciously reached for his pistol. Dick realised and before anything could happen, he landed an electrical ecrisma blow to the goons head, knocking him out cold. His body crashed onto the floor with a loud thump.

“Jason-”.

“Don’t”, Jason cut him off, “I’m fine”.

He took several steps towards the office door and swallowed thickly. You. You’d be in there. You’d told Joker with the last ounce of confidence left that he’d come for you. He’d never leave you. You were right. Jason would never have stopped looking. Ever.

His hand rested on the door handle, trembling only slightly. What if he was too late. What if this was just another trick?

Drawing his hand back almost as though the door had burnt him. He frowned. He couldn’t think like this. No. He had to be strong. Just like you had been in all those videos. You’d been fierce. Your spirit still pouring through to him.

Jason glared angrily at the door and took a step back before kicking it open furiously with his combat boot. The door flew open wildly and as the dust settled. He saw Joker stood in the middle of the room, a sick, satisfied smirk sat proudly on his demented face.

~~~

“Jason my boy! It’s a pleasure to see you again”, his chuckle was deep and sinister, “I see you're still hiding your face though...is that because of what I did?”. The Joker’s eyes danced with delirious joy at the memories.

“I’d have thought you’d have embraced all your scars by now Jason...”, The Joker edged forward leaving you tied up behind him.

Jason rounded The Joker, clicking a button to the side of his mask, revealing his face, his eyes hidden with the domino mask, “I’ve got nothing to hide from you, clown”.

Jason let his eyes run over you for a second. You were bruised and bloodied. Clothes torn and tattered from mistreatment. Your eyes. God. Your beautiful E/C eyes. Red raw from countless tears. Somehow you still managed to give him a smile from behind The Joker. His heart fluttered. God he’d missed your smile.

Tearing his eyes from you he looked back towards The Joker and held his pistols out at him, finger hovering over the trigger. Jason felt the burn mark on his cheek stinging all over again. Pain ever present.

“You don’t have the guts”, The Joker laughed again and walked forward pressing his forehead into the barrel of the gun.

“You wouldn’t dare pull that trigger. I’m your Ace card Jason. You can’t kill me. You want to but you can’t...something will always stop you”.

Jason felt his hand shaking slightly. Everything was throbbing in his mind.

“Even after everything I’ve done to your girl, you still can’t pull that trigger”, The Joker taunted further and grinned sadistically.

“If only you knew where I’d touched...what I’ve done...”, he pushed further into the cold metal of the gun and winked at Jason, “Go on, do it, I dare you...if you don’t- I’m just going to keep coming back and who knows what I’ll do to our little princess next-”.

BANG.

A gun shot blasted through the air. Smoke drifted slowly from the barrel, dancing into the darkness around them.

“JASON!”.

Nightwing had thrown one of his ecrisma sticks to Jason’s gun, knocking it off target. The bullet shattered the brickwork behind them, dust erupting.

Crashing down through one of the broken windows on top of the office roof, Nightwing flew towards The Joker tackling him down onto the damp, concrete floor before he could launch himself at Jason.

Still startled, Jason watched Dick wrestling with The Joker on the floor, punches flying back and forth.

Dick turned to Jason, “Y/N-Jason!! Go get Y/N!! I’ll handle this!”.

The Joker was shrieking with laughter underneath Dick, blood pouring down his lip and from his nose.

“Ahhhh another boy blunder!! I must be lucky!! Two for the price of one!”.

Dick threw another punch and reached for the second ecrisma stick on his back, “I can’t wait to cart you back to the Asylum. I hope you’re looking forward to your 5 star stay in a windowless cesspit!”.

Jason could hear Joker continually laughing at Dick, until the sharp sound of electrical buzzing cut him off with a loud scream.

He almost fell over his own feet as he raced towards you. Jason quickly untied your hands and the second they were free you flung them around his neck, sobbing into his neck. Your tears dropping onto his brown leather jacket.

“Oh baby”, Jason stroked your hair and held you tightly to him. He was worried he was crushing you but you seemed to be squeezing him back just as hard.

You didn’t stop sobbing. The overwhelming emotion of being wrapped in his safe, strong arms make your knees buckle. Jason caught you with ease and lifted you up, “It’s ok baby, I’ve got you. I’ve always got you”.

Jason was one step away from breaking down himself but he needed to be strong for you right now.

You pressed your skin against his, the scratch of his stubble a welcome sting against your cheek. His scent overwhelmed you. Leather. Gunpowder. Smoke. And something distinct you’d never been able to place.

“Jason”.

“Shhh, it’s ok - nothing is going to hurt you, I’m here now - I’m a bit late but I’m here”.

~~~

It had been one week since you’d been back home. Two weeks if you counted the first week you and Jason spent holed up in the manor. Bruce had insisted. You sat in the bathtub, knees pressed up against your bare chest. Silence. All you could hear was the faint crackle of the bubbles every now and again. The clinical white tiles of the bathroom made you feel a little cleaner.

However, no matter how many baths you took, showers you stood in, you still couldn’t wipe the feel of the slick purple gloves off your skin. Your skin. Skin that was now marred with yellowish bruising. Almost faded physically but not mentally. Looking over the marks you felt yourself transported back into the desolate warehouse. The dank smell of stagnant water filling your nostrils. You choked and coughed loudly, suddenly feeling the oxygen clam up your throat. Drowning in the memories.

“Y/N??”.

Within a mere second Jason had flung open the bathroom door, red tinting his cheek and a little sweat on his forehead, “Sweetheart are you ok?”.

You noted how he chose to call you sweetheart now and not his usual princess. A stark reminder that this whole ordeal had affected him too, more than he’d admitted. You felt the guilt eat away at you. Shame burning at your feet.

“Y-yeah, I’m ok”, you mumbled quietly and swirled some of the water and bubbles around you, “I just accidentally swallowed some of the bath water, I’m sorry”.

Jason nodded although not quite believing you. He closed the door behind him and sat on the edge of the tub taking a deep breath, “It’s ok to not be ok sweetheart...I know it can be difficult to admit that...I know that more than most”, he wiped a stray bubble from the rim of the tub. He looked at you deeply before continuing, “I’ll be here for you...whenever and whatever you need”.

You sat silently in the water and he moved to get up. Maybe he thought it was best to leave you alone, let you uncover your own emotions. Process what had happened. You gripped his wrist and looked up into the crystal blue of his eyes, “Jason”.

“Yeah babe?”, he turned his wrist in your hand and linked his fingers with yours.

“I love you”.

He smiled and squeezed your hand before whispering back, “I love you too, more than you know”.

He looked over you and moved to sit back on the edge of the bath. His spare hand reached out and cupped your chin lovingly, stroking over your skin.

“We’ll work through this together Y/N, I promise”, Jason murmured and leaned forward kissing your forehead lightly, “I’ll do whatever you need me to do...anything at all”.

The words, the touches, the kiss. It made your heart flutter and you fell even more in love with him. Jason made the impossible possible and you had no idea how he managed it every day. You felt so lucky.

“I - I struggle some d-days”, you admitted and with those words you felt a little lighter, “sometimes all I want is for you to hold me and not let me go...Sometimes I-I f-feel like that for hours...”.

“Well then I’ll hold you for hours”, he said simply.

You scoffed lightly but before you could protest or think of arguing back he was stepping into the bath water fully clothed.

“Jay!! You’re going to flood the bathroom”, you gasped loudly, watching the water splash over the sides like dramatic tidal waves. Water dispersed all over the bathroom floor to make way for his broad frame, “What are you doing?!”.

Jason sunk down into the water behind you and wrapped his arms either side, pulling you back into his clothed chest. He rested his head on your shoulder, pressing a chaste kiss there, “Holding you for as long as you need me to”.

You felt yourself melt into his warm embrace. Tears made their way down your cheeks at his endearing show of love, “Jason”.

“Shhh, just let me hold you baby”, he cuddled you tighter into him, his fingers stroking your hips under the water, brushing away the bruises. Marking you with his own special touch.

Relaxing under his soft caresses, you hummed lightly and closed your eyes resting your head back against him. He smelt like leather and spice. You felt at home. He was home.

“Jay”.

“Mmm?”.

“Please call me princess”, you whispered quietly into the air, your eyes still closed.

“Whatever you want...princess”.

~~~

Special Thanks: @offendedfishnoises @internalsealpanic @batarella - thank you both for proof reading this and all the help you have given me - mwah mwah. xoxo

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~~~

#jason todd fanfiction #jason todd smut #jason todd x reader #jason todd imagine #jason todd x you #jason todd x reader insert #jason todd x reader series #red hood x reader #red hood imagine #red hood smut #red hood x you #red hood fanfiction #arkham knight x reader #arkham knight x you #arkham knight x reader series #arkham knight imagine

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dazz-linglight · 3 years

Note

Mafia couple got7 reaction

(you ask and I deliver! I got a little carried away hehe, come back soon xx)

Jaebeom

You are in command of another mafia group in the South of Seoul while Jaebeom is the leader of the West side, so you were surprised when he offered an alliance between your families in the form of marriage. You were hesitant in the beginning but after a few meetings and deep talks he convinced you and it led to what was happening right now.

"Turn around." Jaebeom ordered and you did as told turning to look at the the full body mirror in front of you, curious about the jewel box he had in his hands. Soon you felt a necklace touching your collarbones and turn to face him again.

"Already spoiling your future wife?" You asked in a half playful tone and he shook his head once.

"I've lost people before, so when I care about someone I plant a tracking device on them." He cups your face in both of his hands to make you look at him.

"This is for me to be sure you're safe when we're not together." You get closer to him and touch his wide shoulders.

"How caring. However don't you forget I'm not a defenseless lady, okay?." You leave a kiss on his jaw catching him off guard and see his surprised face just before you dodge him to get out of the room.

"I still have things to solve today, call me later." He stay and watch the way your hips move as you leave.

Mark

"If he lays a hand on you, just cut him off." Mark tells you positioning a well sharpened knife on your thigh as an extra to the gun on your bag before sending you off to buy the cooperation of the new officer in town.

•••

"Miss Tuan, the lady I've heard so much about." You meet the officer on a restaurant during his lunch and give him a simple smile, sitting in the chair in front of him.

"I hope you heard good things only."

"Oh, I heard you're very persuasive."

"That's very true."

"So what can I help you with?"

"Tell me how much you need to stay away from the East side during your work time."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Your price. Let's not play innocent here, Mr. Lin." He looks at you in surprise as you open your bag to take out an envelope with a few thousands, surely more than his salary.

"Listen, I don't do that stuff."

"Oh, really? I have 20 pages here that I'm sure you don't want your Superior to see." You show him the file full of information, some of them genuine and some were fake but all of them convincing enough to make him accept the deal.

"$20K and you let me keep that." He points at the file and you pass it to him together with the envelope.

"That's the right amount on the envelope. It was a pleasure talking to you." You get up and stop by his side.

"Just so you know to not try to turn tables, that's the file you have is a copy, I have the original. Have a good day." You leave, not waiting for him to say anything else.

Jackson

You accompanied Jackson in a trip to Shanghai to close a new deal in the town to support the negotiations on expanding the business from Seoul. The meeting is occurring on one of the most expensive rooms of KTV, and you get in helping other lady bringing drinks to the group of men.

"Are we using companion tonight?" One of the old guys say in a malicious tone, ogling your ass when you lean to place the tray of drinks on the table in front of them. Jackson's expression go dark as he hear the man talk and he extends a hand for you to grab and pull you to sit on his lap, gripping your waist tightly.

"Whatever you wish, just pick someone else."

"Oh, you already pick yours? Agile, are you?" The man laughs and accepts a card from the other girl in the room. An hour passed and the deal was finished the old man was wasted leaving with a expensive girl on his arm.

"If he touched you I would've killed him in a heartbeat." Jackson mumbles as the two of you walk out of the building and to his car.

"I would gladly help you with that."

Jinyoung

Jinyoung opens the door to enter his office and the first thing he sees is a female dead and covered in blood on the floor next to his lover looking back at him, cleaning her 38. Your eyes narrowed as you bend down to get the girl's phone.

"What happened here?"

"I caught this bitch installing a spy camera here." You point out the now broken camera on the table behind you.

"Shit, she was leaking information?"

"That's what I will find out through her phone, and then we will get those rats."

"You better start searching, I'll get someone else to clean this mess and tell the others about her."

Youngjae

Youngjae doesn't look very intimidating, he fools a lot of people with nice and smiley aura but makes up for it with cunning manipulation and is still dangerous nonetheless. He plays baits and you're the honey pot, attracting men and women to deathbed without them noticing.

You tie the wrists and legs of the passed out man tightly on the hard chair and wait for him to wake up, which he does a few minutes later.

"Took you long enough. Tell me, do you prefer to lose an arm or a leg first? Not that it will make difference, I will kill you either but, but which one do you think it will hurt less?"

Bambam

Today you could visit Bambam on prison but only get a phone call and see him through a glass with other people instead of having time alone. He's been locked in jail for a month after getting caught in a drug deal but he didn't say a word about his group.

"How was the weather these days?" He asked in a code that meant if you succeeded on the plan of revenge against the people that snitched him.

"The sky is clear, had a little bit of rain yesterday but it's fine now." You answer positively and show a little smile, touching the glass that separated you from him and he did the same.

"Thank you. I miss you so fucking much." He sighs and you nod.

"I miss you too, your trial was scheduled for next week, we're preparing everything."

"Finally, can't wait to get out of here."

Yugyeom

The pin on your earring slipped and fell on the floor near the bed while you put it on your ear, so you crouched down to look for the little piece, but instead of finding what you were looking for you ended up finding something very different.

YUGYEOM!" You scream from the bedroom for him to hear since he is currently in the bathroom finishing his morning routine and he came out running to see what happened, fearing you were in danger and got surprised to see you holding the spare gun he kept under the bed in case of need.

"Since when you have this under your bed??" You ask in complete confusion as to why your sweet boyfriend of a year possessed such a weapon. Now the moment he was dreading came and he couldn't get away from it.

"Sit down, Y/n." He comes closer and takes the fun off your grasp, entrelacing your fingers in his as he tells you the truth, that he works with security and driving to a gang. He admits to be terrified of the thought of you leaving him because of his kind of environment and it took you a long moment to comprehend the whole situation and after a long talk you decide to stay the same, not wanting to throw away the love you felt for him.

#linawritings #got7 x reader #got7 mafia au #got7 masterlist #got7 reactions #got7 imagines #mark tuan x reader #jaebum reactions #jaebum scenarios #jackson x reader #park jinyoung x reader #youngjae x reader #bambam x reader #yugyeom x reader

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333sth · 3 years

Text

dove. (frankie morales)

chapter ii. previous. series masterlist.

pairing: frankie morales x ofc (’dove’) no use of y/n

warnings: ptsd/military service, violence, injury detail, language, angsty.

summary: santi’s hunch is no longer a hunch, but only will knows how close they are to finding frankie’s girl.

rating: mature wc: 1.8k

When a strong hand had clamped around her shoulder, Dove’s instinct was to break it. It wasn’t menacing; they were just waiting at the bar to be served.

A burly, middle-aged man was towering beside her, clutching a beer bottle that looked miniature in his thick grasp. His arms, still holding the shadow of what was once impressive muscle, were littered with military tattoos. Dove could spot a stick-and-poke from a mile off.

“I recognise that,” He gestures to her neck, where a small Delta Force tattoo was usually disguised by her long hair. “You ex-forces? Delta?”

She wanted to kick herself. The sticky atmosphere had gotten the better of her and she’d thrown her hair into a ponytail without thinking.

“Yeah, but that isn’t exactly public knowledge ‘round here.” She murmurs.

Across the room, Roni throws her head back in exaggerated laughter. A group of men, who looked barely out of their teen years, had come over to make some desperate attempts at getting laid. Dove had excused herself to buy the next round after one of them had cracked a mortifying joke about liking older women.

“That’s understandable.” The man held out his hand, which she took hesitantly. “My name’s Mark, I just retired out here. Served for twenty three years.” He chuckled gruffly, his voice thick from cigarettes. “I got jack shit to show for it, mind you.”

“Tell me about it.” She laughs, but she doesn’t offer her name.

Mark notices as the conversation lulls. “I trained with a guy who made Delta. Santiago Garcia - we called him Pope, ‘cause he just had that way about him. You probably knew him.”

Dove swallows, chest lurching. “Sounds familiar… You know how it is though, the nicknames all blur into one eventually.”

That’s a lie, you never forget your teammates’ names. Mark knows it and so does Dove. Thankfully, he doesn’t push a conversation she clearly doesn’t want to have, and raises his bottle to her.

“Well, it was nice to meet you anyway. Enjoy yourself out here.”

“You too, Mark.” She tries to smile, but her lips press into a thin line that probably looks more like a grimace.

Mark had called Santiago the following day, the alcohol-blurred memory peaking his interest once he remembered his old friend’s plea a few months back. He’d asked around for any heads-up if any ex-Delta women around their age popped up. Mark had thought the man was delusional when he’d heard. If she was Delta Force, she wouldn’t be found unless she wanted to be.

Apparently, he was wrong. Maybe even the best of the best got rusty after a while.

The town Dove had been spotted in was questionable to Santiago. It was too cosmopolitan for a woman who was starting over. However, after a onceover on a map of Mexico, Santi spotted its smaller neighbour. He’d never heard of it, which meant it must be the place. Small population, right on the coast, with enough amenities and business to get by without any trouble.

“And, man, she had a wicked scar on her throat. Sort of shit you’d only see on a Delta.” Mark had added, with a chuckle. “I can’t imagine that ain’t your girl.”

‘Dove isn’t my girl,’ Santi wanted to bite back instinctually. He bit his tongue, and instead offered, “It sounds like her. I can’t thank you enough, brother.”

Santiago only told Will what he knew about Dove. He had the mind to retain that information no matter what this trip threw at them. Plus, he trusted him with his life, plus a couple other lives that came to mind. Call it insurance, if things went south.

Plus, Will didn’t have Tom’s mouth, or twisted morality. Tom was more than willing to accept that Dove would miss out on their prospective fortune, that the ‘hunch’ would have to wait until Lorea was dealt with. Santiago knew his brothers well enough to know Benny would throw a hissy fit if they knew where Dove was and she wasn’t included. She’d spent enough time stitching up their war-torn skin and shoving them out of bullets to deserve a cut.

So, Pope told a little white lie. They had a stop in Mexico to meet with a contact.

Frankie had murmured, “Better be worth it, stuck in this shitty car with you fuckers for ten hours.”

Santiago resisted the urge to agree. God, he hoped it would be worth it too. He hoped he wasn’t driving them into a dead end, a bluff on Mark’s part. Or even worse, invading Dove’s beautiful new life without them. That would destroy everything; Dove, the boys, Frankie. What if she had settled down? What if he pulled into that idyllic beach bar she wanted and she’s there, a baby with the same brilliant eyes balanced on her hip? She was never sure about kids. A vivid mental picture of the wrong diamond, glistening on her ring finger in the afternoon sun, and the wrong man pecking her lips, made Santi physically wince.

Fish would never forgive him. Will and Benny would never forgive him. He’d never forgive himself.

It was a long, apprehensive drive. Santi’s eyes were drying, squinting against the headlights that occasionally glared past them. His jaw had been clenched for the last few hours as his anxiety grew, nothing but open road to stare at while he contemplated over and over as to whether it was the right decision. It didn’t help that Frankie never really slept like the others did on the move. While the other boys passed out, Frankie’s soft eyes continued scanning the scene flying past the window. It was like he stayed awake to watch Pope’s back, as if they were still in combat, or as an unspoken act of kindness to keep him company.

Really, Frankie was a terrible sleeper. Santi remembered that from the early days, before he and Dove gave it up and became an item. He was the last to drift off and first to wake up, always restless. Once Dove started tip-toeing over to his cot in the night, he became the worst snorer in the division. Always splayed on his front, one arm tossed over Dove’s waist and the other under his pillow. She’d kick him in the night so he’d roll over and shut up, but it never lasted long.

One night, Benny had enough, and groaned to Dove, “Put us out of our fuckin’ misery and smother him with your pillow, for the love of God.”

Dove had snapped back, “Fuck off, Benny, just ‘cause you aren’t getting any of the action doesn’t mean you have to get all bitter.”

“I’ve told you guys - I’m more than willing to join in-”

“Ben.” Frankie grumbled into her shoulder. It was gruff with sleep but still menacing enough to make the hairs on Dove’s arms stand on end.

Before a pillow smacked into his head, Benny guffawed, “Oh, so he is alive after all.”

Wringing a soft rag for polishing glasses between her fingertips, Dove descends the wooden steps at the entrance of the bar. The last huddle of regulars holler behind her, wrapping up their weekend drinks as the evening creeps closer to the early hours; Dove always notices the time when moths start colliding with the lanterns.

Roni rises from a crouch on the ground, dropping a paintbrush into a can with a clatter. “See, your own little touch!”

The wooden panels that constructed the side of the bar, usually concealed by a stack of cardboard beer boxes, is decorated with little doves. Despite studying criminology, mainly for the satisfaction of her parents, Roni loved painting and insisted on brightening the exterior of their beach shack.

Dove cracks a half-smile. “It’s lovely, Ron. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” She beams, throwing the half-empty cans into the nearby bins. She pauses, glancing hesitantly at the older woman over her shoulder, “Dove’s not your real name, right?”

“No, no. Nickname from when I was nursing overseas.” Dove chuckles, before adding, “Feels more like my real name than my Christian one nowadays.”

Roni passes Dove on the steps as she returns to the bar, “It suits you. You’re always graceful, but… you’re fucking fast.”

Dove laughs with her, ignoring the familiar clench in her chest. It’s exactly what Frankie used to say. The difference is Roni notices when she almost drops a glass, or her tray of drinks starts to wobble, and Dove is there to catch it with such fluidity Roni never saw her coming. Even the way Dove’s knife slices through fruit like each piece is a slab of melted butter. Frankie witnessed the extreme of that, the stealth and grace that usually ensured the enemy was dead before the others had even thought to raise their guns. Still, he admired her the same way Roni was right now. It was like awe.

It’s probably because he loved her effortlessly, every single aspect of her being without a glimmer of doubt or judgement. And now he wasn’t here.

The group of regulars stumbling down the steps break Dove from her thoughts, chortling and wishing her goodnight. One of the older men turns and jerks his thumb towards the road, “You might wanna tell them you’re closing, bonita.”

Before the road becomes the sand, there is a small, dusty wasteland that doubles as a makeshift car park. A vehicle is parked, glaring headlights facing towards the ocean and forming peculiar, alien-like beams in the dark. She’s definitely getting rusty; she’d barely registered the idling truck.

“I’ll sort ‘em out, Miguel, don’t you worry.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it,” He jokes, waving to her. “Buenos noches, Dove.”

Military habits are practically impossible to shake, and immediately, Dove’s mind launches into overdrive. She raises her hand above her eyes, squinting against the blinding white LEDs in an attempt to make out a registration plate or even a recognisable model. Her mind is fine-tuned to memorise; most of the locals’ cars are already catalogued in her memory, but this isn’t one of them.

Maybe they’re tourists, ready to push their luck with the opening times. That’s the reasonable side of Dove’s mind. The irrational, dark edges whisper, ‘What if someone found you?’ By someone, it means someone bad. Someone she wronged during her service, an enemy or straggler that got away. Even a civilian that might have been caught in the crossfire. She thought about those ghosts often. Hell, some of them she could still name. When she can’t sleep, sometimes she lists them, pictures their faces if she can recall them, just in case they ever came back.

She inhales a sharp gust of ocean air through her nostrils, welcoming the clarity that spreads through her mind. Parting her lips (the lips Frankie always teased were in a permanent pout), she released the breath slowly, trying to relax the stressed scrunch in her features.

“Your face is gonna get stuck like that someday.”

The voice is familiar. A deep, breathy chuckle, barrel-toned and gravelly. It sounds like home.

taglist: @mishasminion360

#frankie morales #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie x reader #triple frontier imagine #triple frontier #triple frontier x reader #triple frontier fic #frankie morales x ofc #dove #Santiago Garcia #Benny Miller #Will Miller #pedro pascal #frankie morales imagine #frankie morales fic #francisco morales #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal characters

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