#or incapacitate him and bring to me so i can kill him whatever the fuck gets megans dick hard hope megantron dies

[offical-ouroboros]

Someone pointed out the pure ease there is in yandere unknown and I absolutely approve of that oh my god

(Mostly rambling, what I feel a romantic relationship with it would be like at the bottom)

~☆

Between all the calm, normal interactions suggesting its stalked it's victims, or maybe can have more human looking forms to blend in

"Why so nervous tonight?" UGHHH THE GROWL AT THE ENDDDD 😻😻🤤🤤

"I lived in dungeons long forgotten." Could lead to it easily becoming very clingy and possessive over an interest

"I will not be denied my happiness." MORE EVIDENCE THAT THIS THING COULD 100% BECOME FERAL AND OBSESSED

He's got me wondering if he's actually fully sentient COMMUNICATION WISE

Like how with SCP-939, it's up for debate if they KNOW what they're saying if they mimic voices, or if they just do it, but what they repeat is somewhat relevant to what's happening.

>calling out while in a search

>getting aggressive/defensive when alerted

>screaming when chasing

It seems like the Unknown is somewhat similar, specifically so far with mori lines referencing to pain or the one that tells you to just die.

When it's walking around, it engages like an actual human (kinda), asking questions and such to start a convo/lure people in closer to it

There's also this freaky kinda effect that goes on when you Dispel its hallucinations where it kinda brings your FOV in and the audio gets a bit. Adore that. Watching your character just like... Reach a hand out to its chest... Before the hallucination disappears.

You already KNOW I'm doing more than dispelling his form 🙏

♡~

Can just imagine this thing curling up around you with its contortionist body just doing its best to mock affection it might've seen or heard before.

Arms and legs wrapped around your body, nuzzling you, making weird off-putting purring sounds and, if you're a freak like me, maybe even trying to kiss you, but it's not really... Good at it... So it just kinda presses its face to yours.

I like the idea of it taking on forms of people or things it's killed, so go on! Pick your favorite survivor! He'll kill them and steal their appearance for you!

Hearing little distorted "Love... You."s is also so freaking cute, just having him pick up various nicknames or phrases for an interest

Ofc this is mostly romantic, but could just as easily be platonic. I'm just sick of seeing monsters not get romantic love.

Do I think that he could actually love someone?

Ye-no.

If it happens, there's 2 ways I see it going.

option a. You engage first. For whatever ungodly reason, you decide you like this thing. You like how it acts, its voice, just think he's hot.

At first it... Would most definitely reciprocate. As best it can. You get shocked, or don't react and pursue more- Doesn't matter. It doesn't actually like you back. It just wants you dead. Needs to fill that 'insatiable hunger' it has.

But... Hm. Now it feels... Mean. Why did you act like that?

Huh? You like it? You LOVE it? You don't even know it!!

... Well, maybe it can give this affection thing a try.

Next time you see it, it goes easy on you. Awkwardly watches. Waits. If you don't do anything, or just ignore it, he goes back to hunting down and tormenting other survivors. But you still linger in the trial...

If you seem scared of it now, it comforts you. Tries to.

Things go better if you're the freeze type of scared and not the fight or flight type.

Though, it's not against chasing you down, incapacitating you, and then just holding as it struggles to say things to soothe it.

It just wants you to know it's friendly! Despite... You... Bleeding to death.

But!

Again, it feels kinda bad about how the last time it saw you went, so this time it doesn't hurt you!

if you're still lovey after the betrayal, things go great! Mostly.

Everyone else is incredibly fucked though. He's gonna mori the hell out of them. Just for you!!!

Wait. Just for you?

Huh. It... Feels good about that.

You should thank it! Right? Everyone else is gone- Now the two of you can spend time together!

You still like it right.

option b. Youuu... Are normal. You're so totally normal. You don't engage first, you play how you're supposed to, you hopefully get out with maybe a few major injuries but so do most people.

Eventually, for some reason, it's not yet crippling but still horrible loneliness catches up, and it chooses you as it's interest.

Maybe you were nice. Maybe you looked cute. Maybe it enjoyed killing you before. Maybe you were just slightly better to it than anyone else in the games it was in, and it appreciated

Well, now you're screwed.

Everyone else is getting killed. You're getting trapped in an embrace. It's probably going to let the entity kill you as the game times or, or he's going to get impatient enough with you struggling to just mori you.

In either scenario, it gets addicted. Giving it affection, struggling- It doesn't really matter. Being near you makes it happy. It likes how you feel, smell, look, everything about you- Even your imperfections. I mean, look at it. Is that an ideal human? No!

Hey, stop fighting. Stop struggling- Did you just try to bite it?

Just calm down.

Don't make it hurt you again. It didn't like how that made it feel.

So to him, you're probably divine.

Empty husks for eyes just looklooklooklooklooking at you.

Craving your attention.

Hold it. Coddle it. Pet it. Kiss it. Love it. Hate it. Hurt it. Say whatever you want. Do anything you want.

Just stay with it. Feed it's unyielding hunger.

It's not like he's letting you escape now.

Not after being alone for so long.

#sleep deprived rambles under the cut #dbd #dbd killer #dbd unknown #monster lover #exophelia #monster fucker #i want this man carnally #slight fanfiction #idk #started rambling because im so in love #lets start the tags #dbd unknown x reader #unknown x reader #dead by daylight #rambles

[wambsgansshoelaces]

Turmoil; Chapter 6

a/n: *pukes cutely on floor*

sorry guys I’ve literally been dead

I’ll make it up to you with an extra long chapter next time; I’m sorry for the disappointment that this one is :,)

Word Count: 2.163k

To your dismay, you’re nudged awake in the wee hours of the morning.

“What?” you grit out. You know it’s him without having to look.

“I’m sorry.”

“Fuck off, Roman.”

“Let me explain,” he urges.

“I don’t want to hear it. You promised, you didn’t show, it’s whatever.”

“It’s clearly not whatever, Y/N.”

You roll over so you can glare at him. “I don’t get it, Roman. There’s no need to butter me up and pretend like you like me. I have to help you.”

“What are you even talking about? I do like you.”

“You don’t really act like it anymore.”

”We got caught up in something. I didn’t want to leave you waiting like that. It’s the last thing I wanted, really.”

“And what happened to you that took so fucking long?”

“I can’t say.”

”Yeah. Exactly. Good night, Roman.” You roll back over, keeping your back to him.

There’s a strained moment of silence.

“It was Dad.” His voice comes out barely a whisper. “He landed, and Marcia called me. Said he’d been hospitalized the minute they touched down.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I… he said not to tell you. Or my siblings, or anyone. He says that if the press catches on that he’s incapacitated, along with him being removed as CEO, he’s done. You can’t tell anyone, Y/N. You can’t.”

“He trusts you, all of a sudden?”

“I’m the one who didn’t try voting him out.”

You take a moment. Roman not participating in the vote just opened several new doors for you.

You feel bad for acting up. “You should’ve started with that,” you mutter. “I feel like a dick now.”

“I mean, you have the right to. I didn’t text, or call. It’s my fault. I should’ve told him to fuck off and gone straight to you.”

“What’s wrong…?”

“Osteoarthritis in his knees. It’s progressing so fast he can’t bring himself to walk.” He rubs a hand over his eyes.

“Roman, I feel horrible. It’s your dad. You shouldn’t have even been thinking of me.”

“That’s what I told myself, yet here we are.” He lies down next to you. “I was standing there, talking to Marcia, and all I could think of was how I was blowing you off.”

“Ignore what I said earlier. That doesn’t matter.” You shift to face him. “But you should’ve called. Told me, you weren’t coming, at least.”

“Yeah. I should’ve.”

You find it strange that he’s never made a move to kiss you. You want to bring it up, you want to be mad at him about it, but you feel like that’s a conversation for another time.

“I’m sorry, Y/N, really.”

You both sit there in silence for a moment. “Will you make it up to me?”

”How do you want me to do that?”

“I want you to figure it out.”

You end up dozing off on your side, this time facing Roman.

The next few days, the strain between you and him slowly dissipates. He brings you breakfast every morning, making sure you never have to lift a finger. You and Kendall lounge around one of those days, telling work nightmare stories. While he’s the most reserved of the four, you two get along well. You’re both comfortable around the other, and despite his warning the day you met him, you trust him.

Speaking of trust, Greg finally made it. Roman eyes him as he pulls you aside one afternoon while everyone congregates after lunch.

“Enjoying Norway?” you ask, stifling a laugh.

“It’s beautiful. I think I’ll have a great time here.” He throws a cautionary glance over at Roman. “Um, you’ll make sure he doesn’t kill me, right?”

You actually laugh this time. “You’ll be fine, Greg.”

“Anyway.. I’ve had my discussions, and we’re starting to dig. We have a few leads on Logan, and something very promising on Marcia. Thank you for asking me to help. As much as it scares me, I’m having fun.”

“I’m glad you’re at least enjoying yourself. You’re a good person to have on my side, Greg.”

He gives you a small smile. “Oh, and about Connor,” he says suddenly, lowering his voice. “I started making inquiries at a bunch of firms, and, um…” He fiddles with his sweater sleeve. “More than one firm responded when I asked about the progress of ‘Mr. Connor Roy’s lawsuit’.”

Your stomach twists. Along with the jade bracelet, the pieces are starting to come together. “Hey, I hate to keep asking you of things…”

Greg shakes his head. “No, no, go ahead.”

“Is there any chance you have the ability to look into Connor’s finances? Say, last five years?”

“Might take a bit, but that sounds doable.”

“You’re a lifesaver, Greg.” You give his arm a squeeze before rejoining the rest of the family. Everyone’s chatting among themselves, save for Roman, who beckons you over to sit with him on a settee. “Jealous again?”

He makes a face. “Absolutely not.” You know he’s lying.

“You should be. Greg’s great.”

“Moving swiftly on.” He stretches out his arms, looping one around you after you sit. “Like my watch?”

You glance sideways at it, the watch sitting on the wrist he has draped over your shoulder. “Is that…?”

“Yes, ma’am. Connor said I can borrow it.”

“He let you borrow something?”

“That’s our problem here?”

“The worst one, yeah.” You get to your feet, peeling his arm from you. “That and you haven’t done nearly enough groveling to be all touchy feely with me.”

“Y/N,” he whines, catching the hem of your shirt before you can go. “Come on.”

“You have to work for it, Roman,” you chide. “Besides, I have to get ready for Shiv’s dinner.”

“We have to get ready.” He gets up after you as the others make their way upstairs. “We should match,” he mutters to you as he rummages through his suitcases.

You drape a pale mauve dress over your arm, watching him hunt for a dress shirt. “Wear purple, then. You have dark purple somewhere in there.”

You head into the bathroom and change. You try reaching around to lace yourself up, but you can’t quite do it right. “Roman?”

A disgruntled “Huh?” sounds from the bedroom.

“Come help.”

He appears with the dark purple shirt you were talking about tossed over his shoulder, and you quickly register the fact that he’s shirtless. Not that you mind, anyway.

You gesture at the lace up back to your dress.

“Why are these things so complicated?” he mutters, tightening the corset top of your dress. He experiments around with the strings, trying to figure something out. His fingers brush over the bare skin of your back as he ties you into the dress. He manages to finish his handiwork with a cute bow. The dress sits prettily on your body, flattering you and accentuating everything that needs to be accentuated. He sets his hands on your hips and his head on your shoulder, staring at you in the mirror. “Fucking hot.”

“Think about that next time you try to blow me off,” you say lightly. He scoffs and rolls his eyes.

“Let it go,” he complains.

“Only when I feel like it.”

He presses a barely-there kiss to your shoulder. “Is this progress?”

“Maybe.” You smile at him in the mirror.

“Asshat.” He pulls away, smiling back, and shrugs on the dress shirt. “Oh, darn, I forgot how buttons work. I so desperately need your help.” You huff halfheartedly, pulling him close by his collar. You start systematically buttoning up his shirt, making sure to keep it smoothed out as you go.

The fabric clings to him, his carved abdomen. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t admiring him.

“Like it?” he asks, catching your gaze and grinning stupidly. Your palms glide over his abs.

“You’re decent,” you say, a smile playing at your lips.

“Just decent?” He groans. “Work with me at least. You’re so difficult.”

“Are you going to put in the work, or not?” You’ve both drifted out into the hall, pulling on coats.

“I will,” he says, quieting as Connor and Willa join you in the hall. Greg’s already here, scrolling through his phone, leaning against the wall. You give Willa a friendly wave, and she returns it with a smile. “Con, it’s fucking dinner. You don’t need cuff links ,” Roman says, gently pinching the small of your back. Your eyes flit to Connor’s sleeves. The exact same ones he’d claimed had been stolen.

“It’s important to be elegantly dressed and well presented at all times,” he says hotly. You and Roman exchange a look before Shiv and Kendall finally appear. They’re quietly bickering over something and walk past the lot of you.

You have to applaud Shiv for being able to find this patio. Under the stars, on the beach- you can’t think of anything more beautiful. The air is cool and crisp, and you’re at peace just breathing it in, staring up at the strung fairy lights. Roman idles beside you, watching you more than the scenery.

“Something on my face?”

“No. I just like looking at you.” He elbows you lightly in the side.

“You’re awfully eager.”

“I thought you wanted that.”

“I do.” You fall easily back into your usual banter. You feel bad that you’re still harping on his ghosting you, but for some reason you can’t completely let it go.

Everyone seems to be getting along. Connor hasn’t said anything aggravating, and Roman was in a calm headspace, behaving himself. You, Shiv, and Willa find yourself giggling over yourselves as the night goes on. The food is good, the company is even better, and for a moment you don’t even realize Logan had arrived hunched over a walker.

Silence blankets the patio. Roman sidles up to you, subtly lacing his fingers with yours and gripping hard.

“Dad,” Kendall says stiffly. Logan ignores him, sitting down as soon as he can. You and Shiv exchange a look. “Not feeling well?” Kendall asks carefully.

“Peachy,” Logan rasps.

“Clearly not,” Shiv retorts, her voice ringing. “How nice of you to join us the day before the party.”

He waves her off, then looks to Marcia as she brings him a plate of food. Roman gives the fabric of your dress a tug and uses his head to gesture to the beach. He nudges Shiv, gives her the same look, and drags Kendall with him as he steps off the patio and onto the sand. You and Shiv follow after kicking off your heels.

The sand is cool, and it feels nice on your feet. The four of you walk a little ways away from the patio before Roman turns and says confidently, “Connor’s piss poor.”

“Like, he has no money,” Shiv clarifies. “We went to get coffee one day and his express card declined.”

“Well, that’s not how I know that. But yikes.” Roman hooks his thumbs through his belt loops. “He told me something about blowing all of his money, then we realized he’s filing like seven lawsuits at once…”

“What could he be spending so much money on that he blew his entire inheritance?” Kendall asks. You’d caught him up on your findings on his brother, asking him to keep an eye on him a few days before.

“I asked Greg to look into that. I’m not sure if it’s really going to help, though.”

Roman shrugs. “It’s blackmail.”

“We shouldn’t bleed our hand,” Shiv says. “Y/N was right to propose we leave Connor be and bait dad with it. If he covered real property fraud, I don’t doubt he’ll do the same here.” She glances over her shoulder, catching her father’s gaze. “We should probably go back,” she mutters to Kendall. He gives you an awkward clap on the back before following Shiv back onto the patio.

“I have no idea why he’s out of the hospital,” Roman supplies as soon as his siblings are out of earshot. “He’s up to something.”

“He’s probably just saving face, Rome. Calm down.”

“He didn’t have to come to this dinner. He just had to show up to the engagement party for it to seem normal.” You cross your arms over yourself, shielding yourself from the sudden gust of wind. “And we said we wouldn’t think about this here.”

“Get out of your head, Roman.”

He sighs, shrugging off his jacket and wrapping it around you. “Let’s just go back.”

You step onto the patio barefooted. The tension is so thick you could cut it with a knife. Hell, you want to- it’s so damn suffocating. Logan, surprisingly, has his gaze centered on Connor. At least it’s not you. You pull Roman’s jacket tighter around you, watching Connor shuffle uncomfortably while talking to Willa.

“Connor.” Logan’s voice has a haggard quality to it. It wheezes, rasps. “You know you can always come to me for help, right?”

“Yeah. I know, Dad. Right.”

#succession #succession fic #succession hbo #roman roy #succession x reader #wambsgansshoelaces #turmoil #roman roy x you #roman roy fic #roman roy x reader #romantic drama #roman roy slowburn

[magpie-trinkets]

So I was thinking about the similarities between Dual Destinies' main plot and Ghost Trick (space meteor at the centre of drama and suffering) and I thought I'd write a little scene. Content warnings for canon-typical guns. Also spoilers for Ghost Trick: Phantom Detective and the ending of Phoenix Wright Ace Attorney: Dual Destinies. Like, heavy spoilers.

"YOU! IT'S YOU!" Yomiel screams. His legs ache but he continues running after the shadow, and his sweaty palms almost make him drop the gun. "COME BACK HERE, YOU FUCKER!"

He doesn't know the layout of this building and only follows his instincts and the faint sound of footsteps. Doors close all around him and show him one path. He ignores the faint scent of smoke and follows Sissel's directions.

"Help is on the way."

"Can't wait for them! I- I have to deal with this myself!" he pants.

He runs and runs, twists and turns on this labyrinthic trail he's following. His knees shake with each step and he has to support his weight on the wall. The silence amplifies his harsh breathing, but he's still alive, and that's what matters.

Finally he enters the dead end Sissel created for him, and corners the ghost he's been chasing through the Space Center.

The Phantom is masked, their expression devoid of feeling, barely breaking a sweat. On their hands, there it is: the gods-damned box. Their Space Center jacket is likely stolen from whom the blood on it belongs to.

"STOP!" Yomiel yells and raises his gun to point at them. "DROP THE BOX!"

The Phantom remains silent. Their mask stares at Yomiel and he wonders, just for a moment, how they're going to kill him.

"It's the real deal. I can see the Temsik radiation coming out of the box from the World of the Dead." Sissel informs him.

"Fuck." he thinks. So they were able to steal another fragment. "Is there something you can do?"

"I don't know, I don't see any helpful cores I can manipulate. I will go to Jowd and inform him of the situation. Hold them off until help arrives, do you hear me?"

Yomiel feels Sissel's presence dissappear from the room. His hands shake, but he doesn't falter. If he shoots, he could temporarily incapacitate the Phantom, thus securing the fragment, but... he never thought he'd shoot a gun again. He's not ready. He can't do it.

Yomiel's paralised. On one hand, if whatever organisation (he has a pretty good idea on who they are) gets their hand on the fragment, the peace Sissel and Missile worked so hard to obtain would be in jeopardy. If they find out what the fragment is capable of, they're fucked. But on the other... he is afraid shooting the gun would transform him into the monster he became during those ten years, now lost to time but still on his memories. Still on his conscience.

Only that... he isn't alone now. He isn't sinking into nothingness with nobody to hold onto.

"Drop the box, hold you hands up, and no one gets hurt." he says.

Suddenly, a walkie-talkie comes to life from the Phantom's side. "Detective Fulbright! We need you down at the bottom floor to help with the evacuation! Detective Fu-"

The Phantom crushes the device on their hands.

"I'm guessing that's not your real name?" Yomiel tries sardonically.

The Phantom remains silent.

He has to make time, somehow. Jowd and company are on their way.

(He's running out of time. Time is passing.)

"You must... be really fun at parties."

The Phantom reaches one hand into their jacket, revealing a white suit underneath. They take out a gun.

"Okay, okay okay okay. Let's talk this out."

"You're in my way." they finally say.

Yomiel's gun shakes. "That's intentional. Why don't you drop the box, and I don't pull the trigger?"

"I'm not afraid of you. I don't feel fear." Their hold on the gun doesn't falter.

"That's not good. Fear is an essential emotion." Yomiel says. "I used to be a phantom, just like you, ruining people's lives. And guess what? It didn't bring me the happiness I was looking for, far from it. It made me miserable too."

"Your moving appeal will not have an effect on me. I am not myself anymore, there's no one here you can convince here." the Phantom's gun clicks. "And just like Cykes and Terran, your path will end here."

Yomiel is a walking dead man, huh? "It's really pathetic, isn't it? You'll live all your life like this, only knowing how to inflict pain on others and following orders, and for what? A fucking rock?"

"We've been waiting 7 years for an opportunity. I will not let this chance slip by. I can't."

Yomiel laughs. "Only 7 years? That's rookie numbers. Do you know what that rock's capable of?"

"That's information I'm not privy to. It's not necessary for the mission." the Phantom says.

"So you don't know what you're dealing with. You don't know what the fuck you're doing, or what's at risk here."

"You seem to know a lot about this. Too much. I'm going to have to eliminate you." the Phantom states calmly.

This brings Yomiel back memories – of eliminating anyone who had information on Temsik. So this is what being at the other end of the barrel feels like.

"And you seem keen on stealing the fragment. I'm going to have to eliminate you. I can't let that fall into the wrong hands."

Yomiel's hand sweats profusely as his finger tightens on the trigger.

As Sissel's presence re-enters the room, a gunshot echoes.

Yomiel falls.

#ghost trick #ace attorney #ghost trick spoilers #writing #yomiel ghost trick #dual destinies spoilers #fanfic

[mittenwonders]

Since that seems to be the topic if Marijuana should be legalized, I’ll add my two cents!

But trigger warning, it’s gonna piss off 90% of this site. 🤣

Should it be legalized? Absolutely not.

For the record, I also think nicotine should be banned too but one battle at a time right? At least nicotine doesn’t kill the brain and cause people to become incapacitated to drive or make decisions.

It was determined to be a scheduled class 1 narcotic for a reason. The only reason it’s being pushed is for profit now by political leaders, ignoring the entire medical & scientific community. Medical use is far different than recreational use. It’s weird that most democrats are for the legalization too especially since they always push the “trust the science” angle and as a fellow democrat, I’m mad as hell because it makes us all look stupid & sound like a hypocrite. There is a reason other countries will not back off from making sure it’s banned and it’s for their citizens safety.

The argument that it addresses crime and crime rates will go down is absurd. In fact crimes rates have remained the same, just in a different way now. Many of the establishments around Detroit that opened when our state legalized it have been broken into, vandalized or have had fires set. It’s caused more chaos in those areas and many times local neighborhoods don’t want distilleries around due to the smell and the chaos that comes from those crimes.

And the smell is very real along with 2nd hand smoke. Others can still get high around you. I remember I was only 6 years old and we had all our windows open during the summer. Our neighbor was smoking weed. It drifted into our house and I got high as fuck as a 6 yo. I’d like to think most people would try to be good about it around children, but it’s another PSA that will have to be put out. As an asthmatic as well, nicotine smoke greatly affects me no matter what. Even if people come from outside after having a smoke break, it’s still on your clothes and sends me into a flare. There was a reason they tried to ban smoking at places because of second hand. And now we’ll have to fight weed too because everyone has the conception that it’s somehow different. It’s not!!

Now to the health part - smoking whatever is just bad for your lungs. Any kind of smoke. Your body is not meant to inhale it!! End of story. My dad was exposed to 2nd hand smoke growing up and became a heavy weed user (illegally) in his late teens and early 20s. It landed him with extreme scarring of his lungs and permanently on oxygen. Yes weed is still harmful to the lungs!!!

Second, yes there is some beneficial properties but this is solely linked to only the cannabinoids found within the cannabis. THC which is the part that gives you the brain alteration effects is the dangerous part. It does disrupt and kill off neuron pathways and has a higher chance of leading to stroke. Having large amounts of THC in your system over time can cause permanent memory loss, nerve damage and even death. Yeah I said it, death.

This is why science has been studying CBD oil. It still comes from cannabis and brings all the health benefits weed smokers boast about but without all the other stuff that damages your body. CBD is what has been helping the people with seizures, not weed. If the FDA wants to clear CBD use, I’m all fucking for that!!!! 👏🏼 I take it daily myself and even my dog took it. It works!! So I’m not saying there isn’t some truth to weed.

Now medically, if someone has terminal cancer or something absolutely painful & their doctor and them have discussed medical marijuana would be a better option than whatever the alternative - by all means, that is between the patient and their doctor to choose that route. Note that medical marijuana only provides so many grams a month. It’s CONTROLLED. Just like opioids and everything else. If someone really needs it, they’re not gonna go selling it or sharing it.

It’s the recreational users I’m not on board with. Some growers experiment adding different things and you don’t know what you’re getting. At the border we catch a lot of weed (and cocaine) laced with fentanyl. It’s not controlled and therefore more dangerous legal or not. Also many still choose to smoke and drive. Again, it alters the brain like alcohol. Idk but I want my loved ones and I to not be on the road with more asshats who decided to do a 2am Taco Bell run cause they had the munchies.

Which brings me to the final argument people try to convince me with and that’s “well alcohol is a thing and that’s not illegal.” True. And again it’s big business and brings money to the economy. Only reason they want weed legal - money. I’m not even for alcohol either so don’t try to start. I’m sober now after a brush in with alcoholism. Trust me, life is more fun on the other side once you’re completely sober and you realize alcohol is actually a pretty disgusting business. Alcohol and weed is an addiction, I’m sorry but it is. And yes, I’ll be the 80 year old grandma that says weed is a gateway drug. It creates the high feeling and then people want more and more and are willing to try other substances to recreate that high - especially if they do have an addictive personality. Some people don’t and won’t go beyond it but addiction is a very real trait some people are genetically predisposed to.

I don’t agree that having weed should be a large incarceration either. It’s a misdemeanor at best, not a fricken murder. But no I don’t believe it should be legal outside medical use.

I’m usually for do whatever you want to your body as long as you know the risks and don’t cry about it later, but this one is only being pushed because of lobbying and money. It is. Doctors are already tired of telling nicotine smokers smoking is bad as they place the 2nd stent in their heart and now they have to fight another battle as that field is fighting staffing shortages across the nation. They don’t need more patients making dumbass decisions for “fun.” I don’t know why it’s suddenly being brought up again when all the medical facts are out there. I feel like people got confused with the CBD studies and ran with it. 🤦🏻‍♀️

Also personally to me, it just smells like rotten shit. Idk how people do it. It’s super gross and disgusting.

[knowlesian]

hey! sorry to bug you but that last post has my brain buzzing in my skull—do you think ed knows that izzy is oblivious to his aversion to killing people? 👁‍🗨 i’ve been operating under the assumption that while izzy hasn’t put it together, the threat lands because ed thinks he has and i’m SO curious about your thoughts on that entire interaction honestly

you're not bothering me at all! in fact, consider this a gold star super mario music moment because this ask actually unlocks some ed shit i have been dying to talk about but just hadn't gotten around to/had an excuse to throw together yet.

because i think ed knows izzy has no idea, and the toe thing is like... ooooh baby. okay, let me tackle this in two parts.

one: why i think ed knows izzy doesn't know.

i wouldn't say that ed had this plan in mind from day one of starting to build his pirate resume, but i do think he's a smart guy with social intelligence for fuckin' miles.

(the party in e5 is a notable exception that i think proves the rule: i'll get back to it later, though.)

so: ed would have needed to learn fast to protect himself in a million ways, including learning how to kill somebody but make sure they die a few steps/minutes later, when he's on homebase and it doesn't count or whatever. i'm sure he would have made the obvious leap that the scarier you are and the more you enjoy a good maim in public, the less anybody wants to fuck around lest they find out. and with fewer people who want to mess with him, there will be fewer people he has to incapacitate but not immediately kill.

the legend of blackbeard covers strangers' assumptions; but even when it comes to those around him, people also don't assume that somebody who models outsized instances of violence like we're told (and shown) ed employs are covering for a sad backstory and a lack of desire to kill people driven by trauma and self-hate.

they go oh FUCK, there is no doubt in my mind, that guy super kills people. (admiring/horrified, as applicable.)

(caveat: my outside chance thought here remains if anybody put those pieces together and kept ed's secret anyway without ever letting ed know he knew it'd be fang.)

so ed is definitely aware that a level of performed violence in public is going to buffer him from anybody looking crosswise. i think he's also been pissed off over the years and enjoyed the lashing out— or at least, the momentary release it gave him— more than he does now when he was younger, but i'd lay down money one of many reasons ed builds the legend of blackbeard so well is to cover for himself and make it so he never finds himself in a place where the issue is forced and he has to directly kill again.

(this is why i don't think he really intends to kill stede. i think at first he's just bullshitting and assuming he can just put izzy off long enough to sell him on something else because that's how it goes with them, and it's what he knows will get izzy off his back about stede/get him to stick around in the moment; and even when he's talking himself up to it in e6 after izzy does not let this one go, i don't think there's a world where ed goes through with that murder.)

i think ed also knows izzy well enough to know that if that lil gremlin ever figured out ed doesn't kill, he would process it as 'can't' kill. and men who can't kill are not Real Men, in izzy's sad violent little worldview. ed's choices would be a deficiency and weakness in his eyes as well as a failure of masculinity, and we have been shown over and over what izzy thinks of anybody who checks the fucked up weak/gay as in girly boxes he is so very sure are real and matter.

also: we are really not given an indication izzy is a guy who keeps a secret terribly well— or his thoughts to himself for long. like... kind of ever. if izzy knew ed is failing at a very basic standard of izzy's How To Be A Man Good And Hurt People Lots Until They Are Dead, i have to imagine it would come up. loudly, and often.

which brings me to 'then why the toe????'

okay, so. couple facts to lay down here, provided by canon or by extrapolation.

one: ed can read izzy and knows how to say or give him what he wants.

two: e9 establishes the toe routine is an old bit for ed, and it stands to reason izzy has either seen it done or heard about it.

three: izzy gets off on ed going all diy toe first communion. he gets off on it long, and he gets off on it HARD.

(ew. ohhhh this man. oh this weird sad gross man. TO THE PICKLE JAR, SIR, TO THE MOTHERFUCKIN PICKLE JAR WITH THEE.)

all of this says to me: ed knew that izzy would respond positively to getting his toe cut off, and that's why he did it despite telling us an episode before via how he talks about doing it in the past that he never actually liked it as much as it might have appeared. ("poor bloke", etc.)

whether it's because izzy saw it happen and got all omg. omg. weird violence that gets subtextually gay and tender at the end??? well sign my unhealthy expressions of masochism 'r us tiny ass UP and ed clocked it back then, or ed just knows him well enough to know that izzy's response to the Weird Vore would be 'unlike you sheeple, i see that this is a sign of love. my boyfriend is back and wanted to show me he understands now that there are no other ways or people we can be, this is FINE, EVERYTHING IS COOL AND GOOD AGAIN!' i would lay down money the toe was not so much ed being afraid of izzy, as ed knowing what izzy would consider a reward for reality check services rendered.

and i know that sounds... how it fuckin sounds, but we gotta adjust for values of the weird little fucker in question. izzy has his intricate rituals and catholic masochism shit constantly bumper-car'ing around his head like yes. good. love is suffering is violence is love is toes is love is I NEED THERAPY.

so for him, the toe is both reassurance edward is home to stay and evidence he can relax and stop riding ed's ass all the time, and that's even before it's a sex thing.

this gets ed: an izzy who is back in line and not as suspicious, which gives ed space to do things like cry alone or like. act how he wants, for five whole minutes.

so i think the toe was a calculated choice, designed to play on what izzy wants and expects in order to give ed some cover again.

and now, sort of tacked awkwardly onto the end: why the party and ed not clocking that those people were laughing at him at first is the exception to his social awareness on purpose. (outside stede stuff, which is this whole other related but adjacent kettle of fish.)

so: two major things are going on at the party, imo. the first is culture shock; when you're not used to the social rules of the road, or the rules you're used to mean something else to the group you're currently with, it necessitates a catching up period.

if i'm used to a world where people chuck tomatoes at me because they think i told a shitty joke and i enter a parallel world where this is a sign of supreme admiration for brilliant comedy skills, i'm not gonna get the compliment at first.

i used that dumb analogy to lead me into why it's even harder in situations where you are seeking laughs. if you are not trying to be funny and people laugh at you, there's a very easy question to ask: well, why are they doing that?

and then it's usually either because you made an inadvertent joke or they're a dick! easy to sort through.

when you are looking for laughter, parsing through if it's good laughter or not gets harder.

the party is sort of a metaphor version of what happens when you are a comedian from a marginalized group, poking light-hearted fun at your own group in a setting where people know what they're invoking and everybody's having fun. stereotypes often come into it, because at the core of some common stereotypes are occasionally truths! and because jokes hit different when they're made by thoughtful people who are joking about themselves and their lived reality, not being a jerk about groups they will never be part of.

and then: people who aren't in your group find it. and they laugh, and it is not thoughtful and it is certainly not fucking fun. they don't get it: they're laughing at you, because they think all the stereotypes they have about you are super fun and super true.

so ed, who is something of a natural performer and entertainer, is seeking out laughs at the party in e5, and that's why he doesn't see the laughter as a sign anything's wrong at first. he's making jokes, he's dancing— he wants people to laugh with him.

he does not want people to laugh at him.

then he's not joking anymore, he just doesn't know their stupid rich people 'we have so much money and ennui we made up new and dumber ways to judge people for not being as rich and bored as we are' spoon rules, and they still laugh at him.

as soon as that switch happens, ed gets it. it's not that he's bad at reading people, it's that a combo of culture shock and looking for laughs forestalled the obvious conclusion until the very second he stopped looking, at which point he immediately knew they were fuckheads and switched gears.

#...this got so long oops #I LOVE ASKS LIKE THIS THANK YOU #i invite them forever #speaking of now back to the ask meme answers i have yet to do

[rottenbrainstuff]

BG3 playthrough - completely finished under Moonrise

Wow, oh wow.

From the top: first we had fight #1 with Ketheric. I made sure not to kill Kar’niss earlier because I thought I’d have an opportunity to talk to him on the roof, but nope! We just jumped straight into fight #1, and then he was just a large extra hassle to deal with. I felt SO bad killing him, because I had to incapacitate him somehow, and my bard has really good fear spells so that’s normally what I use. It felt really crummy making this poor guy cower while I slowly chop him down. Sigh. (hey what comes out of those incubating death rock egg things? I was too scared to see and killed them all immediately)

Man. I couldn’t stop staring at Ketheric’s eyes though. Even on lower rendering settings, you can see they clearly spent a TON of effort on his eyes specifically. Man, guys. You must have had a special task team that worked for months just specifically on rendering his wrinkles, and the glassy rheumy effect of his eyes. Holy shit. It’s such a cool direction to take, set up your baddie as this awful, ruthless general with all the battle remains and the chilling letters, make him creepy as fuck with the goblin and the axe demonstration, then also put a shitton of effort into making him also just a really really sad really really old man. I love it.

Then after that: wading through the mindflayer colony. Online says that the companions who have extra dialogue or cutscenes in here are Wyll, Gale, and Karlach, but :( :( :( that leaves no room for Astarion? I decided to not have Karlach. Sorry babe. And anyways, without Astarion, who else is going to take out poor old Chop in one single merciful blow?

I rescued Zevlor from the pods, thank god, thank GOD finally. (hilarious to see his tail poking out the back there) My tav has been upset about him for weeks here. Goddamn, poor guy, he’s been thralled by the Absolute but doesn’t care what you tell him, he puts the blame on himself. Even when you tell him it’s not his fault he was enthralled, he still says that that might be true, but whatever the Absolute does, it starts with something that’s already inside you. Buddy, my buddy. And they programmed so many different ways to get angry with him and blame him. Why? Why do you even want to blame this poor guy who is already blaming himself more than you ever could? I mean at best he was enthralled and couldn’t help it, but at worst he just made a bad decision that he honestly and immediately regretted entirely and was disgusted by. Leave this poor old man alone. He won’t even get angry if you pick the most aggressive and mean dialogue options, he just agrees. Sigh. Back with the other tieflings, you can mention to Cerys that you found Zevlor, and she will just be angry at him for letting them down when they needed him. And I mean. Yes that’s valid but damn it makes me sad. Poor sad old man. Anyways he leveled up in the time we were away, and he is a mean fighter now! Nice! I wish he could have stuck around longer. That was an awfully short conversation, for as much as it was all built up, with all the other tielfings mentioning how angry at him they were! Is this REALLY the only interaction we have with him now until act 3???

DAYUM this area is shitty for a resisting dark urge. So many lovely horrible things down here. Wow. My poor tav, he needs a big long rest to process all of this, but after you’re done everyone wants to talk and there’s a big old cutscene coming up. Poor guy, no rest for you.

THE MIND JARS: wow ok. So at the very beginning of the game, you found those two green brain jars on the nautiloid. Hopefully you stuck them in your storage, or maybe you thought they were useless and you just sold them. EIther way, I’m pretty sure it didn’t occur to you to bring them with you when you went into the Moonrise pit? Why WOULD you think to bring them? It’s too bad if you didn’t, because in this area is the only machine in the game that lets you use these jars, and once you find the machine and realize what it’s for, you can’t travel back to your trunk to get them, and you ALSO won’t be able to return later on. So. Tough luck. Me, I was travelling with my team of 8 str weenies, and every mind jar I found, I sent straight to my camp! Why wouldn’t I? These guys can’t weigh themselves down with extra shit! By the time I found the machine and realized what it did, there was only one jar left in my inventory that I didn’t send back to camp.

I suppose the jars maybe are supposed to be a fun little easter egg for players who go back and play again. Too bad I’m very willing to reload and redo things for hours and hours lmao. I reloaded just a couple hours and this time brought all the jars with me. Thanks, I hate it! What a horrible and disturbing little touch. Yay. Was my least favourite the child mind, or was it the spooky singing one? Hard to say!

I was shitting my pants when Ketheric turned into the Myrkul apostle form, cause it looked scary, but damn? We just all slammed it a few times and it was totally fine? Very very cool boss though. I loved the little skeletons sitting on his shoulder with the flails. Goddamn Ketheric stayed sad right until the end huh? Driven to do horrible things in a misguided attempt to help his daughter, forsaken by three different gods, and his last dying thought and words were of Isobel. I fucking lost it when I found the little note that he keeps on him. Excellent writing Larian, excellent job of making your good guys flawed and your bad guys sad. Man I love it.

Now I have a shitton of talking and cutscenes to wade through to get to act 3. I absolutely ADORE how when the guardian talks about the elder brain, it is just ever so slightly the wrong reaction, lmao. I love how instead of being just generally horrified that there’s an elder brain there at all, it seems to be really, really indignant that mortals are controlling it. “I mean yes hey let’s go save the people of Baldur’s Gate from being turned into mindflayers, but the audacity! The audacity of putting an elder brain in thrall!” and my tav is like hmmm I feel like that’s an… unusual reaction to this situation….

Astarion is absolutely preening after the fight, saying that he never thought he’d be the one defeating the shadows. Yeah see buddy, it feels good sometimes to play the hero, doesn’t it?

Man, my party is enormous now because of all the summons I have walking around with me. I currently have Scratch, three quasits, a shadow wraith thingamajig, an earth elemental (which oh man I absolutely love) and now, the latest addition, a cambion. The cambion is hilarious. It’s a totally sentient and intelligent thing, but I can’t talk to it at all. I imagine it’s pissed off at being summoned here away from its dinner to do boring bullshit errands for this group of wankers, so it just totally and completely ignores me.

Off to act 3 now! Can’t believe I’m in the final act of the game! Can anyone tell me where I can get my own tall, hot, and intensely devoted aasimar girlfriend?

#bg3 #bg3 playthrough #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 spoilers

[many-gay-magpies]

alright bestie BUCKLE UP bc the concept film is a TRIP, but the members also have their own individual concept films! i think you’re right about yeonho- i don’t know too much about him myself but he’s usually shown tied up, in a chair, or related to electricity (he’s a pretty active member in the thunder mv, gets electric chaired in trigger, and for his concept film and the group one electricity and the gaming chair are there) as for yongseung, watching his individual film i get the vibe that he’s got his little special interests and gets bullied for them (collecting the globes) which explains why he’s always holding them, And why he’s so comfortable with his clone. he feels like no one understands him or the things he likes, only his other self would. gyehyeon’s greatest fear is losing people- in the individual film he’s playing bball with a friend who suddenly disappears, in the group video he pushes someone (dh i think?) out of harms way. gyehyeon actually does this a lot (clone gh pushing dh off of km in get away, gh smacking the pills out of mc’s hand in “O”) so i think that’s the core of gyehyeon’s character. kangmin is the youngest, right, the “baby,” i think he resents being babied (see how he gets carded in the “O” mv) and feels like he can handle himself. he may also be dealing w some mental health shit. but he kind of has this attitude of “if i kill myself at least this Thing goes down with me” about his clone okay this is a LOT i’m so sorry to your followers

-vrvr anon

my followers can deal with it this is fun as SHIT

im assuming from this ask that u saw the post i made about random vrvr lore thoughts but im gonna link it here just in case anyway . but now that thats over with i just gotta say fucking HELL bro

i rly need to watch their individual concept films lol... but from what ive seen in mvs and such gyehyeon's fear/dark side being losing people makes a lot of sense and also gives me a lot of feelings, with him knocking the pills out of minchan's hand in O, knocking dongheon out of the way of the car in the concept film... and so on (maybe his "dark side" is being obsessively controlling/overprotective of the people close to him to ensure he doesn't lose them?). yongseung's "dark side" being him being made fun of for his interests/looked down on by others for them also makes a shitton of sense-- i noticed in lay back that out of all the vrvr boys and their clones, he seemed the most intrigued by his? like they were a little competitive in the whole dancing scene but in a really friendly/playful way? esp with how the clone (?i think?) nodded at the original ys sort of in approval before doing his own little dance.

and YEAH kangmin... in undercover we do see all the guys fighting/going up against their clones in some way, but its mostly just physical fighting (punching, wrestling, etc) meanwhile kangmin full-on shoots himself AND his clone, killing/otherwise incapacitating them both. that brings to mind whatever the hell is going on with that gorgeous shot where both kangmins are floating in the sky between the two cities—from that, and also from all the other stuff weve seen with them (how kangmin's clone was the first to appear in tag tag tag and how it seems to be the most malicious/active of all the clones), it sort of seems to me like kangmin and his clone are the "link" between the two veriverys, and the ones that started the whole thing in the first place. maybe kangmin was the one to trigger the clones' appearance somehow? idk

okay im kind of just gonna be throwing paint at a wall now because i went back to my lore post and had some Thoughts. kangmin being the "link" between the two vrvrs would also make sense with the thunder mv in mind-- that mv seems sort of like a prequel to me, maybe going back in time slightly to whatever happens to kangmin to start all the clone shit-- either that or it shows the first time shit REALLY starts going down with the clones, ie: the first time the two vrvrs get really, irreversably linked (kangmin going missing could be something the kangmin clone is pulling on him, and i cant help but think that the lightning explosion that happens to him at the end of the mv is the "trigger" of sorts to the two vrvr's convergence). and now im gonna start REALLY throwing paint at a wall with no direction-- because im just thinking about what the "school kills" jacket in undercover could mean. maybe kangmin's whole thing is related to people around him (ie classmates, ie school) hurting him and making him hate himself? idk.

#asks #anon 📝 #vrvr anon #vv #vrvr lore #shits getting SPICY

[enbyblades]

'i want to help you. i love you.'

#pog? #starop #starprime #starscream #optimus prime #transformers #ok ok ok so heres my thing so like im absolutely bonkers right #im so sorry to all of u but this was inspired by d*stiel #BC LISTEN LISTEN. #listen u remember the scene where cas was being controlled by heaven #and the thing that snapped him out of it was his love and loyalty and devotion and whatever to dean #ok so like. similar thing right. the. the fucm #so like think like megan catches wind of the Relationship between star and op right #but like instead of the usual. beating shit. whatever #hes more. manipulative about it. he doesnt bring it up explicitly #hes just like. ok starscream. if u wanna keep ur position as sic. actually if u want to continue functioning at all. u have to kill prime #or incapacitate him and bring to me so i can kill him whatever the fuck gets megans dick hard hope megantron dies #but like ok so cue a confrontation of sorts where starscream finally has to decide if he wants to defect #if he wants to Trust optimus. #he loves optimus but megans rlly fucked him up but oh god he Loves optimus so h #the one thing is tho i changed the quote. the destiiel is 'i need you' #but i was like nah. op would give star a straightforward 'i love you'. bc of course star is already Needed #the cons needed him hes still alive bc hes good at his fucking job. he doesnt need to hear that hes needed. but he cannot Fathom being LOVE #anyway. going insane. clawing at the walls. #of course u kno he falls to his knees after this and apologizes and its emotjonal and gay and theyre in love and Ah #yeha. #blades talks #my art

[babydarkstar]

cacoethes

part two: bring your sweet loving 

rating: E (18+ ONLY) || pairing: ezra x f!reader || word count: 10.5k

chapter summary: as the night winds down and tensions simmer, we learn more about you, pieces of your past, and your relationship with ezra.

 warnings: ezra’s gigantic mouth that won’t shut up (suggestive language) and two criminals not knowing how to act; caretaking, i guess? reader cleans ezra but it’s nothing erotic; SMUT; handjob and graphic depictions of a glorious dick; dirty talk; dubcon maybe bc painkillers but he’s enthusiastic abt it; praise kink; switches having a great time; ezra’s subby in this but i promise he’s a dom too just not tonight; mentions of death, killing, tattoos, scars; mention of past drug use, bad coping mechanisms; mm i hc that ezra is a tiny tattoo guy so there’s that; fluff bc im sweet; author is a southern peach, forgive her if it gets a little slow and twangy up in here

a/n: un-beta’d bc mistakes are sexy. i’ll go back later and fix whatever i find but for now. enjoy. i’m literally just making shit up about this universe as we go but it’s working out for the best so bear with me. lmk if u want me to add u to be tagged here. tagging: @pedros-mustache @jk7789    

crossposted to ao3 :) || playlist || one || two || three

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Here, Cee,” you said, adjusting the threadbare blanket over your cot and splaying a hand over it while she eyed you from across the tent, still standing amongst the carnage of a violent field surgery, “I’ll sleep on the floor tonight.”

The poor girl was scared. Well—not scared, not anymore.

Vengeful, for certain, though it seemed to dwindle with every minute she watched you interact.

Definitely wary of the two of you.

Which was appropriate, given that Ezra had killed her father and left her alone on an uninhabitable moon, only to be scooped up by his partner and deceived into thinking she was safe, and then forced to perform impromptu surgery to hack off an arm. But she appeared more wary to accept help from you than wary of you.

And honestly, if Ezra hadn’t just lost a limb and you didn’t want to hover beside him after not seeing him for a month to make sure he didn’t slip the veil in his sleep or disappear beneath your fingertips—and if you weren’t trying to earn her trust, you’d have made her take the floor.

But things were different now, they might always be. She had saved his life. You owed her your cot to sleep on.

“Wait,” Ezra said, swallowing thickly as he blinked, seeming to just process the words you had spoken, “You think so little of me that I’d let you sleep on the dirt after the day you’ve had? Now, I agree that our guest should find comfort in a cot of her own, but I will not deny you the simple respite of sleep. That would prove me an unworthy companion.”

“Ezra,” you said, giving him a look of incredulity that seeped into your tone, “You can’t be serious.”

He eyed you and clenched his jaw, still stomaching the fact that he had one less limb to worry about, and a bunch more problems to deal with. It was a look that told you he was not arguing with you, you were going to sleep on the cot. He would not be coddled like a child just because he lost an arm.

Which was, in itself, ridiculous. You didn’t plan to coddle him—you weren’t the type, not really. But. He’d lost a fucking arm. But he was also still delirious from the anesthetic, so that didn’t help his desire to prove something to the universe.

“You’re taking the cot, I’m not having this conversation,” you said, wiping his sweaty brow with your sleeve, “Tap into the ruthless outlaw inside of you and take it without regret. You know I hardly sleep anyways, I’ll live without a bed for the night.”

“Then I must insist you share it with me, precious angel,” he sighed, and you could almost see the cogs in his head turning as his distant gaze darkened into something hungry, “I’ve longed to feel your body pressed against mine since I left with Number Two. The divinity of your skin.” He hummed, eyes fluttering shut, “More…more precious than the ore we risk our lives for. Sweeter than fruit. Fresher than a rainstorm.”

“Ez,” you warned, snapping a glare at him.

“Your body…so tender, warm,” he continued, entranced in his own fantasy, not even hearing you when you warned him yet again, “All soft and pliant beneath my touch. It has been far too long since we partook in a pleasure as indulgent as one another—before our partnership with Two, if I can recall. Grant me heaven tonight. I deserve the satisfaction of watching you drip honey for me—”

“Hey! None of that,” you snapped, cocking an eyebrow—and fighting the flutter in your chest and the heat tingling down your core, “There are young ears present, Shakespeare Erotica. Not to mention young eyes.”

You would do no such thing with him as long as this teenager remained in close quarters and under your care. He turned to look at Cee, as if he’d forgotten all about her for a moment. Or maybe it was that he didn’t care. Bastard.

“I’m okay as long as you guys don’t fuck in front of me,” Cee sighed, resigned to have dealt with too much in her past to be worried about flirting—no, verbal-fucking.

“We won’t be doing any of that,” you assured her, giving Ezra another pointed look before slinging his arm around your shoulders and helping him to the cot. He grumbled incoherently, moaning and groaning the few steps it took to ease him down into the squeaky frame.

When you finally got him down—forced him to lay down—he let out another soft whimper of pain, followed by your name. “Don’t go.”

Brushing the hair off his sweaty forehead, you bent down to press a kiss there, “M’right here, Ez. Rest. I’m gonna clean you up, okay?”

It was the least you could do—and that way you could take inventory of every inch of him to ensure he didn’t have any other wounds hiding and festering and threatening his life. Just as this wouldn’t be your first time tending to him while he laid incapacitated, he’d done the same for you plenty of times. There was very little, if anything at all, the two of you hadn’t seen of each other. Vulnerability had another name here: normalcy.

“After—” he rasped up at you, coughing and then righting himself, “After we find our way off this Kevva-damned moon—which we will—I understand if you no longer deem me…worthy of your affections. It’s the only explanation I can find for your denial of my offer to dote on you. I only pray you make good on your long-standing promise to drop me where I stand should I ever disappoint you, dear heart of mine.”

Okay, you didn’t know where all the insecurity and sentiment was coming from, especially hearing it from the mouth of your dear old confident mean-streak Ezra, but he couldn’t possibly be serious. It made you ache to think that he didn’t trust you to stay with him, that he viewed himself as lesser because he lost his arm. Well, he was lesser, but only by mass.

Also, really? The only explanation he could find for you not wanting to sleep with him was that you hated him and didn’t want him because of his injury? He couldn’t think of any more glaringly obvious reasons, those of which had just been pointed out to him?

With a sigh, you brushed your thumb across the silvery scar on his cheek, “Rest now, chatterbox. I’ll be here when you wake up—and every morning after, for as long as I can. Only death could pry you from me, and me from you. You’ve got me, forever….I still see you as you are—a hundred percent you, a hundred percent mine.”

The words felt foreign on your lips, but he was bound to forget them the moment he fell asleep, so you didn’t feel as weird waxing poetic right back at him. The man had rubbed off on you in more ways than one. You normally didn’t speak to one another so frankly—at least, you didn’t, given the nature of what it meant to care out here and how you’d already unofficially established that you two were something more—but tonight you couldn’t fucking help it.

Ezra leaned into your touch, pawing at it with his hand, grabbing onto your fingers and kissing into your palm. A dull smile poked at his mouth and he let it engulf him. “Quite the charmer you are, siren.”

You didn’t respond, only half-smiled and wriggled—reluctantly—from his grasp to grab a few clean cloths and fill a bucket with water. After squirting the sanitizing solution in the water, you simmered the lights down to the lowest setting, to where your eyes had to adjust for a moment before you could make your way across the tent. His gaze bore into you—no, both Ezra and Cee watched every move you made; one in lazy admiration and the other in curiosity.

“Do you need me to put a drape over the post? I’m strippin’ him,” you asked Cee as you slung Ezra’s clean shirt from off the drying line onto your shoulder—you smiled at the floor, thanking yourself from hours ago for deciding not to burn it. You grabbed the bucket and tottered over to him, nodding at him to scoot. He obliged, giving you room to sit by his hip so you could ease his clothes off.

Cee shook her head when you looked to her for a response, opting to sit on your cot facing away from you with her nose in her book, so you shrugged and tugged the fabric off of Ezra in slow, deliberate motions, wincing every time he grunted.

As you took the time to clean off the grime and dirt and sweat of the Green, he told you about running into Cee and her father Damon; how he tried to take his entire harvest from the few cycles he’d spent with Two; about Two’s untimely, irrational outburst that cost them their life. About the Queen’s Lair and the mercs, and the plan to ravage and plunder and take it all for themselves. You thought the Queen’s Lair was a rumor. Not even a rumor—a myth, a legend, something fabricated by desperate fools with hazy minds of dust and their eyes set on fortune. But Ezra told you he’d seen part of it marked on Cee’s map, that her father was contracted to help extract the deposit. Cee even pulled her map out to point to the marked areas, albeit with clinical movements and short words.

So you made a plan to head out at first light, with the trip taking most of the daylight, and they’d be cutting it close but there was no way you’d let Ezra hike so many klicks in his state—not without a few hours’ rest first.

After you’d managed to clean his legs, his hips, his feet and get him into something more comfortable than compression pants, you moved to his torso and traced over each scar marring his skin, each jagged edge where something hadn’t healed right or wasn’t stitched properly. He’d lost some weight under the harsh conditions of the Green—you both had. But he still held onto muscle from the toil that came with survival on such harsh terrain; and he was naturally broad, he always would be, which made him sturdy.

Your fingers ghosted over a few microtattoos he’d gotten; one beneath his ribcage, one on his hipbone, and the one you’d given him yourself on his lower sternum. That one, as you brushed over it with a wet cloth, never failed to make you smile. A sad smile, but a smile nonetheless.

A tiny, unfilled heart, a mere outline, barely a centimeter in size. It was messy, simple, done in minutes. But it meant something, meant exactly what you’d never quite been able to voice.

My heart is yours. Take it.

You’d done it one night when the two of you had gone on a two spin bender, which happened more towards the end of your glory days, when the drugs came easy and heavy and the illusion of time slipped by like sand on the wind.

Any time someone hired your services as cleaners, it took a toll. They didn’t do it often because of that, but the payout was worth the work. No matter how many times you swore you would never do it again, you went back. Because it was hard to ignore the way it felt to flood a deserving someone’s mouth with the taste of their own blood, or to slip a knife in between their ribs and let it slide like butter and watch the light die. It was hard to ignore that you liked it, especially when it was so violent—one of the worst sins to commit, and you enjoyed it.

The act of killing had become cathartic for you. It made you feel more alive, reminded you that you had a beating, bloody heart, and a brain, and veins that pumped blood, and muscles that tore apart and rebuilt themselves stronger. Killing came easy when you didn’t know the target. It felt like a game.

Ezra didn’t enjoy it as much as you did—not to say he didn’t enjoy it at all, for he most certainly did. But he didn’t process it the same way you did. He saw killing as a means to survive and a means to get where he needed to go. He enjoyed turning it into a game, making fun out of whatever circumstance presented itself.

But that one—the last one—it had gone wrong. Messy, slow, noisy, choppy. There was only supposed to be one person in the house: typical target, a man who owed the wrong people a whole lot of money and refused to pay up.

One man.

One man was all you’d expected.

One man was all you’d been instructed would be in the condo.

He went down easy enough, quiet enough—Ezra snuffed him and stuffed him and you’d made to transfer his points into the right pockets.

And that was that.

They had tossed the bodybag over the high-rise balcony and into the pits of the bottomless highway next to the building, with a blinker-bomb inside just in case.

That was that.

Except it wasn’t, it was so fucking far from it.

Ezra, being himself, had wanted so bad to sneak in a quickie before heading back—an unholy, immoral ritual you two had initiated, to fuck where you killed—and who were you to protest? Who were you to say no to pretty words and soft eyes glittering with an untamed wild? To say no to the hands that already ripped at gear and pushed beneath underwear just to get a taste—you couldn’t, it was impossible.

Fresh off a high of adrenaline, pulsing with nervous energy—he was always so good, he always got you right where you needed and then that much further.

And Ezra—being himself—could not keep his fucking mouth shut. The stereotype about men holding in their moans, about them never whimpering or whining or groaning or grunting—yeah, that was a load of Bearkie-shit.

Maybe it held true for some men, but.

Not your Ezra. Not even a little bit.

He talked like heaven’s mouthpiece—or maybe the devil, given all the sinful things he’d whisper to you in the crux of any given night. He let loose whatever noise he deemed necessary to make.

They’d only just made it to the dried, bloody stain on the carpet (a bed on which to copulate), knocking over a floating hilolamp and pulling a chuckle from your paramour, when a shout rang through the apartment and shattered your moment into a thousand pieces.

It was only supposed to be one. One man.

Instead, you were met with another man who you’d later learn to be his brother, the target’s mother, and his pregnant wife.

The man held onto some type of curved sports bat, keeping it up threateningly as if warning you of something imposing. Ezra didn’t hesitate to shoot him in the head, not even bothering to get up from where he’d pressed his hips between your legs. But then you’d had to go and check the other rooms, effectively killing any mood the two of you had shared.

Because fuck, where the men had no fight in them, the women wouldn’t go down without a struggle. Or maybe it was that you pitied them, and it distracted you. They’d already peeked their heads out from behind the door of the master bedroom, worried and doe-eyed and determined.

Maybe if they hadn’t seen your faces—if they’d still been asleep while you swept for warm bodies after the first assailant—maybe they’d have gotten out with their lives. But who were you kidding? You killed without thought. You’d likely have put a pillow over their heads before aiming your thrower and firing twice for good measure, had you been sharp and not distracted by a tongue in your mouth.

Instead, Ezra had the audacity to try to bargain with them. Something about having a soft spot for mothers—his own having been a beacon in his life until she left him orphaned as a young boy. He made it a point not to kill women and children. It was one thing in which he remained unwavering. (He’d kill a grown woman if she gave him reason to, like he had on Exon-5, but that was another story for another time, and a different circumstance which called for such measures, namely that of protecting you.) But he should have known better, he should have known not to try something like that. He should’ve known that he’d have to let go of the final shred of morality he held onto.

So Ezra took down the old woman in a way you still have yet to ask about and don’t care to know; and you’d ended with the pregnant woman choking on her own blood when you twisted your knife into the dip of her throat—and you felt awful about it after watching her crumble beneath you, but she’d hit you upside the head with a thick textbook of outdated skimmer-craft modules and it made you see red among pinpricks of stars.

And that night, after all was said and done they’d spent a fortune on getting high—just to forget, just to be okay.

That night they’d locked themselves in a self-imposed prison of satin sheets and destructive tendencies. Two days buzzing with no food, little water, just him and you and needles and spoons and eyedroppers and blades and pills. Like you couldn’t breathe if he didn’t fill you with all of him, you wouldn’t be able to stand upright if he took his hands off you and stopped letting you flood your veins with a chemical glow. Heavy eyelids, messy sex, raw arms and red eyes.

It felt fucking awful, coping that way, but it felt too fucking good and it made you forget about the lives you’d taken in (somewhat) cold blood.

So after sprawling beside him on the gigantic plush bed with his hand ghosting over your spine, you’d found a part of yourself snagged at the corner of this wild-eyed man’s tar-black soul, and you had thought about what could have happened in an alternate universe.

A moment when he was the target, you were (somehow) the pregnant wife, and you watched him die before succumbing to the dark of your own soul escaping you. And it made you desperate to cling to him as he was in the moment, desperate to know that he was yours and you were his. It was then that you’d asked him if you could mark him. Claim him, to know that he wouldn’t leave you like that, and if he did, he’d have a piece of you everywhere. He’d go down with a piece of you.

Ezra had been delighted, of course, as he was always one for symbolism and deeper meaning even if he didn’t quite understand the rhetoric. And it wasn’t the first time you’d marked each other, just a different time with a different meaning. So he let you dip a sterile needle in ink and plunge it into the tender skin of his chest.

You had one too, a heart on your sternum. Nestled between your breasts, just close enough to your heart to feel like it mattered, like it meant that he felt the same. But you didn’t even let yourself go that far—you two were doped up and delirious and he enjoyed marking you in any way he could, so an opportunity to stick and poke his way further into your skin than he already had was an opportunity he could not pass up. At least, that was how you saw it. Nevertheless, it made you happy to see it there on his chest, and to have one that matched.

Ezra’s soft voice snapped you from the memory.

“What’s crossed your mind to make you so delicate in your touch, so solemn in your stare?”

You realized you had stopped your ministrations and had planted your palm on his chest, staring just over his shoulder and onto the canvas beside him. With a careful hand, you resumed gentle motion over his pecs, up his clavicle, his throat.

“Thinking about Beta-Mobilia,” you whispered, unable to meet his eye, “And after.”

“Mm,” he grunted in recognition, the vibration tickling your fingertips, “Regrettable night. Unavoidable, necessary. But I dwell in shame identical to yours.”

“I don’t deserve to be here after that. I didn’t deserve to live after the Exons, The Grime. Why am I still alive?”

“We’ve discussed this in great length by now, siren. Don’t doubt your existence. It’s beyond sense, beyond comprehension.”

You nodded, still unable to look at him. But then he latched onto your wrist, brushing his calloused thumb over the delicate skin there, and this time you couldn’t keep your gaze away from the soft smile that begged to form on his lips.

“And I appreciate your tender care, wildfire,” he hummed, eyes glittering up at you like two dark pools of amber, “Where would I be without it? Mmm…mhm. Dead, likely. Or bitter. Wicked with taciturn rage. No meaning could come from that.”

“You, bitter and unspeaking? Unthinkable, I’d sooner pronounce you dead,” you drawled, thankful for his kindness to grant distraction, and he granted you an eye-roll. But his expression softened when you sat him upright and maneuvered behind him, wiping down his back in gentle strokes. You folded the cloth over once the side turned brown with grime, and moved up to his neck, scrubbing over his shoulders and giving short strokes down his nape and behind his ears.

“So you planned to go ravage the Queen without me, huh?” you asked quietly, irked that he hadn’t even come to find you before setting out on that venture, “Planned to leave me to rot on the Green, take the money for yourself and steal away with the girl.”

Ezra sighed, and you could see from behind his shoulder how he worked his jaw, formulating what to say.

“Understand that I do nothing without you willingly. Birdie over there’s about as fleeting as a real one. But trust that I planned to come get you—I’d never leave you stranded. I just couldn’t introduce another person into the threadbare alliance I had forged until the time was right.”

“She likes me,” you countered, smiling over at Cee, who now laid with her back facing you as her ribs contracted with the first breaths of sleep. A sign of trust. You didn’t know when exactly you’d earned it, but you’d accept it nonetheless. She had also taken both of your throwers (something you protested and Ezra waved off), so maybe that helped.

“No doubt—there’s plenty to like about you.”

Ever the flatterer, even when delirious with pain.

With a coy smile, you scrubbed over his head and then his face, careful to avoid his snapping mouth that reached out ever so often to nip at your hand—there was that playfulness, the natural effervescence of his presence. When you decided your work was done, you eased him back down on the cot and he allowed it with no protest.

You fluffed his pillow and moved the book you’d stashed beside it. He turned his head and pressed his nose to the pillow, grunting in mild appreciation.

“Smells like you down here,” he remarked with a half-smile, eyes drooping, “You sleep on my cot while I was away?”

“I missed you,” you whispered, nodding, just now aware of how much his presence affected you. To think that you had resolved to try to move on without him—it seemed ridiculous now.

“I missed you,” he returned, “You haven’t the slightest idea how much I wanted you beside me. Number Two was a fond ally but not a companion. Nothing like the banter we exchange, nor the secrets we share.”

“They never talked. I imagine your time away was just as lonely as mine.”

“Absolutely. I regret agreeing to leave with Two. But you know we couldn’t have trusted them to stay at camp while we went off—not absolutely. Not when they’d never spoken a word,” he chuckled and then coughed, a quiet rumble you felt against your leg as it zigzagged through his chest.

Thank Kevva you had a plan to leave now. The spent filter had taken a toll on Ezra—and it wasn’t even his to begin with. He insisted on giving you his when the one your new suit came with was almost completely used up.

Fuck the man for caring about you; he’d gone soft during your time on the Green, and you hated how much you loved it. Hated it because he needed to focus on himself, needed to stop putting you before him. Hated it because every day it made you feel like somehow, he loved you back. That somehow, he thought of you as more than just a constant in his life, more than a body to fuck and a brain to pick.

You’d grown used to each other. But his unpredictability oozed into every aspect of himself, every nook and cranny of his life, and you were too worried about fucking up a good thing over a simple conversation. All it took was one sensitive topic breached and you’d surely find yourself shit out of luck. He was all you had left of the scraps of a fucked up life. Without him, you’d make do but not without a struggle and not without reluctance. Some part of you knew he’d be the same even if he initiated a split.

The thought had you hurrying to tug his shirt on before gathering the cloths and scurrying to place the bucket near the front of the tent.

And you shouldn’t have been so scared to be honest with him—the two of you rarely kept things to yourselves. But to love someone so fully within your heart, to never want to be away from them, to never grow tired of their presence no matter how tedious they may be or frustrating they could get, it scared you.

“A kiss for the wounded?” Ezra asked, brown eyes wide and mouth pouty enough to break you from your racing mind. You softened then, padding back over to him on tiptoe and settling back at his side for a brief moment.

With a gentle smile, you leaned down to grant him a kiss to his lips—the first one you’d shared with him in fuck knows how long. Too long, that was for sure, because when your lips notched with his chapped ones you melted, every worry and every qualm simply washed away in a swirl of pink pleasure.

You couldn’t help yourself—an indulgent, quiet moan pooled in your chest and slipped from your throat before you could stop it, and he hummed right back when his tongue pushed between your lips and you let him devour you. Always the ravager, ever a greedy bastard when it came to his pleasure, he licked up into your mouth and tangled his tongue with yours. It took very little for you to melt right into his chest, pressing your own against him and whimpering when he sneaked his hand up the hem of your shirt to rub circles over the skin of your back. You remained sloppy and almost lazy but intentional as you held either side of his nape and toyed with the strands of his still-damp hair, pouring yourself into this kiss like you’d never kiss him again.

Fuck. Fuck, you wanted him so bad. You missed this man with every vibrating inch of you. You missed his body, you missed his voice calling to you from the very depths of himself, you missed everything about him, and you needed him as close as possible. Closer than close, you needed him.

But fuck. You couldn’t. When you pulled back for air, it didn’t surprise you when he pressed his palm flat on your back to keep you from moving too far.

“Mm, baby—you’re divine. I ache for you,” he all but whimpered into your mouth, breath brutally hot and heavy as he fed you his soul, “Come sit down on me—come take what’s yours. I want to feel you strangle me, show me just how much you—”

“No, Ez,” you cut him off in a biting whisper, lips kiss-swollen, hating how, if there had been literally any other person in the tent beside you, you might’ve taken him up on the offer, “I want to, I promise you that. But she’s a kid and I have limits—one of those limits is fucking in the same room as one.” You glared at him with half a heart, then leaned down to run the tip of your nose along the curve of his ear, smiling when he shivered, “I swear, once we get out of here I’ll make it up to you so many times you’ll forget your own name. You get first choice—however you want me, I’m yours to take.”

“Fuck—alright, I apologize for my eagerness,” he smiled, tilting his head to kiss your forehead.

“But,” you whispered, your heart racing as you glanced over to be sure Cee had fallen asleep before inching up to look back into his eyes. Fuck it, he deserved it. “If you stay quiet, I’ll take care of you right now.”

His eyebrows raised in deft interest at your offer.

“Will you let me take care of you, Sailor?”

Ezra would never admit it, and you’d never tease him about it because it made you feel some kind of way—but he fucking adored when you used his callsign. You were his siren, after all. Only made sense for him to draw to you like a dying man at sea when you called for him. You used it rarely aside from in the field, opting for your preferred chatterbox—because he was more that than anything else—so it came as a treat when you decided to pull it from your bag of tricks.

“I can hardly refuse such a tempting offer.”

“Quiet, though,” you reminded him, tiptoeing your fingers across his chest and tugging the waistband of his pants and his underwear down. Just enough to spring his cock free, which was already hard and leaking for you.

Fuck, he was such a gorgeous sight, and you couldn’t help the urge to cup his balls and nudge them free too, to admire every glorious inch of him.

Spreading your fingers out over his groin through the coarse curls gone wild with mistreatment, you paid extra attention to the white patch of hair ghosting over the base of his cock and spreading out near his abdomen before stopping abruptly on the left and diverging back down into dark brown. You remember when you’d first noticed it and had all but squealed in delight.

Every bit of him was a pleasant surprise, just as you’d found yourself more than eager to let him ruin you for anybody else with the sheer size of him.

Nobody fucked you like they were dying and you were salvation; nobody but him. And shit, did he tear you open. As if he’d carved a space inside of you just for him, each time he’d leave you with a hollow ache that only he could sate.

“Baby,” you purred in a whisper, kissing his hipbone and then leaning up to wrap your hand around the girth of him, rubbing your thumb over the weeping red of the head, “You’re so pretty for me like this.” Forever a glutton for compliments, he whimpered his soft appreciation and you hushed him accordingly. He was so thick, so big that you struggled to touch the tip of your middle finger to your thumb, so long that if you had planned to swallow him down tonight, you would’ve been needing your hand to help. But tonight you could not risk the absolutely filthy noise of you gagging on him; he’d likely cum faster and in less time to worry about waking up a certain tentmate, but you wanted to watch every muscle in his face twitch, wanted to see him take his pleasure unobstructed by your tears. This way was quieter.

So with that thought in mind, you shifted to straddle one of his thighs so you could watch him without tiring your hand in an awkward position. Then you let a string of spit drool down and over him and you gave him a twist and then more, sharp and sudden and fast in your movements as opposed to the slow, appreciative way you’d unsheathed him.

Ezra hissed out a curse, bucking up into your hand, “Shit, darlin’—“

Arching an eyebrow, you halted your work on him immediately. His pulse beat through the throbbing vein jutting out

“What did I tell you?” you snapped. With your free hand you reached up and wrapped your fingers around his neck, feeling the column of his throat contracting as he swallowed. Wide brown eyes looked up at you, a tinge of amusement in their stare.

“Are you gonna be good for me?” you asked in a low rasp, tightening your grip on his neck and giving him a little shake before going slack again, “I don’t wanna hear a single word come outta that pretty-boy mouth. If I do, I’m blue-balling you. Fair?”

Ezra nodded, his gorgeous fat mouth blessedly shut for once.

“Good boy,” you cooed, kissing him before forcing his jaw open and spitting in his mouth. It would’ve been cruel but you meant it so affectionately, and his gentle moan told you he was more than willing to accept it.

You felt his cock twitch beneath your fingers and you simpered, giving a little shimmy of your shoulders in appreciation.

Controlling this stubborn man, resorting him to silence made you feel powerful. It made you feel respected, worshipped; if the man who never shut up and always called the shots would gladly take the backseat and grant you the power to take charge, that meant more than you could wish for.

So you resumed pumping his cock, working him with both hands and then switching to hold onto his throat again before going back to two hands. The act still made quite some noise—filthy and wet and sloppy—but at this point you were less concerned about it than you had been prior. When you decided, despite his tip dripping precum, to spit down onto him again for the fun of it and twist him with a gentle tug, he couldn’t stop the whine that left him even with his bottom lip pulled between his teeth. It had you darting to clamp over his mouth, shooting daggers down at him as he stared up with a silent apology in his eyes, one you might have taken as genuine if not for the way the brown of his irises had disappeared into black, blown out with lust and glassy with pleasure.

“If you’re gonna cum, let me know so you can do it in my mouth. I just cleaned you up and I’m not doing it again.”

The last bit came out harsher than you meant but he took it all the same, biting back a grunt in the form of a sharp exhale as he twitched violently in your hand. Yeah, he didn’t really need to let you know when he was about to blow; you knew him too well. At that, you took it upon yourself to remove your hand from his mouth in favor of scooting to lean down and put your mouth over his angry, swollen tip, flinching at the way the frame creaked but ignoring it and opting to swirl your tongue over him instead.

“There it is,” you whispered with an arguably evil smile—quickly, before pulling him back into the heat of your mouth, resuming your work and grunting when he bucked up into your mouth, chasing the high you were drawing out of him.

Ezra came with a muffled, broken sob, his face buried in his arm as he bit down on his bicep, flexing and squeezing his fingers. A thick stream of his cum hit the roof of your mouth and you indulged him, taking him in further so you could swallow everything he gave you. Ropes and ropes and ropes of cum, like he hadn’t let himself get off in so long, like he’d been saving all of it for you. The thought made you whine around him, and you pulled off when he finished, flashing him your dripping tongue with his spend still on it and drawing it back in before any of it could spill.

“Holy fuck, baby,” he sighed, letting out a quiet, breathy laugh as he tugged on the front of your shirt to kiss you, tasting himself on your tongue.

This time when you pulled back and smiled, you granted him a toothy grin, goofy and knowing. It took you a minute not to giggle like a little kid as you carded your fingers through his hair. He grinned right back, still catching his breath. To you, he was gorgeous, inside and out, flaws and all. You wanted to fuck him right then. You wanted to make love to him, to let him fill you entirely and to sob into his mouth, showing him everything you couldn’t tell him.

“Get some sleep,” you settled on instead, slipping off the cot with little grace after replacing the waistband of his pants, “We head out early tomorrow.”

“Hey now, what about you?” Ezra asked, brows drawn together in concern that you wouldn’t find the same enjoyment he did.

“You’ll just owe me.” You winked then, and gave him one last kiss, which he hummed into with a great appreciative rumble.

Then you pressed your forehead into his, “Mine—you’re mine. Never leave me again or I’ll hunt you down and kill you myself. You’re everything.”

Because he was.

“Nothing without you.”

That was his response, always always always. To hear it again pricked tears in your eyes, so much so you squeezed them shut.

And once again, you caught yourself wanting to say it. This time it had ghosted in your throat, almost making it into the curve of your mouth for you to hold its shape and give voice to a thought. But you stopped it before it could get far. Those three words, the same ones that now haunted you since you’d decided to indulge in every reminiscence involving them. Somehow he had come back to you, a feat which could not be commended enough, but now you ached for him—yearned for him even stronger than if he had well and truly died.

As you settled down onto the floor beside him, those three torturous words surfaced into a memory. The one that, among other fears, made you ever so hesitant to admit just how much you loved him.

————————————

“—In that vein, I don’t find myself in particular need of a great, star-shattering love story. If love is all-encompassing, I can do without the obstacle. Romanticizing my life and its quarrels is satisfaction enough.”

You didn’t know why you were still listening. You just knew that if Ezra kept it up, you’d find a way out of this cell just to break into his and strangle him. Anything to get him to shut the hell up. Banging your head methodically against the wall that separated the two of you, you didn’t even try to hold back your groan of displeasure as he rambled on.

“Now, don’t doubt my skill in worship. I have plenty of practice in the art of copulation”—you could hear the shit-eating grin on his face—“To say I haven’t affixed my interests on one soul or another at some point in time would ordain me a liar. I simply prefer to remain lovers in action…and not in name nor feeling. Companionship…yes, it’s something we all yearn for. It can’t be helped. A warm body, a brain to pick. All wonderful facets to enjoy for the sake of one’s own baser desiderata. But—“

“Shut up,” you bit out through gritted teeth, tugging at the roots of your hair when he kept going and you had to repeat yourself, “Shut up, you goddamned chatterbox. I don’t give a fuck about your love life. Why are you even talking about this?”

A brief silence occupied the space, as if he was thoroughly perplexed by your outburst. Then he let out a huffed laugh, amused.

“You inquired about the specifics of my occupation, little thorn.”

Every time he used that nickname for you—the thorn in my side—it made you bristle. Especially when he used it almost affectionately, soothingly, full of calm and charm that had you balling your fists and pricking the skin of your palms with your fingernails. You despised him, and he treated your existence as a joke, or as a little pet he would grab from its cage and admire before tossing it back and neglecting it until he deemed its presence acceptable again. Everything was funny. Everything could be laughed at. Sometimes you didn’t mind when the guards came to beat him bloody; it made him shut up, whether from pain or because he had passed out.

“Prospecting has nothing to do with love,” you snapped, shoulders tense despite the ache in your body. If these fuckers holding you captive didn’t kill you, the stress of surviving next to this fucker surely would.

“No, it doesn’t,” he agreed, suddenly serious, “Love for others, at least. Love for the dig, love for the hunt and the adventure—that’s a different narrative altogether. Which is why I deemed it appropriate to explain such measures. The lifestyle I settled for is no small undertaking. It comes with sacrifice.”

His condescension was unintentional but still stabbed and poked at you like keepers at a circus.

————————————

It comes with sacrifice. That it did.

That long-ago night haunted you to this day.

But Ezra had his mind focused on softer dreams as he broke you from your self-destruction once more.

“Nights like these make me keen to hear you sing for me again,” he lilted out through the dark, a reminiscent simper pulling at his mouth and crinkling his eyes as he shifted to look down at you, “The melody of your voice haunts the halls of my midnight reveries. But it is such a sweet possession—as though I willed a ghost to enchant me with her gift. A siren indeed. Lure me into the sea of your deception, try to pull me under like the rest of them. But not me. No…not me—I float like driftwood in the breeze…follow the tides of your affection. Somehow I remain unscathed, and you lap at me in gentle waves.”

“Such powerful words from a man who should be asleep,” you chuckled quietly, pressing your lips to the back of his hand where you held onto it now, fingers laced.

“I am but a vendor of poetry. And you, a weaver of melody. Sing for me, siren,” he murmured, his voice thick with the drowsy pull of lassitude. He hadn’t asked that of you in so long you had almost forgotten what it felt like to hear it. Almost. And you would have agreed to it, but—

“No, the girl, she—“

“I don’t mind,” Cee interrupted, quiet and soft. It surprised you; you thought she had fallen asleep—you didn’t want to wake her with your singing. And then you were—

Shit. You sincerely hoped she had just woken up due to Ezra’s long-winded soliloquy about your singing, and hadn’t heard anything else beyond that. Mm, no. You think she would’ve said something about how fucking gross it was. Or pulled a thrower on you.

“As well you shouldn’t,” Ezra chuckled, turning his head to grin at the girl where she had turned to face him on the opposite cot, “She sings like Kevva strung her throat with gold. Or the very strings of a harp.”

You blushed and ducked your head into your shoulder, embarrassed by his flattery. Looked to him and found his honey-dark eyes drinking you in from above, the ghost of a smile on his lips as he flattened his palm over your chest and rubbed it affectionately. “What would you like to hear?” you asked, running a hand over your hair and shifting on the floor to calm your nerves.

It was just Ez.

…and a girl who harbored a teen angst bigger than ten moons; fuck if you wanted her to judge you.

“Whatever tickles your fancy,” he replied, his grin wider now that you’d agreed, “You know I’m not particular to any one hymn—I find myself enraptured by it all.”

“Okay.” You pondered for a moment before settling on one of your favorites.

Then you sang.

Quietly, nervously at first in an unpracticed rasp, then growing more steady and mellow and soft.

Some swirling folk melody from your childhood in your native tongue, one you’d never forget even if someday you lost your memory. A lullaby for village children; a lilting work song for the women to hum when laundering clothes at the stream, soothing the babies strapped to their backs or their chests or both.

It told the story of a curious young girl who loved the stillness of the ocean, found peace in its silky depths. She liked the silence so much that she would spend hours beneath the water, training to hold her breath and exploring the creatures of the reef and listening to the wavering silence.

Until one humming summer night she swam so deep the water turned black. She was scared she wouldn’t be able find her way back home but she reveled in the quiet—the quiet that not even the nighttime forest could provide, nor the village when the hunters and scavengers left for work. It was then that she saw a light shining from the deep, and decided to chase it.

Down, down, down.

And down. Until the light became so bright it surrounded her, seeped into her until she did not know where she began and it ended. No pain, no fear surrounded her. Just a sense of calm, and peace.

And she became the moon, the biggest one in the sky. The silence up there was incomparable.

The song was meant as a warning to the village children not to wander too far from the town and somehow find themselves in the cove breaching the outer mountain range. A warning to stay away, else you’d become one of the many moons in the sky, never to return to your family and the life you loved.

But you’d always found it more compelling than that, more meaningful, because the story originated from a similar legend of the moon goddess your village worshipped, the deity of the biggest satellite in your skies. The minor difference came in the detail that she chose to become the Great Moon after divine conversation instead of chasing a light down into the deep on a whim. And there was a ceremony held to initiate her transition into a celestial body.

When you’d wrapped up the lullaby you found yourself more at peace than you’d felt in a long time. You didn’t like to think about your planet, nor your village, nor the tragedies that occurred there. But this memory was a happy one, filled with sleepy eyes and chubby fingers grabbing onto mothers’ cloaks, and getting tucked into warm soft blankets by a fireplace.

“Sweet siren,” Ezra whispered in a drowsy slur, giving your hand a gentle squeeze as he turned to rest on his back, “Never fail to soothe me even when ’m in utmost anguish.”

And with that, he left you in silence, and you knew he wasn’t far from sleep.

By the time his breath evened out, you felt your eyes drooping.

Fuck, you were exhausted.

This spin had been arguably more eventful than any you’d had in a long while, and it didn’t occur to you that you could be tired when you’d hardly done much until the action rolled in.

The floor was actually not half bad, given that you laid on the tarp that absorbed heat but quickly cooled when you moved. The nights here got cold, surprisingly. But Ezra’s hand hanging down and resting across your chest felt so good. The weight of him, the heat of him, it grounded you. You circled patterns into his upturned palm until you became too sleepy for that, settling on threading your fingers with his and feeling his pulse beneath your fingertips.

How dare he think you’d care for him less with only one arm? If anything, it showed his perseverance, his will to move forward and make hard decisions. Only something a man with determination could do.

He felt so warm and sure—steady. He was safe now that he had come back. You felt the inky black of sleep begin to wash over you as organized thought became jumbled feeling.

You didn’t have to worry anymore, not about his whereabouts. Everything was alright. It was as good as it had been in quite a while.

Everything would be alright, you could just…

Just…

“I wish my parents had loved each other like that,” Cee murmured in the quiet dark of the tent, rendering you wide awake with a jolt, as if someone had plunged a shot of adrenaline into your chest.

“They separate?” you managed, knowing it came out strange but not wanting to confirm or deny anything about you and Ezra. The silence that greeted you implied that she had had no intention of you hearing it. But she spoke regardless.

“No,” she scoffed, then went quiet for a moment, “My mom died when I was little. And I can’t remember what they were like together. We were always working so there wasn’t a lot of time for love between them.”  

Oh. An orphan. It softened you a little more for her, made you more sympathetic to the fact that Ezra had killed her last living parent. You were an orphan too. So was he.

“We’re all missing parts of our family in some way or another. People with worldly attachments don’t usually sign up for this level of intensity. Not the strays, anyhow.”

“But you have each other,” she insisted.

“By chance alone. We didn’t start off liking each other. And we’re not…married, or anything.”

The last bit came out strangled—you’d never…said something like that aloud.

You and Ezra, married? It was odd, to say the least. You never thought of yourself as one to desire marriage in any respect—ceremonial, legal, the like. It just didn’t sit well with you. Too many complications, a lot of governing body involvement that you didn’t care for.

And Ezra…he wasn’t too fond of it either. But not because he didn’t want it, that much he’d admitted to you one night after admitting the complications of his feelings on his love life, ones that somewhat contradicted the first time he told you about it all; he couldn’t have it, he’d never let himself believe even a fraction of him deserved it. The life of a floater—and sure, just as Cee’s parents had prospected and been married (you assumed) and had a kid, many others did the same. But then you supposed it ended with kids like Cee, and she was lucky to not lay dead next to her idiot father, or trapped and sold as a body in the Dark-Spawn Trades. Lucky Ezra wasn’t filthy and depraved, lucky you were once young and scared like her and so took it upon yourself to keep her in your sights for now.

“How’d you meet?”

A chuckle bubbled out of you as you sat up and ran your fingers through Ezra’s hair, watching his chest rise and fall in even strokes, thinking back on that night so long ago.

“Stealing supplies from the same drop company. Two feral dogs fighting over who deserved it more. We bickered and threatened so much we lost track of time and made a mess and a ruckus and got caught.” A smile threatened to break your features and you let it, for just a moment. It faded as you recalled your awful encounter, “Captured, tortured for information because they thought we worked for a rival mining company. They wanted the locations of dig-sites we didn’t have, mining techniques we didn’t know. When he brought up the Wastes earlier…that’s what he meant. Surprised we didn’t die, but they really thought we were valuable or something.”

You gave yourself a minute before continuing. In a panic, you rubbed circles over the tattoo on the web of Ezra’s hand between his thumb and forefinger, trying to ground yourself as wicked, blood-specked memories flooded your head.

Deep breath. You’re safe, he’s here. This will be good to get off your chest. You’ve never spelled it out to anyone before. Nobody’s ever asked. Maybe this girl is a gift from the universe, maybe she was sent here to give you space to heal. Deep breath. You’re safe. He’s here.

You eventually pressed the back of his limp hand to your cheek, and found your voice once more. You didn’t need to worry about waking him; once he conked out into REM sleep it took a freight train to wake him up. At least, when he was with you he always slept deeper. He’d told you one night; how it helped to have you there, like you dragged all the bad memories and nightmares away, pulling them so far out of reach he only found thoughtless, worry-free sleep.

“Hearing someone’s screams from the other side of a cell wall makes you more susceptible to care about them. A bonding experience, so to speak. He’d talk to me for hours on the nights they made us sit and anticipate another session. Recited poetry, recalled stories from his time as a prospector as an escape from our reality. I would sing for him, when we knew the guards had left. It was how we got to know each other. It’s—that’s why he calls me his siren. The reason I call him a chatterbox, among other obvious explanation.”

“How’d you get out?” Cee asked, resting her cheek on her hands as she laid on her side, watching you with keen interest.

“Killed them,” you rasped, not wanting to go into the gory details, “Every single one.”

For nights you had laid awake, haunted by memories of blood staining your only pair of clothes, blood splattering into your mouth, chunks of brain matter on Ezra’s gloves as he dragged you through a maze of tents and established buildings, viscera on your recovered suit, the way you’d had to swallow bile back down your esophagus at the sight of all the lives you’d taken. But you had to do it; it’s what you told yourself when the images would replay every time you closed your eyes.

Vengeance, necessity, paired with Ezra’s seemingly insatiable bloodlust—and your own. Your own shameful desire to incite violence, one you bred in the early years of your youth and had stuffed away until needed.

But you hadn’t been able to deny that, when Ezra shot a man who’d pinned you to the ground and then finished him off with a knife spurting blood out his neck, it stirred your blood something wild. Hearing him panting through the transmitter, grunts and curses as he tore through humans and humanoids and alien creatures alike right beside you. Hearing him call out targets, watching your six, taking single-word direction from you when you did the same.

They worked like a well-oiled machine, like you two had never not known the other. And he was sloppy in his technique, grounded more in brute force than strategy—but you made up for that in quick, evasive maneuvers and stealth. Both of you had near-perfect aim and could work around the clunky gear of your suits.

Messy—pools of blood, the sickening crunch of bone and cartilage crushed beneath your hands and your feet and your knife and whatever other weapon you scavenged along the way.

It felt like a ritual. A baptism of carnage that ensured neither one of you could live without the other.

So of course, when it all was over and the last vertebra snapped—

—there had been filthy, unhinged, surely unsanitary, bio-hazardous fucking in a tent surrounded by carnage.

Fucking in way you could only describe as feral.

Unrestrained.

Hot, Kevva’s saints was it brutally hot and so needy—but also so, so tender.

Full of soft emotion. Unspoken, even for Ezra’s standards. Almost loving.

Your aching bodies, exhausted and weak and battered, dragged lazily against one another once both of you had ceased the initial writhing pace of passion and the adrenaline ebbed. It tasted tinny like blood and musky like spit and salty with sweat and tears, and if nothing more, it was real. Whispering about how fuck, they’d made it and god, they were on the same level, we made it, baby—can’t live without you, I need you I need you I need you—

That day was quite possibly your favorite memory as well as one of your darkest. The day that you knew, in the charred, most twisted part of you, that you’d follow this man to the ends of every planet, to the far reaches of the universe—and he’d very well do the same.

Of course, you shared none of that with Cee.

“We took down the main base of the entire company. They were small but well-endowed. Got to transfer points into our accounts and sort through the mining equipment and the food,” you offered instead after a long bout of silence, “And the spoils of their labor. We were rich, could have retired early.”

“Why didn’t you?”

You debated whether to lie or tell her the truth, deciding on the latter. This girl wasn’t a threat, she genuinely wanted to know. “Ezra and I have—had a certain…interest in finding thrill wherever we can.”

Cee quirked an eyebrow, and you elaborated, “It’s not something to romanticize, we certainly weren’t smart about our spending. Gambling, drugs, slingshot scooter racing, smuggled creature ring-fights. The risk makes winning worth it. It was addicting. We earned a lot. Uncountable amounts of money. But we spent it all and then spent more. Pulled stunts that not even the most daring would try. Heists, intel-theft for enemies of certain people. We got caught up in it. Eventually drowned in a swamp of debt and unrequited favors. Got put on watchlists by the head crime syndicate and peace officers alike in the Core Worlds because we got cocky. Sloppy. So many people want our heads on a stake that we’d be better off dying out here. It’d be ironic, given the executions we deserve.”

You shuddered at the thought of Karolclan and their unusual procedures for punishment. They wanted you the most—you owed them the most. Them and Omni-Five. But Karolclan was decidedly worse.

“Why are you still mining? Wouldn’t it be easier to hide somewhere less dangerous?”

“We have debts to pay, bird,” you sighed, fond of the nickname Ezra gave her as it fit her well, “It’s the only honest work we can get without a biotracker recognizing our scans or someone realizing that the burner names and scouting codes we give them are bullshit. We work alone—no drop company, no mining corps. Until we can get our names cleared and our bio-scans off the watchlist, we can’t do shit else.”

If nothing more, Karolclan did allow debt payoff. But only if you could evade their capture, and only if you had the means to satisfy compounded interest. They were brutal, ruthless.

“He said you had a crew…and a ship…before you ended up stranded.”

“We did. A group of people like us. But you can imagine that a group of outlaws don’t always see eye to eye—buncha hotheaded criminals. Fought over aurelac, argued over fair shares, resources, everything.”

That wasn’t the whole story.

It started as a dispute over aurelac, but had quickly turned into a spat against Ezra, why he had so many successful harvests and surely he was stealing or cheating, how it wasn’t fair that you two were attached at the hip and didn’t section off when you split into groups to cover more land. In the heat of argument and the desperation of man, that had morphed into threats against you—Why don’t you fucking share her, Ezra? We all have needs and she’s barely good at the dig-sites. Put her to use somewhere else or we’ll find a use for her, and that devolved into Might take her right from under you if you don’t watch yourself, don’t be surprised if you hear her struggle tonight.

You had gotten used to the crude commentary, the snickers and wolf-whistles when you bent over, and if they had tried to somehow steal you away in the night, they’d have been reminded that you slept fully armed and showed no mercy to anyone who touched you unless they knew just where to start—and only one person did.

But that…that had not gone over well with him. It ended before you even knew what he did, and pretty soon you had a dead crewmate spilling blood over your boots while the familiar sound of throwers charging up rang in your ears, all of them pointed at the man panting beside you. The only one from the group to live and remain on the Green had been Two, and honestly you were never fond of them but weren’t surprised when they helped you and Ezra take the heat off your backs—they always teamed up with you two and they were good at what they did. It was a shame they were gone—despite their silence and threatening demeanor and sometimes uncalculated moves in a plan, they never made a move to harm either of you; they just wanted to harvest and get out like you did. Better them than Ezra, though. You’d have genuinely lost your mind if they had shown up in his stead.

“Did you kill the crew too?”

“Only a few,” you said honestly, “The others left us stranded when they realized we’d kill them next. Number Two was our only ally. Now they’re dead.”

You laid back down and put Ezra’s hand across your chest again, “Get some rest now. We’ve got a long day ahead of us. And if you choose to kill him while we sleep—kill both of us.”

You didn’t know why you’d felt compelled to say that, but revealing such a dark part of yourself to her convinced you that she’d plant a bolt in you or Ezra’s head and run. Ezra was the more likely target, given his history with the girl. It was irrational, for the most part; if she truly wanted him dead she would have let his wound kill him. Or she would have shot him sooner. But you couldn’t be too sure.

And you’d sooner die than wake up to him cold next to you.

#ezra (prospect) #ezra x reader #ezra x f!reader #ezra (prospect) x reader #anya writes #ohhhh boy! a second installment #pedrostories #ezra smut #cacoethes

[blackwidow-bby]

Never Be The Same- Mafia!Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Prompt: Mafia Boss au but y/n kidnaps the mafia boss

Warnings: Cursing, violence, gun mention and gun use, kidnapping

AN: I saw this prompt from a tiktok where someone asked "your favorite trope but reverse" so I did it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It wasn't often that you got anonymous letters sent to you by someone looking for your "services". You had left the spy life years ago with a little help from the Witness Protection Program in order to pursue a much quieter life doing...well currently you were just working as a florist. Before that you cleaned headstones at the towns local graveyard, which was scarily a lot bigger than the town you were in. You had quit that job when you got the first anonymous letter on the steps of the shed where you kept your tools. The thought of someone knowing where you worked, hell, who you were, especially when they shouldn't spooked you more than working in the graveyard around sunset.

The request wasn't for anything serious. A simple adult-napping job of some woman. The stranger who left the note definitely specified that they wanted the target alive. It would have been an easy job with some extra cash to put in your pocket, but instead you jumped ship and quit that day and moved to another apartment complex. You even went so far as to get a P.O. Box instead of using the complex's mail. The threat wasn't that big to get the government involved in relocating you again.

You almost you wish you could go back in time to the early morning before you received the letter by some covered stranger. Your skin turned white when you saw the simple little envelope with your old agent code name; Viper.

Sneaky and deadly, you always knew the perfect moment to strike. Whoever this person was had to have also been an old agent from the same organization you worked for. That was the only way you could explain away the anxiety that boiled in the pit of your stomach. Once was an instance, but twice is a hobby, you decide you'll at least think about taking the job. Opening the envelope, your heart started to pound quickly inside its cage. You can't believe you were about to put yourself in this position after leaving it for so long.

The letter read:

Dear Viper;

It has been many years since the last time I've seen your face, the first time I thought you were a ghost. Certainly after seeing your face again, I knew for sure my mind wasn't fooling me. It is with a heavy heart that I ask for your help. Unfortunately a family member of mine had found themselves in trouble with a mafia member. Unable to keep their end of whatever bargain, the mob killed him. I need you to find the person who did this to my brother and bring them to me completely unharmed. I want them conscious, I want my face to be the last ting they see before I get revenge for a member of my family ceasing to live among those that loved them.

The target's name is Natasha Romanoff. At the bottom I've left a burner number and an address if you do decide to take my offer this time, the payment will be handsomely.

Much Thanks;

Otter

Natasha Romanoff? Sounds mafia enough to you. Gods, what a messed up situation to get into. Would it really be enough to possibly have to change your identity again? What if this person was important to this group and they decided to come after you? You sat in silence thinking for a long time if any of this was really worth it. There was a tiny voice that peeped up in the back of your mind. You had been kinda bored lately, this could be the spice you need to add back an old pep in your step.

It was decided. You'll get to work searching for this person in the morning. Wow, that took so much persuasion.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You got started early the next day. Definitely not due to not being able to sleep in the first place. Oh no. Thanks to the nerves building up over putting yourself in a shitty position. Luckily for you though, this Natasha woman wasn't hard to find at all. The mafia she was affiliated with, operated in the city near the town you lived in. They also apparently seemed to operate most of their business out of a simple pet shop. This has to be the inner workings of a screen writer, you thought to yourself.

Your nerves began to get the best of you on your walk back home. It seemed like everyone's eyes were suddenly on you, like they knew exactly what you were up to. You picked up your speed and released a breath you didn't realize you were holding when you saw the steps to your apartment complex. You quickly ran inside up to your floor and slammed the door behind you. Gosh your nerves were starting to annoy you. How did you ever make it as a top agent is beyond you thinking of the position you were currently in. All feelings aside, you pressured n to pack for the trip you'll soon be taking to the city. It was going to be another long night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your trip to the city was surprisingly smooth. Light traffic. Sun was out. If not for this little mission, if you could call it that, the day would have been perfect to do some sight seeing. You found the "pet shop" just as easy as well. You set up camp on the side of the street in front of the building to see if your target would possibly show up today. You were really hoping this didn't turn into a multi-day stake out. just wanting to get all of this over as quickly as possible so you can go back into hiding again.

It took about 7 hours, well into the late afternoon, before you spotted her walk in. Surprisingly, she was alone. Perfect, time to move in. You got out of your car and casually walked around the side of the business to see if there happened to be a door. The alleyway of the building was dark enough that anyone on the street wouldn't be able to see in. The sound of a creaky metal door could be heard just around the corner. You guess the back will have to do. As you got closer to the sound, you saw the woman in the back of the building talking with a man. You couldn't make out a single word they were saying. Their conversation wasn't important though, only getting her to Otter was.

Your heart began to race as the moment to make your move came closer. This is what you had trained for your whole life. The stealth and ability to make a move without anyone around you knowing until it was too late. Your eyes trained on the red-head in the back of the building. You gave a silent prayer to whoever was listening that the person she was with, would leave her alone for just one second. That's all you needed; one second.

Suddenly, it was as if all of the puzzle pieces fell into place. He left to go back inside. Time slowed down in an instant. You immediately released a breath through your mouth and moved in. You could see every single moment, all of the steps you took right up to behind her. Watching her turn around carefully but never hearing you step up behind her. At the very last second when she had finally caught sight, one hand reached but to grab her arm and pin it behind her back while the other reached around her head with a chloroform rag to incapacitate her.

The hard part was done. The red-haired woman fell limp in your arms, so you maneuvered her into a bridal position to easily carry her to your car. Time was of the essence. Someone would be coming to look for her soon. Swiftly and quietly, you walked back through the alley and reached your car. Knowing you had some time before she woke up, you could stop later to tie her hands and legs once you were farther away from the city. You placed her down in the back seat before getting in the front and driving away. You let out the most dramatic exhale and looked for the letter Otter had given you of his number and location.

One ring

Two rings

So you did take my offer?

Yes, I'm headed to the location now.

Excellent, thank you for your work.

Yeah, whatever.

Click

You drove on for another half an hour before you reached the location. It was an old abandoned warehouse settled 20 minutes in the opposite direction from the city. The sun was completely settled at this point making the surroundings very dark. The sky had an almost purple glow from the towns nearby lights. Getting out, you circled the car to the back passenger door to remove the woman and bring her inside. She was still passed out from the chloroform only stirring slightly as you picked her up.

Maybe it was the exhaustion catching up to you, but you don't remember her being this heavy. Trudging the knocked out woman inside, you found a small chair and placed her down. Your timing was sort of off and thought better to tie down her hands and legs now before checking her pockets for any weapons or forms of identification. The woman's head lulled from left to right while you searched. You found a knife on her belt holster, a small revolver tucked in the back of her pants, a wallet, and a set of keys but not car keys. Her eyes started to flutter while you fingered through the wallet. Nothing important, a drivers license, a couple of business cards from the "pet store", and a what looked like a family photo. The people in the photo looked familiar to you, very familiar.

"What are you doing with that?" The woman mumbled in your direction. You looked her in the eye not saying anything. The woman was gorgeous with the single light shining down on her causing an angelic glow upon the crown of her head. Her red tresses seemed to almost burn in your presence. You looked away from her and continued to inspect the photo she kept in her wallet.

"Who are these people with you?"

Her head lulled once more, "Why do you want to know?"

"Answering a question with a question won't help you. What is your affiliation with the mafia?"

"I'm their fucking boss."

In that instance your eyes widened. Of course, that's why the men in the photo looked familiar to you. She was the fucking heir to one of the top mafia rings in the country. This idiot, Otter, wanted you to bring in the living heir and current head hancho for what she did to a simple family member that got caught up in the wrong group. The sweat was beginning to pour now that you realized you were absolutely fucked.

Before you could say anything else, Otter, the man of the hour, busted trough the doors.

"Viper! I knew I could count on you!"

"What the fuck man?! You really had me capture the fucking mafia BOSS?! We're both going to be fucked if you don't explain everything right now, Otter." You were sweating rivers at this point. Utterly frustrated and hot in the warehouse. The red-head was slowly coming to 100% but her eyes still couldn't fully focus.

"Calm down Viper. Your work is done with me. I'll cover everything up and you can go back to your quiet life."

"Over?! If you don't give me a very good reason to leave her here in your possession, I'm taking her with me." you were shouting at this point. The red-head was now staring at the both of you dumbfounded at the whole situation everyone was in.

"She killed my brother!" You swore you could see steam coming off of his head. "She killed him and left him to rot!"

"Your brother was nothing but scum who tried to steal weapons from me to sell for himself." She had responded this time. Otter quickly pulled out a gun from his pocket and aimed it at the woman.

"He would never have done anything to harm his family or himself!"

She didn't falter her glare one single bit, even with a weapon pointed at her head. "He'd be living a healthy fulfilling life had he not crossed me."

He cocked the gun this time. "Shut up you stupid bitch!"

A smirk played on her lips, she was enjoying getting a rise out of him. Like she knew something the both of you didn't know. Like she knew no matter her outcome someone would always be out there searching for both of you for the rest of your lives until you got caught, or god forbid, kill yourselves to keep from being caught. Your nerves were spiking again, you couldn't let Otter kill Natasha Romanoff.

You sucked a quick gasp. Otter didn't notice but Natasha did. You had her gun.

Natasha's eyes darted back and forth between you and Otter. He was getting upset at the fact that her attention wasn't solely on him. The arm that was holding the gun stopped its falter and held up straight to Natasha's face. "Look at me! I want my face to be the last thing you see when I kill you, you stu-"

BANG

Natasha jumped. She had seen the whole thing take place but didn't really expect you to do it. She could see the tremble in in your hands as they stayed in the same spot. Your eyes were wide, lip quivering, you couldn't believe what you had done and now you had a new problem to cover up. Natasha had a look of empathy in her eyes. You didn't want to be in this position from the get go and it had only gotten worse for you.

"Hey, look at me..." Natasha spoke up softly to break your trance. She had leaned her body towards you in a manner to reach out. "You can put the gun down, its going to be okay now." Your eyes darted down to the gun and back up to Natasha's green eyes. Still shaking you slowly lowered the gun to the ground before you walked over to her cautiously. Tears were falling down your face, the weight of the situation was hitting you. If you had never agreed to Otter's request, you would be cozied up in your bed, awaiting another new day.

Your fingers found Natasha's bound wrists. her skin was surprisingly cool to the touch. She stared at your face the whole time you unwrapped her from the chair. The fresh tears leaving clear trails down your slightly dirtied cheeks. The slight glow of your e/c eyes under the florescent lights of the warehouse. You knelt down in front of her to then remove the binding on her ankles. Something within her compelled her to reach out to you. Without even realizing it, the red-heads palm was already resting on your head. She reveled in the silky smooth feel of your h/c locks. The slight dampness from the sweat that had overcome your skin. She could feel the softness of your fingers slowly circling around her last ankle when your sad eyes looked up to hers.

"How did you manage to capture me without anyone seeing you?" Her hand slipped down to your cheek. "In all of my years, I have not once not heard someone creep up behind me the way you did."

The steady stream of tears grew heavier, your quiet life was about to be destroyed by your own need for a change. She would certainly have your feet for getting a one up on her.

"It was my job. I was known for being so light on my toes, no one could hear me coming." your voice wavered, but the words got out.

"Well I could use someone like you by my side." Natasha held out her hand to you as she got up on her feet. Not really having her ground, she nearly fell when you caught her by the waist. The two of you held your breath as you both stared deeply into each others eyes. You could swear if you inhaled, her scent would be enough to drive you mad. "My guys will cover all of this up for you."

You sat and thought about everything she said. The would would probably prove more exciting than working at a flower shop and probably be more fruitful. You smiled at her. You could feel her warm breath near your lips.

"When do I start?"

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #x reader insert #marvel #black widow x reader #mafia!Natasha romanoff #prompt fic

[missingbk-dkhours]

In which Izuku is back at his dorm.

(How to read: The POV of this work is in third person limited, meaning that I will be referring to the characters in third person, but only showing one character's thoughts at a time. The POV changes in the middle of the work. These three dots, "...," when not used in dialogue, mean that there is a change in the POV.)

Izuku POV

The sheets feel soft underneath him. Izuku scrunches them between his fingers, pushing and pulling on the fabric.

It’s been days since he last slept, right? Days. That… probably isn’t the healthiest.

He pinches the blanket beside him and rubs it between his thumb and finger. If he lies down right now, he’ll definitely pass out instantly. He stares at the blanket in his hand.

How ridiculous.

People are out there dying. People begging for a hero. People using their last breaths to call out for someone who will never hear them because here he is! Comfortable on this luxury of a bed, fresh out of a hot and steaming shower, tending to his needs. He feels his heart ache for all the lives he’s not saving. All because he’d allowed himself to rest...

He’ll leave then.

He’ll leave, and beat whatever villain crosses his path on his search for All For One. That’s- that’s right! Shigaraki is still somewhere out there, preparing to steal One For All. Becoming stronger with every passing minute. He’s probably waking from his slumber at this very moment, reaching towards the earth with his devastating hand. Somewhere in Japan, the world shatters- No no no no no no.

Izuku whips his head towards the nearest window. The movement leaves him dizzy. But it’s fine. He just needs to leave. Now. If he hurries now, he’ll still beat Shigaraki! He’ll still save every-

A hand, firmly grasping his chin, whips his head forward.

Izuku squeezes his eyes shut, “Ow…”

“Shuddup. If you think about escaping again, I swear, I will knock you out,” Katsuki lightens his grasp. “Now sit still.”

Right…

Kacchan is... brushing his hair.

Izuku stares at the blond standing in front of him, “You, uh, you know, Kacchan… I can, uh, brush my own hair.”

Katsuki scoffs and crosses his arms in front of him, “You serious, Deku?? Give it a rest, already! You can barely move your shitty body.” He lets out a forced chuckle. “How did you even think you could make it out of this room without fucking collapsing??”

Izuku sighs and looks down and away from Katsuki. His entire body shakes with every breath he takes. Have his muscles ever felt so numb and his bones so frail? So much fatigue is frightening. He hates it. Hates to admit just how- Another trembling breath, and he glances up to Katsuki again- ...just how delicate he feels.

“Plus, Deku,” Katsuki starts, dragging his fingers across Izuku’s forehead and moving Izuku’s bangs away from his eyes, “You said you’d stay with us.”

Izuku’s hair falls back on his face when Katsuki reaches towards the nightstand for some hair product. Izuku closes his eyes. His eyelids are heavy. There’s no point in even thinking about leaving now. Kacchan is right. He can barely move. It’s kind of pathetic that just showering left him incapacitated, but at least, there’s no longer mud in his hair. Instead, Katsuki’s fingers run through his locks and massage his scalp. Fingers tickle the back of his neck, and he lets his head tilt forward… He could definitely… He could definitely fall... asleep... like this... Izuku forces his eyes open... How embarrassing would it be to fall asleep while Kacchan’s helping him with his hair. No, he can’t fall asleep just yet.

“They’re still out there, Kacchan. Shigaraki and All For One. We’re- we’re losing time. We’ve got to find them, and no one else has my speed. You… you understand, right? This is killing- this is killing me, Kacchan, you know? Not being able to do anything, Kacchan.”

Katsuki’s hands grasp at Izuku’s bangs once more, and he pulls on them, pushing Izuku’s head back. Izuku barely manages to focus on the boy in front of him. Red eyes greet his green.

“You’re really something else, Deku. On that, you are correct.” Katsuki observes him before closing his eyes and shaking his head. “For fuck’s sake.” Katsuki leans down and slides his arm between Izuku’s waist and arm, hooking his fingers on the other side of his waist. Izuku’s already pressed against Katsuki when he registers that he’s been lifted from his bed. Kacchan is undoing the bed’s sheets.

“Oh no, Kacchan… I can… I can, uh, do it. Kaccha…” His back presses on the mattress. Instantly, the warmth and comfort of his sheets engulf Izuku. He shuts his eyes. Why hadn’t he done this sooner? He feels his mind slipping. Maybe… maybe he should let go… at least for a moment… it really couldn’t hurt…

Katsuki is still pressed against him, arm underneath his body, pushing Izuku’s legs onto the bed when,

“Kacchan, sleep with me.”

…

“Excuse me… What?”

Izuku doesn’t respond for a while, and Katsuki’s sure he’s fallen asleep-

“Kacchan… like when we were, uh… kids…”

Katsuki groans, “Deku, you’re half asleep. Don’t even know what you’re saying, you idiot.” Katsuki removes his arm from underneath Izuku. He starts standing upright when he realizes that Izuku’s looking at him. A blush paints his freckles pink.

“S-sorry. That was really, um, inappropriate. I’m really tired s-so-” “Yeah, no, I get it. It’s totally fine.” His face is mere inches from Izuku’s still. He tilts his head down, looking away from Izuku and shakes his head. Might as well be close to Izuku while he can. Katsuki tilts his head back up, surely, with an awkward expression on his face, “I’m really tired, too…”

Katsuki straightens up and puffs his cheeks. Is he really doing this? “Hey, my room is… pretty far from here.” It’s not, but. “I could stay here… with you. So that, you know, I can be here to protect your fuckin’ exhausted and immobilized self, and so that I don’t have to walk all the way to my room. It’s convenient. For both of us.”

Izuku stares at Katsuki. Katsuki stares at Izuku.

This time, Katsuki is sure that Izuku’s fallen asleep with his eyes open.

Izuku blinks. “Yeah, of course.”

“Yeah.” Katsuki shuffles onto Izuku’s bed. “Of course.”

An All Might poster taped to the ceiling welcomes Katsuki as he settles beside Izuku. Feels like deja vu. He can barely remember the nights he spent at Deku’s house, but he knows this night is not the first he’s spent pressed against the nerd. The bed stirs beside him, and he struggles to recall the last time they’d shared a bed together. He wonders if that last time could have been easier to remember if he hadn’t been so…-

A breath tickles his shoulder. “Kacchan, we should talk.”

Katsuki is quick to suppress the shudder that threatens to travel down his spine, “You’re still awake, Deku?”

“We... need to talk…. I can’t go to sleep yet, I’ve realized.”

Fuckin’ nerd… Katsuki rolls to his side, and while he was expecting to come face to face with those pools of green he’d started referring to as “pretty,” his sight is only of long eyelashes laying atop rosy cheeks.

Katsuki physically feels his gaze soften before responding, “Deku, we’ll talk later.”

“I wanna… talk… now.... You’ll just leave once I fall asleep.”

Katsuki rolls his eyes, “... Yeah, you’re right. I was thinking about doing that.”

And though it's minute, a frown appears on Deku’s face.

It’s cute.

“Just stay here, Kacchan…”

Katsuki wraps his arm around Izuku before bringing it back to himself, a blanket in his hand. Underneath it, now lie Katsuki and Deku. “...Okay. I will”

And though it is tired and wobbly and almost painfully quick, a smile appears on Deku’s lips. “...Okay. Good...Goodnight, Kacchan.”

How Katsuki ever survived not having Izuku within walking distance, he’ll never know. But he knows, he’d be a fool to ever let it happen again.

“Goodnight, Deku.”

#i started on this like a month ago #will i ever finish it? #who knows #but enjoy #bakudeku #bkdk #bakudeku fic #bakudeku wip #this is the first time i write anything that isn't dialogue or a school paper soooooo #might not be the best but yeah

[danganronpasurvivoraskblog]

Camp Cottage Chaos.

...

*Back at the lodgings, Ryoma goes over to the window and peers out of it. The toxic rain is still coming down hard.

Doesn’t look like that’s letting up any time soon...

*He sighs, disappointed, and goes back to the rest of the group. Everyone is gathered around Miu, typing away on a laptop.

What about everyone else? Everyone caught in danger rain, right?

Sorry Gonta, but as much as I would love to go out and look for them, I believe that’s ultimately a bad idea.

After all, no one will be able to save them if we all become incapacitated from the toxins...

So...we’re stuck here...?

For now, yes...If there’s any good news to come out of this, it seems we’ve taken out a majority of the Monokuma’s that have been coming after us...

But...what if Zetsubou attack us again. Then we have nowhere to go.

Hm...she’s got a point.

At this point in time, running isn’t an option. Whatever happens, we’ll have to fight it off.

Hatsudoki’s right. Worry not. We will protect you to the last...

...

...

*While everyone talks, Miu types on the base’s central computer, looking for any signs of a signal.

You know Miu, for someone so tech-wise, you’re pretty slow at using a computer.

And for someone so tiny, you’ve sure got a big ass mouth. Inventing shit is my strong suit, but programming computer’s isn’t!

I take it you’re having some difficulty calling for help.

Difficult is puttin’ it lightly. From what I can tell, it’s gonna be impossible.

Wh-Why?

Look.

*Miu brings up surveillance feed in the forest. She focuses in on what remains of the dish satellite.

That big ass satellite Kuripa was rambling about’s been totally totaled. All communications to and from the Foundation are now completely outta’ the question.

Could it be from the Monokuma’s exploding? Or something else?

Does it matter man? What matters is it’s broken.

But...you can fix it, right?

What, are you kidding me? I totally could, but I’m not going out there in this weather! I’ll collapse before I even start. And even if I somehow didn’t, there’s no way I’d be able to fix it in time.

So you’re saying that we’re stuck here for good?

Not for good. The Foundation’ll eventually realize something’s up when they can’t get through to us...

That...and also I think the rain’s a dead giveaway.

But yeah, we can’t issue any SOS’s or messages to them.

You don’t sound very optimistic...

Oh, you don’t fucking say! My friends are out there in a toxic rainfall, people are trying to kidnap and kill us, and we’re stuck here hopeless and helpless! Give me ONE good reason why I should be optimistic!?

...How about making sure she feels better?

...

*Kibin indicates to Himiko, who is trying her best not to cry.

...

...

...!

*Gonta suddenly starts to walk towards the door.

Gonta...? What are you doing?

Gonta...have idea...Gonta think he know a way to send Future Foundation SOS.

Really? What?

Sorry...but this risky...and Gonta cannot let anyone stop him.

*Gonta suddenly opens the door.

Gonta, what are you-

HRRUGH!

GONTA!

GONTA!

*To everyone’s bewilderment, Gonta suddenly screams and goes bursting out of the door to the lodge, running through the toxic rain.

*COUGH* Ngh...GRGH!

*Fighting through the damage, Gonta continues to run further and further away from the forest.

Gonta!

NO! Kirumi stay there!

Wh-What are you-!?

*BWAAAARRPP!!* *BWAAAARRPP!!* *BWAAAARRPP!!* *BWAAAARRPP!!* *BWAAAARRPP!!*

!!?

Wh-What is that noise!?

Wait...it’s his ankle bracelet!

*Sure enough, everyone looks down to see the emergency bracelet on Gonta’s leg blaring loud siren noises, and flashing red.

...!

Holy shit...! GONTA YOU GENIUS!

What?

Huh!?

*Back at the Foundation HQ, an alarm and red dot on the map shows up in Chihiro’s office. He immediately notices and zeroes in on the camp.

I knew it...! They’re in danger too...!

That ankle bracelet is designed to send a message straight to the Foundation if Gonta gets too far away from Kirumi for too long! It sends an SOS to inform the offices that Gonta might be trying to escape!

And it’s not attached to the satellite or any other network! It’s directly linked to the main offices! Now that it’s going off, they’ll know something’s going on!

Way to go big guy!

Yeah! *COUGH* Gonta knew it work!

Are you ok!? You’re kind of standing in poison rain!

Oh! Right! Gonta come back now!

*Struggling a little, Gonta starts making his way back to the lodgings.

Nyeh?

Gonta alright...Gonta live in wild with forest family for years. It take a lot more than a little poison to take Gonta-

GONTA! WATCH OUT!

Huh!?

*KA-POOWW!*

WURAAAAAAAAGGH!!

*SMAAASH!*

GONTAAAA!

!!!!???

!!!!???

!!!!???

*Spotting the danger a little too late, Himiko screams to Gonta to watch out. Gonta reacts too slowly, and is unable to dodge when Petty Jr suddenly charges straight at him, smashing him into the wall!

*PUNCH!**PUNCH!**PUNCH!**PUNCH!**PUNCH!**PUNCH!**PUNCH!**PUNCH!**PUNCH!**PUNCH!**PUNCH!**PUNCH!**PUNCH!**PUNCH!**PUNCH!**PUNCH!**PUNCH!**PUNCH!**PUNCH!**PUNCH!**PUNCH!**PUNCH!**PUNCH!**PUNCH!**PUNCH!**PUNCH!**PUNCH!**PUNCH!**PUNCH!**PUNCH!**PUNCH!**PUNCH!**PUNCH!*

GAAAAAAGGH!

GO TO SLEEP GO TO SLEEP GO TO SLEEP GO TO SLEEP GO TO SLEEP GO TO SLEEP GO TO SLEEP GO TO SLEEP GO TO SLEEP GO TO SLEEP GO TO SLEEP GO TO SLEEP GO TO SLEEP GO TO SLEEP GO TO SLEEP GO TO SLEEP GO TO SLEEP GO TO SLEEP GO TO-

HMPH!

*PUNT!*

GAGH!

Jolly good!

*Petty Jr piston punches Gonta, and almost buries him into the lodging wall, whole Mikihiko himself whirls his arm around rapidly. He’s only interrupted by Ryoma using his tennis racket to shoot a ball at him and nailing him the face. Mikihiko staggers, and that gives Gonta enough of an opportunity to get up.

Hrrrrgh...!

!!!

*Kirumi grabs Gonta by the arm as he holds his bleeding and bruised face. She drags him back inside the lodgings.

Guh! You can’t hide from me! I WILL HUNT YOU DOWN!

Great...! It’s Koyasunaga!

You know that guy?

Yeah. He’s the guy who attacked us in Novoselic. He tried to come onto me as well.

Now that’s a bridge too far...

What do we do!? We can’t get away from him, and he’s got a huge deadly weapon too!

Hngh!

*Gonta wipes his face.

Gonta promised Himiko he protect her. Gonta not going to break promise now.

But...Gonta...!

Himiko, go hide in Himiko’s room.

...

Don’t worry. We’ve got this.

...

...Ok...

*Himiko, reluctantly, scuttles down the hallway.

...Wait, squirt, hold up! I’m comin’ with ya’!

...?

Someone’s gotta keep her company.

I agree. But are you sure you don’t want to aid us.

*Miu shakes her head.

I can’t help you guys. Like I said, I’m no programmer, so I can’t hack that thing. And it’s not like I can fight without this shit.

*She hands some of her protective gear to Kibin, Gonta, Kirumi and Ryoma.

The least I can do is keep Himiko company and help her in case things go wrong.

Thank you Miu.

...

*Miu nods and goes after Himiko.

*SLAM!*

!!?

!!?

!!?

!!?

*Everyone stands guard as the door to the lodge comes crashing off it’s hinges.

Keehehe...

Top of the morning to you~

T-Top of the morning to you too!

I see you’re fond of my dear Petty Jr. Allow me to introduce myself. I’m sure Yumeno already eluded to this, but you may call me Mikihiko Koyasunaga.

And you can call me unimpressed. Not that I’m one to talk, but I figured that Zetsubou’s brass would be a little bit more intimidating.

Keh. I’m sure you can agree with me, but appearance isn’t everything...

I see that Mikado’s treacherous Enigma Assassin is here aiding you now as well. Oh yes, I remember you...

Treacherous? You’re the one’s who backed out on the deal.

I don’t know how you or Zetsubou found this place, but you made a big mistake coming here...

Au contraire madame~ The mistake was thinking that you were safe. And that you think you can take me and my darling.

We get it, you’ve got a big toy. Big deal.

Oh I don’t think you do...But you’re about to...

Because I’m not leaving here without Yumeno...Now step right up if you wish to become collateral damage...!

#danganronpa survivor #danganronpa #danganronpa blowback #drb #danganronpa v3 #drv3 #oc #himiko yumeno #gonta gokuhara #kirumi tojo #ryoma hoshi #miu iruma #kibin hatsudoki #mikihiko koyasunaga #fall of the future foundation arc

[forasecondtherewedwon]

Dolls’ Eyes — A Jaws AU

Pairings: established Peggy/Steve, developing Brunnhilde/Carol Rating: T Chapters: 14/14

Summary: Tony Stark snapped his fingers and the vanished half of the universe returned, but Thanos escaped the battlefield, fleeing into space. Now that he’s virtually powerless, most of the Avengers consider chasing him all over the universe a waste of resources, but Peggy Carter—newly deposited in the 21st century—is determined to finish the job. Brunnhilde and Carol Danvers have the same idea.

When scattered rumours of fresh killings escalate to the death of one of their own, the three women team up to defeat Thanos once and for all.

read the prologue

read ch. 1 one / 2 two / 3 three / 4 four / 5 five 6 six / 7 seven / 8 eight / 9 nine / 10 ten 11 eleven / 12 twelve / 13 thirteen / 14 fourteen

After everything, Carol wasn’t surprised that Brunnhilde put up a fight over being told to just rest. Carol reminded her that she was lucky to be alive, to which Brunnhilde responded that it wasn’t anything like luck, and went on to list the incredible, lifesaving properties of her fine armour, explain the enhanced durability provided by her Asgardian biology, and enumerate all of the injuries she’d previously sustained that were apparently worse than being electrocuted half to death, and then nearly drowning while incapacitated. Carol didn’t believe half of it, but it was kinda hot when Brunnhilde bragged.

So, in spite of Carol’s efforts, Brunnhilde kept getting up the second her back was turned in order to haul bodies off of Thanos’s ship. As they started to fix everything Carol had broken (including a patch job of that hole in the roof), a scan of the local environment informed them that almost all of the life on this planet was aquatic. They left the stack of corpses on land. Whatever water critters were around, they didn’t need toxic eyeball goo leeching into their habitat.

Carol caught Brunnhilde shaking out a twitching arm and made her sit to do electronic repairs rather than manual labour. (Carol had that handled anyway, plus, she knew where all the bodies were because she was the one who’d left them there.) Brunnhilde protested that she was the captain. Carol came way too close to saying not of this ship, but stopped herself. Instead, she suggested Brunnhilde do like any other captain would and let her underlings take on the grunt work. That got a smile, if not verbal agreement.

Thankfully, Peggy was a fast learner; Carol explained the basics of what she’d done to wreck something and Peggy quickly understood how to walk back the damage. They worked their way through the ship, staying at neighbouring stations so Carol would be there if Peggy had questions, and Peggy would be there if (when) Carol had messed something up so badly that it needed four hands to fix.

“Maria would’ve been great with this,” she said without thinking, holding up a fistful of wires while Peggy tinkered beneath.

“Maria?”

It was easier to talk about her than it had ever been before. Like with the repairs, she could tell that Peggy understood without Carol having to do much more than gush over how good Maria had been at fixing stuff, how thorough she’d been with the plane she’d kept in the hangar on her property, how reliable, how trustworthy, how patient…

“Yes,” Peggy told her with a smile. “She sounds like she was wonderful.”

“She was.”

But when the two of them had finished their circuit of the ship and Carol went to tell Brunnhilde they were good to go, she wasn’t there. Carol panicked, worried that Brunnhilde had overheard all her praise of Maria and somehow missed the tone of a person who was in the late stages of grief, who had accepted the worst and was keen to keep living, maybe even loving.

When she couldn’t find her on the ship, she jogged down the ramp, intending to look for her outside. The second she turned to face the water, she spotted Brunnhilde coming towards her from the escape vessel. Carol ran out to meet her.

“What’s all this?” she asked in a tone of amusement, because Brunnhilde had her arms full.

“Food, Peggy’s jacket, a couple beers that didn’t get smashed when Thanos rammed us, uh…” She tried to examine the rest of the pile she was carrying, but it teetered and slipped; laughing, Carol scooped a few things out of her arms before they could end up in the shallow water.

“I thought you might’ve taken off on us,” she said lightly.

“I didn’t think you thought I’d be capable of that after getting zapped.”

“I was just…”

Brunnhilde walked close, pressing her arm into Carol’s.

“I know. I would’ve been the same way if it’d been you.”

“I don’t even know if I can get electrocuted,” Carol said.

“I’m not gonna recommend trying it for fun,” Brunnhilde told her. “Anyway, I used all my discs on Thanos and I dropped the remote in the water somewhere… You’d have to go to Thor with your request, ask him to bring the lightning down.”

“Straight to Thor?!” Carol laughed. “That seems a little extreme.”

“Or you could just stand around outside in New Asgard during a storm and wait for it to happen naturally.”

“And why would I need to be in New Asgard specifically?” Carol asked in a teasing voice. “I could get struck by lightning anywhere.”

She watched Brunnhilde flounder but couldn’t get an answer out of her, not on the way to the ship, not while she was distracted with Peggy asking her a slew of health questions, and not while they were trying to figure out how to get this humongous spaceship off the ground with a crew of only three people.

As they made their rocky assent, Carol was too busy to wonder whether Brunnhilde had heard her talking about Maria before she’d left the ship to scavenge from the escape craft. They had just broken through the atmosphere, blue sky giving way to black, when Brunnhilde spoke.

“Love’s like war.”

It was so sudden that Carol snorted a laugh.

“Ok, poet,” she said. She was tempted to devote some time to getting Thanos’s ship to play her music, if only to put on ‘Love Is a Battlefield’ for Brunnhilde. To let her know what had been said on the subject already.

She smirked to herself when Brunnhilde continued, clearly not giving a shit about her interruption or joking criticism.

“It is.”

“What do you mean?” Carol asked more seriously.

Brunnhilde shifted in her seat, engaging different protocols for outer space travel. Carol noticed the tremor had gone from her arm.

“You do better in both because of experience,” Brunnhilde said, looking straight out the viewport. “Anybody who can’t appreciate the benefit of falling for someone who’s been in love before is a fucking idiot.”

“And you’re not a fucking idiot.”

“I hope that isn’t a question.”

Carol smiled and shook her head. They flew in silence for a while.

“When we get back,” she said eventually, peering shyly over at her captain, “I owe someone important to me a visit, but then I’m coming to see you. Just a heads-up.”

“Vaguely threatening.”

“Sorry.”

“No,” Brunnhilde told her, grabbing her forearm to get her full attention, “I liked it.”

Heat raced up Carol’s neck until she was blushing as bright red as her suit, or the dumb acid burn on her arm.

Just then, Peggy’s agitated voice came from the other end of the wide flight deck.

“Someone’s coming right at us!”

Before Carol had the chance to say what the hell? or who? or again?, an incoming message threw a distantly familiar face up in front of them, hovering in the form of a hologram.

“Hey,” Carol greeted. “Small universe.”

—

Peggy had never thought to imagine what Gamora might be like. She’d had an account of Peter Quill’s affection for her from Rocket, but had recognized that a portrayal of the woman that crew had known—the woman Peter had loved enough to forfeit his life in the quest for reunion—couldn’t be fully accurate. At best, the Gamora they described would be one layer removed from the real person. The Gamora they had known and the one whose hologram had just appeared before Peggy, Carol, and Brunnhilde were a handful of years and a thousand experiences apart.

It seemed absurd to Peggy that this woman may wish to harm them, but she really ought to have considered it.

“Was it your distress signal I picked up?” Gamora asked flatly, eyes locked on Carol in the pilot’s seat.

“Umm… yep.”

“And you still require assistance?”

Carol glanced at Brunnhilde, then over to Peggy, who nodded. They certainly had worked wonders, she felt, in getting this massive spaceship off the planet, but who knew how many things could go wrong between here and Earth? Peggy doubted either of her shipmates had told her the half of it. They were simply short-staffed, too few fingers available to plug any metaphorical leaks they might spring on the journey.

“Yes please,” Carol told her.

With a nod, 2014 Gamora went from unknown quantity to ally. Peggy sighed in relief.

The three of them were transported directly from Thanos’s ship to Gamora’s. The process was quite indescribable, Peggy thought. Tingly, quick, with a bit of a lurch as she rematerialized on an entirely different flight deck from the one she’d just left. Had the transfer been instantaneous? Had she, perhaps, ceased to exist for a moment or two? She was full of questions but unsure to whom she should direct them.

Gamora, while welcoming in deed, was somewhat inscrutable when they met her face-to-face. Standoffish. Unsure of herself, Peggy realized. Immediately, she warmed to the woman. She had been in her place herself once, sort of, if not precisely in her intimidating boots. It hadn’t been so long ago that she’d been ferried through time to find the world completely changed. What Gamora needed was a reason to trust them the way they were trusting her.

“I take it you killed my father?” Gamora asked plainly once they were aboard.

Oh dear. It seemed they weren’t off to a very auspicious start.

Brunnhilde stepped in front of Carol, who’d just been opening her mouth to speak, presumably to claim responsibility.

“I was the captain,” she stated. “Thanos was killed on my orders.”

“Uh, no, not explicitly,” Carol argued.

“Anyway,” Peggy piped up, “I’m the one who shot him in the head.”

“And he was only vulnerable to that because I electrocuted him to within an inch of his despicable life and his helmet fell off,” Brunnhilde countered.

“On a planet I flew us to,” Carol reminded them.

“We’ll be sharing the blame,” Peggy informed Gamora on behalf of her crewmates.

Gamora cocked her head consideringly.

“And if it’s approval?” To their universal silence, she explained, “I know what he was capable of in my time, and I saw enough of Earth to get a general idea of what he was set to accomplish if he wasn’t stopped.”

“Were you out here hunting him too?” Peggy took a step towards her.

Directing her gaze away from them, Gamora blinked rapidly, looking momentarily confused and upset. In the next second, she’d hidden any outward hint of those feelings.

“I should’ve been,” she said, “but I’ve never been able to stand up to him like I should have. After I left your planet… for a while, I wasn’t looking for him. But I began to see signs. And then Peter Quill came.”

“Peter!” Carol said. “You saw him? Did you talk to him? Rocket never said—”

“No. I just watched. I followed him for a while. I knew he was looking for me. He was so… loud.” Gamora made a face. “Leaving word for me everywhere, telling traders and transports that he was my boyfriend. He was an idiot, but an entertaining idiot… I barely noticed that I’d stopped keeping track of Thanos until he just showed up…

“I was a coward,” Gamora went on. “I saw my father intercept Peter’s ship and I knew what would probably happen, but I couldn’t put myself between the two of them. Was I supposed to stand up for this guy when I’d never been able to stand up for myself? I was raised to be cruel, to think of myself, that attachments formed to accomplish anything but the acquisition of power make you weak. I know Thanos killed Peter. It’s my fault he’s dead.”

Peggy stood in front of her, refraining from placing a reassuring hand on Gamora’s shoulder when she gave her cagey eyes.

“It’s not,” Peggy told her firmly.

“I only heard your distress signal because I heard Peter’s first,” Gamora said. “I went onboard after my father had left; it was days before I could force myself to do it, maybe longer. I used his communications system to speak to his crewmates on Earth.”

“You must’ve just missed us leaving,” Brunnhilde said.

“That’s what he told me. He said three more morons had left the planet, on their way to hunt down Thanos.”

“And you’ve helped us,” Peggy said, tone insistent. “If you do feel any responsibility for what happened to Peter, then surely you should also believe that you’ve redeemed yourself by saving our backsides.”

Gamora’s eyes squinted as though she were in pain.

“I owed him more than this and I hate it,” she said, jaw clenched. “He was no one to me. He knew someone I’m never going to become.”

“Shhh. I know,” Peggy said soothingly.

“I don’t see how that’s possible. Have you ever had someone tell you they love you when it feels like it’s impossible that they even know you? That whoever they loved had to be a different person from who you are?”

Peggy’s shoulders fell. She could feel the bittersweet smile on her face.

“Actually, yes.”

Gamora appeared surprised to have been brought up short in such a manner.

“Do you have any advice?” Peggy urged softly.

For a minute, Gamora was quiet, staring hard at the wall. Peggy could feel that the others had backed away, giving them time and space when Gamora’s stream of information had been diverted by the confusing grief she was obviously experiencing.

“Whatever lengths he goes to because he thinks you’re better than you are…” Gamora finally said, turning her head to look Peggy in the eye. “Try to be worth it.”

“Got it.”

Peggy folded her hands together, pressing her right palm to her wedding ring.

—

They were about to get underway, their new crew of four on a significantly smaller, though sleeker, ship. (Brunnhilde didn’t mourn for the one they’d left in the shallows; it had served them well, first the Asgardians and now the team responsible for the death of Thanos.) However, staring out the viewport from the seat in which she’d been installed as the effective second-in-command, Brunnhilde didn’t feel right. The sight of Thanos’s ship just hanging there in space unnerved her. It would be better if no trace of the Titan remained.

“Let’s blast it,” she suggested to the deck at large.

“Thanos’s spaceship?” Peggy checked.

“Yes.”

“Well,” Carol said, “we aren’t near anything. There’s nothing for the debris to hit…”

Brunnhilde smiled slightly and looked to the captain.

“Gamora? Do you have any weapons on this ship that could do the job?”

“There is one thing I’ve been saving for a special occasion,” Gamora said, gaze fixed on Thanos’s ship. “First, we’re going to need to get clear.”

She piloted them away—away from the planet, away from the ship. Part of Brunnhilde wanted to request the honour of launching the torpedo Gamora was setting the coordinates for, locking it onto her late father’s final vessel, but she was already satisfied with the role she’d played. Let Gamora take this final, symbolic step. It was like Thor’s hideous couch; Brunnhilde had helped him lug the thing into the open air, but permitted him to drop the match (once she’d soaked the cushions in lighter fluid, just in case it wasn’t sufficiently saturated in spilled beer). She would content herself with watching it go up in flames.

And it did. It was an impressive explosion, scattering wreckage in a wide perimeter Gamora had kept them outside of. They were briefly silent as jagged hunks of metal twisted in the void.

“That’s one way to get the stink of dead bodies out,” Carol noted, and Brunnhilde turned to her, shoulders shaking with laughter Carol quickly joined in on.

They flew for some time, and it was good just to relax, to stretch in her seat and tilt her head from side to side so that her neck cracked horrendously and Peggy said things like “good lord!” while Carol laughed her ass off. Brunnhilde remained alert though. She couldn’t help it. In the old days, with the Valkyrie, there’d been a certain relief when the battle in which they’d been engaged was done, but they’d only known true rest once they’d returned to Asgard. Home. The last time she’d been on a ship bound for Earth, the atmosphere had been one of intense grief, muffled weeping in the corridors. They’d known Earth as Midgard and had little admiration for its country of Norway, chilly with fog and swathed in the bleak colours that reflected their inner emptiness. Nothing they loved was there—not their people, not their gleaming towers and soaring statues. How could it ever possibly feel like coming home?

Brunnhilde had honestly believed she’d lost her ability to experience that feeling, that, without her sisters-in-arms, the sensation was lost to her. Yet, despite the tension she still carried from the fight, she felt it easing. She felt herself longing for home, her little house at the water’s edge. For the chance to return to her people as their king and announce a great evil defeated. Maybe this tension was only anticipation after all.

In contrast to the fruits of her own contemplation and revelation, Gamora’s private thoughts had left her expression mournful and roving. Brunnhilde exited the deck to relieve herself and find something to eat in Gamora’s stores, and when she returned, she addressed her.

“You’re not taking us all the way to Earth, are you?”

Gamora flicked her gaze sideways to assess her. Brunnhilde knew there was no judgement to be found in her face, so she stared back calmly.

“I’m taking you to Quill’s ship. Thanos, in his infinite arrogance, didn’t damage it. Maybe he thought he might like to return to it some time and claim it as part of his fleet. It’s a tribute to how much I continue to feel my father’s influence that I planned to do the same. Not build a fleet, but go back. There’s something about that ship… I find it comforting.”

Brunnhilde frowned thoughtfully.

“Are you sure you don’t want to take it and leave this one for us?”

“No. What I felt when I was onboard, examining it and… and removing Quill’s body for space burial… that was just a feeling of, I don’t know, another life. There’s a group on Earth for whom that ship means something. And it’s the only thing they have of him. I couldn’t keep it.”

“One of those people is your sister,” Brunnhilde said carefully.

“Yes.”

“I tried to talk to her, but she doesn’t like me very much. I don’t blame her,” she added as Gamora gave her a wary look. “She was upset.”

“Nebula is at her most dangerous when upset, and she’s always upset, so she’s always dangerous.”

“She was upset about Peter’s death. But I think also because, without him, no one was out here looking for you.”

Gamora stiffened.

“If she really wants to find me, she can come look for me herself. I’ll be ready.”

“She doesn’t want to fight you,” Brunnhilde said. “She misses you. I think. It’s really none of my business.”

“Why would you wish to get involved in our family affairs?” Gamora’s voice was more curious than accusing. “Besides murdering our father, of course.”

Brunnhilde sighed before answering.

“I’ve lost many people I cared about. I don’t have a family anymore.” She glanced over to see Carol and Peggy bent over a screen together, Carol’s sudden snort infecting Peggy until they were both laughing. “I mean,” Brunnhilde corrected herself, “I didn’t.”

When they arrived at the Benatar and Gamora transported Carol and Peggy off her ship, Brunnhilde motioned for Gamora to hold off a moment on removing her.

“If we don’t meet again,” she said, sticking out her arm for Gamora to grasp.

Gamora gripped her tightly and nodded.

“I think we might though. I thought about it and realized it’s easier for me to find Nebula than for her to find me.”

“I may have left you her coordinates.” Brunnhilde released Gamora’s arm. “Enjoy Missouri.”

She joined Peggy and Carol on the Benatar, pausing to bend over Carol’s seat to surprise her with a deep kiss before she took up her own position. She brushed stray strands of hair back out of Carol’s dancing eyes.

“I’m going to have to redo your braid,” Brunnhilde told her.

“Oh, we’ll have time. We’ve got quite a road trip ahead of us. Luckily… Peter left us his tunes.” Beaming, she started up a song with a bright beat.

Brunnhilde smiled and went to her seat, fastening herself in as Carol readied the vessel for launch.

“You know,” Peggy said thoughtfully, slinging her jacket over the back of her chosen seat, “before all of this, I was actually quite afraid of outer space.”

Carol laughed.

“I can’t imagine why.”

#my writing #Dolls' Eyes #MCU #Avengers: Endgame #Peggy Carter #Brunnhilde #Carol Danvers #Valkyrie #Captain Marvel #Steve Rogers #Nick Fury

[rpf-bat]

My Cellmate’s A Killer

Pairing: Gerard Way x Reader

Genre: Drama, Romance

Summary: Written for Gothtober 2020, Day 22. Prompt: “Prison”.

Gerard is a convict, currently serving time for murder. When he receives a serious injury, the prison warden brings him to the hospital, where you work. As you nurse him back to health, you form an unexpected bond with him. But, can you really trust a killer? 

Trigger warnings for mentions of past violence, and sexual assault. 

The doctors told you that the patient was a criminal. He “lived” at the maximum security prison on the edge of town. Apparently, he’d gotten injured in his cell, and the guards had no choice but to bring him here, to the hospital, to receive surgery. 

You didn’t care. You were a nurse - that meant you would treat any person that needed medical help. You nervously approached the police officer, who was guarding the front door of the hospital room. 

“It’s time for Mister, uhh….,” you glanced down, checking your chart. “Mister Way’s next dose of medicine.” 

“Alright,” the guard nodded, allowing you past. “Be careful in there, miss. He’s a dangerous man.” 

You peered through the window, before entering the room. The dark haired man lay calmly on his cot. His hands were handcuffed behind his head. 

“Was it really necessary to restrain him like that?” you frowned. 

“We can’t allow him an opportunity to escape,” the guard reasoned. 

“He just got thirty stitches in his leg,” you pointed out. “I don’t think he could walk out of here, even if he wanted to.” 

“Just go give him his pills,” the guard huffed. “And stop asking me questions.” 

“Yeah, alright,” you sighed, and entered the room. 

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

“Hi, Mr. Way,” you smiled, trying to treat him like any other patient. “It’s time for another dose of hydromorphone, okay?” 

“Call me Gerard,” the man said softly. “What’s your name, Nurse?” 

“I’m Y/N,” you introduced yourself. You began puncturing the blister pack that contained his painkillers. 

“Is it a pill you’re giving me?” Gerard asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“Yes, sir,” you nodded. “A standard eight milligram dose.” 

“I don’t exactly have a free hand to take it from you,” Gerard chuckled, glancing at the cuffs, that held his hands fast. “What are you gonna do? Feed it to me?” 

You blushed at this suggestion, taking a closer look at him. His long, dark hair framed a pale and handsome face. He looked more like a magazine model, than a convicted felon. The idea of bringing your fingers to his lips sounded….both appealing, and wrong, all at once. 

But, if his hands are incapacitated, you considered, stepping closer to his bedside, what other choice do I have?

“Come here,” Gerard chuckled, “I promise, I won’t bite you.”

“The cop at the door says you’re dangerous,” you hesitated. 

“Well, yeah,” Gerard said dryly, “I was convicted of second-degree murder.”

“M-murder?!” you gasped, jumping back. He confessed to it so casually, as if it was nothing. 

“It’s true,” Gerard said, sounding frighteningly unrepentant. “I killed a man. But, I had my reasons.”

“What reason could possibly justify taking a human life?!” you cried, horrified.

Is he some kind of sociopath?, you wondered, shuddering. Should I be scared, being alone in a room with him like this?

“....Do you really want to know?” Gerard asked, gazing up at you, with his cold, hazel eyes. 

The truth was, you’d always had a weird fascination with true crime documentaries. It intrigued you, hearing the motives, that would drive seemingly ordinary people to kill. 

“...Yes,” you decided, setting down the pills, and taking a seat, beside the bed. “Tell me.” 

“I have this little brother,” Gerard explained. “His name is Mikey. He was in his junior year of high school. Some classmate of his, decided that he looked gay.  Whatever that means. And then he decided, that he needed to beat him up, just for, I don’t know, existing too gay-ly.” 

“That’s terrible,” you frowned. You never understood, why kids bullied each other, for such stupid and prejudiced reasons. 

“They beat Mikey so bad, that they put him in the hospital,” Gerard recalled with a pained expression. 

“I’m so sorry,” you said sympathetically. You wondered if little Mikey was okay. 

“It’s okay,” Gerard shrugged. “I paid the bastard back, by putting him in a grave.” 

You gasped, at this chilling admission. 

“You don’t understand, Nurse,” Gerard said insistently. “The son of a bitch hit my brother in the face so hard, that he went blind in his right eye, for the rest of his life!” 

“That poor kid,” you frowned. 

���Well, he’s not a kid anymore,” Gerard clarified. “I got revenge against the worm who hurt my brother, in 1997. I was sentenced to fifteen years in prison….and I’ve already served seven years of that.” 

“So, you have eight more years to go?” you calculated. 

“Yeah,” Gerard said sadly. “Mikey will be thirty-two, by the time I get out.”

“What does he think about your decision to avenge him?” you asked curiously. You imagined how much you would miss your own siblings, if you were separated from them, for over a decade. 

“He visited me in lockup,” Gerard replied. “He said it brings him peace, knowing the bastard can never hurt him again. So, say what you want. But I ain’t sorry, for putting a bullet between his eyes.” 

“This hospital is the first place you’ve been, other than that prison, in such a long time,” you realized. 

“Yeah,” Gerard nodded. “I ain’t sorry for what I did to get sent here, either.” 

“What did you do?” you asked, eyes wide. 

“I got a new cellmate,” Gerard explained. “His name’s Bert. He just started a five-year sentence, last week.” 

“What did he get convicted of?” you asked curiously. 

“Drug trafficking,” Gerard replied. “One of the harder ones. Prison life is gonna force him to get sober, though. By the looks, withdrawal has been a real bitch for him so far.”

You recalled the symptoms of drug withdrawal, from your medical textbook. Shaking. Vomiting. Rapid heartbeat. Seizures. It was nothing you would wish on anyone - even a dealer, who had sold the poison to others.

“I’m sorry he’s going through that,” you said empathetically. 

“Well, he almost went through something way worse,” Gerard grimaced. 

“What could be worse than that?” you wondered anxiously. 

“We were in the showers,” Gerard recalled, paling. “Some big guy, from Cell Block A, tried uh….he tried to…..touch Bert. In a way he didn’t want to be touched.”

“Oh,” you gasped. You heard about these things happening in men’s prisons - but it was still a sickening thought. 

“I clocked the sick fuck,” Gerard snarled. “Knocked him the fuck out.” 

“....Good,” you said, without thinking. Maybe you shouldn’t encourage a confessed killer, to commit more acts of violence. But, if he hadn’t done what he did, his friend would have been sexually assaulted. Preventing such a thing, was a noble motive. 

“Problem was, the guy was in a prison gang,” Gerard sighed, continuing his story. “After I bloodied him up, all over the bathroom floor, his buddies came after me. One of them had a shiv. Shanked me right in my fucking leg.”

“.....That’s why you needed all those stitches?” you realized. 

“Yeah,” Gerard replied, sinking back into his pillows. “That’s how I wound up here.” 

“Let me give you your pain medicine,” you said, standing up. His stab wound must hurt him terribly. 

“You’re not scared of me?” Gerard asked softly. “After everything I just told you I did?” 

“You’re a violent man,” you considered. “But, I don’t think you’re an evil man, Gerard.” 

“....Really?” Gerard’s eyes widened.

“Truly,” you nodded. “You attacked two men, yes. But, they were bad men. Men who hurt innocent people.” 

“I’d never hurt a nice lady like you,” Gerard whispered. 

You took the pain pill, and put it between your fingers. “Open up,” you instructed. 

Gerard, to your surprise, blushed. 

“What’s wrong?” you asked. 

“I haven’t had  a woman this close to me in seven, long years, Nurse,” Gerard said shyly. “Let alone such a beautiful one.” 

It was your turn to blush. He thought you were beautiful? 

“C-come on, now,” you stammered. “Say ah.”

Gerard opened his mouth wide. You glanced down at his pale pink lips, as you leaned over him. Your hair brushed his cheek, making his whole face go red. 

You gently placed the pill on his tongue. His lips closed around your fingertips for a moment, almost sucking them. You drew back from his touch, startled. 

“What’s the matter, Nurse?” he asked, a sly look on his face, as he swallowed the tablet. 

“I -I told you,” you mumbled, looking away, “my name’s Y/N.”

“Can you do me one more favor, Y/N?” Gerard asked quietly. 

“What is it?” you asked, heart pounding. 

“....Ya think you could scratch my nose for me?” 

You burst into laughter, at his odd request. It wasn’t what you were expecting. 

“I’m serious! It really itches!” 

Overcoming your giggles, you glanced again, at the handcuffs on his wrists. The guard had, perhaps unwisely, left a key on the bedside table. 

“....I really don’t think you need to be tied up like this,” you confessed. 

“They don’t want me on the loose,” Gerard shrugged. “Told ya, I’m a killer.” 

“If I were to unlock the cuffs for you,” you asked, your voice a whisper, “do you promise to stay in your bed?” 

“I won’t try to escape, Y/N,” Gerard said seriously, staring up into your eyes. “I promise you. If I went on the run now, I’d never see my brother again. It’s not worth it to me.” 

“...Then, I’ll do it,” you decided, grabbing the key. You prayed that you were not going to regret this. 

The key turned in the lock, and the cuffs unclicked, releasing Gerard’s hands. He didn’t lunge at you, or jump up. He simply scratched his nose - exactly as he said he would. 

You breathed a sigh of relief. 

“I know you got other patients to look after, Nurse Y/N,” Gerard said, looking suddenly sleepy, as the medication started to kick in. “So...have a good night, alright?”

“Good night, Mr. Way,” you smiled, and walked out of the room. 

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

The next day, you came to provide another dose of hydromorphone. The guard glared at you, as you approached the door. 

“What the hell were you thinking last night?” he asked. “You gave the prisoner an opportunity to escape!” 

“.....Did he escape?” you asked, your heart suddenly aching. Had he manipulated you, into feeling sorry for him, so he could go on the lamb?

“....No,” the guard shook his head. “I guess we got lucky. The prisoner is still sittin’ in there, like a good boy. Exactly where you left him.” 

You breathed a sigh of relief. Gerard had kept his promise. 

“...May I give him his medicine, Officer?” you asked, staring the guard down.

“Yeah, lady,” the cop said, with a defeated look. “You go on ahead.” 

You entered the room, shutting the door behind you. “Hi, Mr. Way,” you greeted. 

“I told you, Y/N,” your new favorite patient smiled, “the name’s Gerard.”

“Hi, Gerard,” you corrected yourself. “How are you feeling today?” 

“Not so good,” Gerard confessed. “As you can see, Officer Jackass put the cuffs back on me this morning.” 

It was true - he was, once again, shackled to the bed. 

“I guess I’ll have to feed it to you again,” you mumbled, cheeks aflame. 

“You kinda looked like you were enjoying it, the last time,” Gerard smirked. 

“N-no!” you denied, blushing harder. 

“Oh, really?” Gerard teased. “Well…..I know I sure did.” 

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” you stammered. You were a medical professional. He was a patient in your care - and a convicted murderer, to boot! You shouldn’t let him flirt with you like this. 

But, although you hated to admit…..he was right. Something about your fingers in his mouth, had been strangely attractive to you. 

“What can I say, Nurse Y/N?” Gerard shrugged. “I got nothing to lose. As soon as I’m healed up, they’re gonna take me back to the penitentiary. I won’t see, or touch, a woman again, for the rest of this decade.” 

“That must be...lonely,” you breathed. 

“I knew the price I was gonna pay, when I got Mikey his justice,” Gerard sighed. “It’s far too late, to start having regrets now. But…..if I could have just one wish….”

“What would you wish for?” you asked, your heart hammering. 

“Just one kiss,” Gerard begged. “Before they lock me back up, and throw away the key.” 

“....I’ll grant your wish,” you decided, in a whisper. You felt so hot, all of a sudden. 

“Wh-What?” Gerard stammered. 

“Sssh,” you shushed him. “Hold still, and say ah for me again.” 

You leaned down, beside his bed, and kissed him softly, on the mouth. Despite the sterile scent of disinfectant in the room, the taste of the moment, was incredibly sweet. 

He struggled against his chains, trying desperately to bring his body, closer to yours. You sat on the bed, closing the gap. 

Now practically in his lap, you kissed him harder. 

“Ahhh!” he cried. 

“....Did I hurt you?” you gasped, pulling away. “Did I sit on the leg that was injured?”

“....No,” Gerard panted. “That…..wasn’t a noise of pain.”

“....Oh,” you flushed. 

“I’d be greedy to ask for a second wish,” Gerard said seductively. “But, if I could have one….oh, pretty, please, Nurse, would you do that again?” 

You nodded, pushing him back, into the bed. “You can wish for it, as many times as you like.”

#gerard way imagine #gerard way x reader #gothtober #violence tw

[alfredosauce50]

What makes me human [Cyberpunk! America x reader] 16

Wordcount: 4, 869 Rating: M for strong language, moderate sexual references, violence, and gore The reader is referred to as she/her. "God knows. Maybe you have a greater purpose to serve. Why else did he make you?" Chapter synopsis: And you never considered yourself trigger-happy. But the shots have been fired. They're dead before you can interrogate them. Allen is eager to convince you it was the right thing to do, but even he can't deny the horrors that will follow. The war rages on. Alfred stays ignorant for the meantime, and you revel in his bliss of it. You share one last peaceful night with him before the fearful unknown.

16 - Nothing breaks like a heart

The reader is referred to as she/her.

An ear-splitting bang echoed in the pool room. Blood and small chunks of flesh landed on the tiled floor in a splat. Tearing his hand away with a shaky gasp, he held the wrist and hunched over to writhe in agony. "Ergh... Fuck!" He spluttered, feeling a violent tremble seize his wounded hand. "Fuck, fuck, fuck..."

He lifted his head to glare at you with the utmost betrayal. "What the hell did you do that for?!"

A sizely hole formed in his palm. The exposed flesh was still oozing out blood like a full sponge, dripping onto the ground in generous puddles. A whole section of his bone was missing. And you did it. You shot Alfred. You paled in horror for a few moments, but as he panted before you with tears streaming down his red and enflamed face, it became apparent that your guilt was unfounded.

"What I did that for? You aren't Alfred!" You exasperated, raising the gun shakily to point it between his fearful eyes. "You're a clone!"

A sour flavor was left in your mouth as you spat out the word. His origins were no mystery.

Nobody else could have been responsible or capable of such a heinous crime. To grow an abomination from whatever DNA was left in their lab. You only imagined them to be created for one purpose, and one purpose only. To torment, kill, and replace Alfred. As the thoughts raced through your head, you tightened your finger around the trigger—"Wait, wait! Don't shoot!" He begged, throwing his arms up.

"I know you're freaking out right now, but I have no idea what's going on either!"

Gritting your teeth at his excuse, you were determined to not let it get to you. But it was easier said than done. "Shut up! Don't think for a second you can fool me!" Despite the cutting conviction of your voice, you took on a terrified expression at the thought of shooting him. "I'm gonna do it. You're nothing but a freak of nature! And you'll never... Never..."

As you trailed off, you realized you indeed couldn't pull the trigger.

Not when the barrel was aimed at a face that looked just like Alfred's.

It was contorted with so much fear and despair, pleading silently for you to not hurt him. The fact that he was a spitting image of him made it even harder. How he moved, talked, acted—seeing it chipped away your resolve, leaving you all but paralyzed. The gun was left juddering furiously in your hands in light clacks, holding him hostage at the moment before death.

"Please. Please don't do it." He whispered, bringing his hands down to shield himself. "You gotta help me, (F/N). I don't know how, but I woke up in this body. That's... That's all that happened."

How painfully familiar it sounded.

I woke up in this body.

The similarities were so uncanny, it was cruel. Giving your head a quick shake, your lips quivered as you uttered this.

"You're lying. You're not real."

Creases formed between his brows. "I'm not lying! And I am real! I'll prove it to you, I swear! We went through so much shit together, like uh—" He pointed at you and laughed nervously as he sifted through the scanty archives of his memories. "—I kidnapped you. Ha! See? I know something! That's how we met! And you hated my guts at first."

You swallowed thickly as uncertainty slowly overwhelmed you. If he could remember that, he had to be real, right? No. You had to fend off the feeling. "That's not good enough!" Your finger stayed on the trigger, and the barrel, on him.

He tensed up as panic caught him in a chokehold. "Okay, okay! Well, er..." His heart was pounding harder and harder with every second he failed to say something. "... Oh! Remember the time I nearly got murdered by a cult leader? He had a whole kabuki mask get-up and everything—just like, like Professor Callaghan from Big Hero 6. You know that movie right?"

You sucked in a sharp breath. The title didn't ring any bells, but what he said had you second-guessing yourself. Was he not lying after all? Lowering the gun at that, your motion was slowed by slight hesitance. "... How... How do you know those things?" You asked faintly. "What are you?"

Before he could formulate an answer, footsteps thudded down the hall. Your thoughts came to a complete standstill.

Then, you heard a voice.

"(F/N)!" They shouted. Was it Allen? Your heart sank when you realized you couldn’t tell—it sounded too similar to Alfred. Or were you just imagining things? The sheer amount of panic was too incapacitating that you couldn't think.

So you did the unthinkable.

Raising the gun once more, you fired a shot into his abdomen.

The second you let the bullet fly, you regretted it.

Both your ears rang as the next few moments occurred in silence. And they would unfold in painstakingly slow motion. Dropping the gun to the ground in a soundless clatter, you watched him stumble back a few steps with his eyes popping out of his skull. Blood was spreading around the flaps of his kimono from a new hole in his chest. But the gore couldn't compare to his look of betrayal.

Of a heartbreak so deep, it destroyed you.

"Oh my God..." You raised both hands to your mouth. His eyes rolled to the back of his head and he collapsed on the ground in a bloody heap. "I just—I just killed—" Tears streamed relentlessly down to your chin as you stood frozen.

"(F/N)! I heard gunshots. What the fuck happened?!" Allen appeared in the doorway. His loud voice derailed your train of thoughts, forcing you to turn to the man. When you did, your heart clenched at the realization you made a mistake. It wasn't him. Alfred was never down the hall, and you panicked.

He never even had a chance to explain himself.

When Allen caught sight of the corpse by your feet, he dug his hands through his hair. Terror ran deep in his expression as he processed what he was seeing. "Shit, (F/N)." His nose scrunched up in shock. Never did he imagine the day would come where you would take someone's life. At least, not so soon.

But it arrived as an unwelcome surprise, unexpected and uninvited. "Did you kill that guy?"

You nodded profusely as a sob racked your body.

He scrambled over and shielded you from the grotesque scene. "Hey, hey, hey! Don’t feel bad! I’ve killed loads of people too, so welcome to the club!" The man rambled frantically, rubbing away your tears with his fingers. But who was he to tell you these things when he felt his own tears come?

"I’m sure he deserved it, and you were just protecting yourself, so don’t worry!" Allen forced a wide, manic smile.

His efforts to console you were in vain as you cried even harder. Pulling you into his chest, he rested his chin on your head that trembled to your coughs. "I'm so sorry..." Allen screwed his eyes shut and squeezed you tighter. "... I’m sorry I left you by yourself. This is my fault, not yours. It's my fault."

The string of apologies he spewed out was on your behalf, but he meant them with every fiber of his being. He had failed to protect the single most valuable thing to him.

And the blatant lie he forced you to accept was the last resort to preserve it. But it was time that stopped. "No, I killed him." You asserted shakily. He had nothing to do with this, and his eagerness to shoulder the blame only rubbed more salt into the wound. If you let him have his way, you would never live it down.

Without removing yourself from the hug, you pointed at the motionless body with your head turned away. "Look at him. I could never lie."

Allen lingered his gaze on you before obliging, albeit reluctantly. Nearing the corpse cautiously, he kicked its chest to roll it over. It revealed the dead man’s face in all its glory. Alfred’s face.

"..."

What the fuck.

When he thought he couldn’t be any more disgusted by the tyranny of technology, he was proved wrong yet again. This was clearly your father’s doing. And it was a declaration of war. But perhaps, it was just the continuation of the one that never ended.

Arthur was completely shit-faced downstairs. Slamming his beer mug down on the counter after he downed the whole thing, he gasped.

"Bwah! That hits the spot." His cheeks and ears were redder than a tomato, a stark contrast to his companion who was stone-cold sober.

Alfred raised a brow. "Sure looks like it. Dude, you gotta lay off the booze. You’re gonna regret it first thing tomorrow." Once he sighed that out, he rested his cheek on his hand. Then, he glowered at the hallway where you and Allen disappeared to.

"How long does it take to piss? They’ve been gone for ages. Twenty minutes? Thirty minutes? I don’t fucking know," The mechanic let out a low chuckle and slapped him on the back. The force made his torso bounce, much to his annoyance. "What’s your deal?"

The other hummed mischievously. "I was just thinking about what you said." Arthur squinted almost suggestively, causing Alfred to do the same, but only out of being appalled. "Maybe... Maybe they aren’t pissing. Since they’re gone for so long at the bathrooms at that—so maybe, urgh... They’re doing the nasty together." The Brit practically howled with laughter, having figured he was probably right.

It was a plausible assumption. As he humored the suggestion Alfred heated up more severely than his intoxicated friend. You having sex with Allen? His chest whirred and nostrils flared. He'd never been this enraged before, but behind the mask of anger was a deep hurt and toxic kind of jealousy.

"Shut up! You’re drunk and slurring your words. You have no idea what you’re talking about."

Arthur snorted. "Sorry to break it to you, brother. But the only time I’m this honest is when I’m drunk, so."

Alfred’s eyes went round. Without a moment’s hesitation, he shot out of his stool and made a beeline to the hall. Before he could make it far, he bumped right into the very subjects of his conversation. Much to his relief, they were in no state that indicated they did anything sexual by nature; you were in his arms and fast asleep. Not that he was happy about it. "Woah. She's out like a light."

"Yeah, so keep your voice down." The other grumbled, bouncing you lightly. "I think it's about time we head home. How drunk is he?"

The blonde blinked. He wasn't expecting him to catch on so quickly. "Off his ass. He's red as."

Allen clicked his tongue and brushed past him. "Called it." Alfred would have dismissed it as something he always did. But since he was carrying you, it made him feel like an extra. So when the man walked off, he followed with a scowl. "Can you get a cab? I'm gonna sit in the corner for a bit."

And sit in the corner he did, laying your body across his lap so you could rest. Alfred narrowed his eyes into a dark glare, lingering on the sight as the club music pounded away in his ears. And he told him to keep his voice down? "Yeah, I'll call you a damn cab."

You pretended to be asleep the whole ride back to Arthur's. It was easy with Allen's shoulder at a perfect height for your face to bury in. For half an hour, you were stuck in that position. There, you listened to the symphony of a trip home from the club: the automated voice of the taxi A.I and the drunken warbles of an intoxicated friend. Without seeing it, you could feel Alfred watching you for the whole duration of the ordeal.

Fortunately, you could escape any interaction with him as Allen carried you to the bathroom upon arriving.

"Oi, where are you taking her?"

The redhead kicked the door open. "What does it look like?"

"Shouldn't you wake her up, at least?"

"Yeah, yeah. Quit breathing down my neck, already."

"Dude—"

The door locked. Setting you down on your feet, you held onto his arms to regain your balance. Once you did, you glanced up at him with the utmost panic. "I can't face him." Digging two hands through your hair, you let out a shaky gasp—"Oh my god, I don't know what to do! I shot him, Allen. I fucking shot him! What's he gonna think of me when he finds out?"

He sighed and gripped your shoulders firmly. With his brows furrowed in a stern expression, he corrected you. "You didn't shoot him. You shot another version of him." Allen couldn't stress that enough. But there were many things he needed to shed a light on in this emergency bathroom meeting. "And it was kinda my fault that happened. If I was there, I woulda' shot him for you."

"That's not the point, here! And it's never gonna be your fault. It's mine, and mine alone. End of story." You swiped a hand across his face for emphasis. While he groaned in dismay, a brief pause followed as you regained your breath.

At least an hour had passed, but you still couldn't wrap your head around it.

"I can't believe I did that. I don't even know how I could! I panicked. I thought Alfred was coming down the hall, but—"

"—but it was me. Doll-" Allen exasperated, dragging out the pet name. "-you can't blame yourself for what you did. Shit happens. And who says what you did was wrong, huh? You probably just saved us all from a bloodbath. And you know that!" Rocking you gently back and forth to shake some sense into you, he leaned in to peer into your wide eyes staring into space.

"That's why you shot him. You did the right thing."

As he blurted that out, the memory replayed in your head again and again like a broken record. Intrusive thoughts were a bitch. And there was one particular detail of the event that you would never forget. "Was it the right thing to do, though?" You murmured, lowering your doubtful gaze to the tiled floor. The betrayal in his eyes was so genuine, you came to regret everything you've done.

"What if he was real like he said?"

You were asking some hard-hitting questions, that was for sure. Everything else was shrouded in a fog of uncertainty.

"Well, it wouldn't matter if he was real. Cuz' he's dead."

Allen's expression morphed into a dark glower.

"But if he was still alive, there'd be two of him, and not for long. They'd kill each other, for sure. I mean, if I found out there was a second-rate version of me farting around out there, I'd kill that poser for sport. Hunt him down like game." Lifting up your chin so you'd look at him, he flashed a grin.

"So don't feel bad. You killed him and saved Alfred the trouble."

Softening your gaze at that, you pulled him into another hug. Allen was always amazing at comforting you in the direst of situations.

"... Maybe you're right."

He chuckled and patted your back. "I'm always right."

But there was still one concern he could never address.

If your father made a clone of Alfred, a real and legitimate copy, there was no saying he could make another. Hell, you even expected him to. He could keep churning him out so long as he had his DNA. The only way to end this threat was quick to cross your mind, but you didn't want to think about it.

You would have to kill your father.

Allen figured. But today suffered enough bloodshed.

Before he left the bathroom for you to use, he held onto your cheek.

Flickering his striking scarlet eyes over your troubled expression, he caught you in a quiet gaze. You could easily translate the untold fondness he watched you with. We can still run away together.

He pulled away slowly, reluctantly. Then, the door closed behind him, leaving you alone with your thoughts. It never crossed your mind the first time he brought it up earlier tonight, but you finally understood what he really meant by running away. Allen wanted to share his life with you. Heat flurried in your chest as you considered the idea.

Tears threatened to return once you realized how much you wanted to do it, just not with him. The desire was there, but it happened to be stronger for someone else.

Alfred had been waiting outside with his back against the wall, arms crossed with a frown. It only deepened when Allen walked out.

"What're you lookin' at?" The redhead mumbled.

"... Nothing. Just wondering why you two spend so much time in the bathroom together." Alfred pointed out, glancing down at the cigarette between his fingers. He would have been jumping for joy if it weren't for wanting to look serious. "What were you doing with her in the penthouse?"

The other felt a spell of irritation hit him. It was always jealousy with this one, wasn't it? But he couldn't be a hypocrite. "None a'ya business, bub." He hummed, slotting the cancer stick in between his teeth. A sly smirk widened his lips as he saw the blonde tense up. "You saw how tired she was. So don't even think about it."

Don't even think about it, he'd said. How come everything coming out of his mouth sounded like a euphemism for sex? Don't keep her up with stupid conversations would've sounded better. Alfred huffed and stormed back to the guest room. Or was it just his mind that was in the gutter? He blamed Arthur for even bringing it up.

Hanging his clothes on a chair, he curled up under the covers. His chest was whirring again, and the discomfort was akin to something you've gone through before. Separation anxiety. When you did show up ten minutes later, he rolled over to the door to watch your form. Hearing the fabric shuffle in your direction made your heart skip in panic.

He was awake.

"Arthur's puking his guts out, so if you hear coughing, it's him."

Hopefully, some light-hearted banter could keep you from acting up. But that was easier said than done.

The blanket lifted briefly so you could get under it. Once you got comfortable, he didn't hesitate to pull you in by the waist to spoon you. Ever since he saw you sleep in the club, and on Allen no less, he'd been dying to do this. "... I tried telling him." He murmured into your ear. "But I've slept through worse. You flop and roll a lot."

The feeling of his breath on your neck and the sound of his husky voice made your heart ache. Every night was spent like this, warm and snug in his arms, but tonight was different. Inside, you were still agonizing over what you had done to him, even if it wasn't exactly him. So to feel his chest rise against your back, then his legs rub against yours, you just couldn't take it—it was all too much.

Rolling over to him, you caught his neck in your arms and pulled it down for a tight squeeze. What you uttered next captured your deepest and most inexplicable desire. To truly be alone with him.

"I can't take it here anymore." You muttered furiously, hugging him around his neck to start crushing him.

He let out a shaky breath at the sudden pressure.

"Hey, hey, calm down. What's wrong?"

"I can't calm down. I need to talk to you. Alone." Sitting up at that, you pulled him along. It came especially easy as he stood up, eager to understand your spontaneity. "And in someplace that's not here. There's just... Too many people. Four is too many."

Alfred lit up, but his growing smile did his emotions no justice. He was ecstatic. Things were always simpler when it was just the two of you. Maybe you were finally getting sick of these cramped living conditions, the scrutiny. At least, he knew he was. So it was almost as if you read his mind. "Okaay. Are we going on a midnight adventure?" He piped.

But then again, you always seemed to be walking on the same wavelength as him.

He followed you around the room like a puppy as you collected some things—your jacket, then Alfred's phone to shoot Allen a text. We're off to the nearest no-tell motel to talk. We'll be back in the morning. Setting the device onto the desk, you threw him his belongings. His gun and trusty coil of tools. Catching them wordlessly, he shot you a quizzical look. "Well, aren't you mysterious? Where are we going?"

Little did he know, your decision to leave the house for the night had only so much to do with random selfish impulses. From the outside, it looked exactly like that. Up and going without a care in the world, without care for Allen, and becoming unreachable for the next several hours. But after what happened, you just needed time to recalibrate.

"Where we always used to go." You threw your jacket on. Dragging him out into the hall, he caught a brief glimpse of Arthur passed out over the toilet before he found himself in the garage.

Handing him his key, you opened the car door next to the driver's seat. "We have to be quick before Allen tries to stop us."

The said man was sitting on the roof when he heard the rumbling of the garage door. Immediately after the sound stopped, a car sped out of it with an aggressive vroom and disappeared into the night. Narrowing his eyes at the rear window, he stood up and tossed his cigarette over the edge. Where the hell were you going this late at night? And with Alfred, no less?

He could feel hot jealousy prick him all over again. But it was warped with a harrowing kind of sadness. No matter what he did or what he said, he couldn't seem to get in between you two. Allen sat back down and lit up another cigarette. Giving that a few puffs, he surrounded his head in a cloud of grey smoke. Maybe he did know you for too long.

For eight years, he'd been a brotherly figure in your life. Now, he was afraid that was all he was ever going to be.

~~~

Parking the car in the courtyard after the most thrilling joyride, you pulled Alfred into the reception to book a room. Given his inhumane strength, your efforts to drag him down the hall were to no avail. Peering down at you with a warm smile, his face contorted with an amused look as you tugged at his arm as hard as you could. "Easy there, tiger. This is a motel, not a five-star hotel."

Between two walls littered with cracks was a dimly lit interior. Everything smelt like vomit, piss, and alcohol to boot, and yet, you were bounding beside him in excitement. "I know! But doesn't this feel nostalgic? We lived in these places for ages." You exasperated, scanning a keycard to unlock the door.

Alfred didn't think he was a sentimental person, but hearing you reminisce the past so fondly was enough to change his smile into a bittersweet one. "I guess." He couldn’t remember everything like you, but for now, he could pretend he did. "Motels are economic and discrete, so where was a better place to go?"

Once you both got inside, he felt your hand let go of his. For a moment, he felt just the smallest dash of loneliness—it was the emptiness of not feeling you somewhere where you should have been. Fortunately, it faded when you gleamed at him while you explored the room with child-like curiosity.

"I think I did a pretty good job at converting you." Alfred mused.

You flopped onto the bed to lie on your back. "Converting me to what?"

The mattress dipped to your right, so you rolled over to face him. "To a commoner. Or maybe something lower than that." He grinned devilishly. And for that comment, he would earn a strong shove on his chest. Despite nearly falling off the edge, he merely scooted back in. "I've never seen someone this happy staying in a dump like this."

"Don't give yourself too much credit. I just miss it." Pausing briefly at that, a small smile spread to your lips when you saw his, wide and as endearing as ever. If there was one thing you wanted to see before you died, it was this. Alfred's warm smile. As you lingered on the thought, you realized you were completely smitten with him.

But most importantly, at peace.

This was exactly why you even dragged him here in the first place. For some quality alone time, backtracking, and a good, long talk without interruptions. "I'd know all about dumps." You murmured, reaching out to play with a lock of his sandy blonde hair. "Zao and I tend to find our best friends in them."

He chuckled airily. "Is this me?"

"... Well, sure. But I was talking about Allen."

Things got dark pretty fast.

You both laughed it off. He didn't have great memories of motels, but laying here with you reminded him of what you said about them. A lot of good things happened in these tiny rooms, apparently. And they were what you two talked about until three AM in the morning, standing together out on the balcony. From here, the heart of the city could be seen, from the aerial roads of spinners in the distance to the endless hills of skyscrapers and blinking lights.

"I was thinking," Alfred murmured quietly, turning his head to you. The right side of his face reflected the glow of the city. But it couldn't quite compare to the hope that lit up his eyes, as subtle as it was. "Is everything finally over?"

You turned to him, gaze softened. For just tonight, you would let him bask in his ignorance. And yourself, in his hold. "Not yet." You whispered. The feeling of his hand on your waist was a feeling you could get used to. Reaching out to his other one on the railing, you guided it to your side so he could hold you properly.

Alfred squeezed you eagerly, pressing closer to your body.

Taking his face into your hands, you gave him one last gesture of untold affection. It was a culmination of raw emotion free from your own better judgment. A means to communicate without talking.

You pressed your forehead against his and closed your eyes.

At that very space in time, a singular thought occurred to both of you—I wish this moment would last forever.

"But we'll make it... Just like we always do."

|

What would you do if I killed you?

Nothing, because I'd be dead.

What if you survived? Or left behind a soul?

Then I'll come back and find you.

|

The club was still pounding away, much like the headache in his skull. Sucking in a sharp breath, he suffered the worst wake-up call in his short life—he was still bleeding, and in terrible pain. He shakily felt around his wound while hyperventilating on the ground. How he hadn't kicked the bucket yet was beyond him.

"Get your ass up already. I know you're not dead." A man growled in disdain, giving the body on the ground a light kick.

"Gh—!" He let out a pained gasp and clung onto the ground for dear life. It had been years since he felt this alive—ironically, it was when he was inches away from death.

His perpetrator had their dark eyes fixated on him like a stain on the floor. Their pupils were as red as the blood his victim bathed in. But they always had a strong stomach for gore. "What am I gonna say when the owner finds out I'm the reason you even got in here? You're bleeding into the pool." They murmured, raising his leg to keep tormenting the other like a new hobby.

With a few more kicks, the body rolled onto its back.

"Ugh... Fuck... How am I not dead?" He coughed in agony.

The other shrugged, flicking their ponytail over their shoulder. "God knows. Maybe you have a greater purpose to serve." As cryptic as that sounded, it was nothing but the truth. He had more to his life than dying in a nightclub. Dying could be a part of it, but this couldn't be the location to do it, nor could it be by your hand—the closest kin to his creator.

"Why else did he make you?"

#cyberpunk #hetalia fanfiction #hetalia fanfic #hetalia x reader #x reader #reader insert #america x reader #aph america #hws america #2p! america #2p! america x reader #2p america #sci fi #science fiction #cyberpunk 2077 #axis powers hetalia #axis powers ヘタリア #alfredosauce50 #alfred f jones #allen jones

[stressisakiller]

Forgive Me Sunflower

Bucky Barnes x Reader Soulmate AU

(Hello Sunflower Part 10) EDITED 

Summary:  What happens when Bucky wakes up to your bed empty and a strange note on your pillow

Warnings: refences to torture. Murder. cussing

Word Count: 4 k

A/N:  Can you figure out what her secret message was?  Let me know what you think and if you have any requests for future chapters! Thank yall for reading!’

Thoughts are in italics

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Life in the tower fell into a peaceful rhythm. Waking up before the sun, heading down to the training rooms. Beating the shit out of Bucky, occasionally you let him win, then breakfast with everyone. Steve and Bucky always made sure to go for a run together, while they were out you went upstairs and sat in the lab with Tony. You may not have had a normal childhood but you “father” hadn’t let your education suffer, we believed that knowledge was everything. So, you were able to help out occasionally with the problems that arose. 

While he worked Tony enjoyed telling you stories, about himself and your parents. You quickly felt as though you got the chance to know them. As much as you loved these stories it broke your heart that you were the reason they were no longer here. 

Tony was finishing one such story when he noticed the dejected look on your face, he quickly switched to telling you about how he became Iron Man. He explained the cave and the fear he felt while stuck there, although he would never admit that to anyone else. He told you of the man who helped him and saved his life, of his sacrifice and the change it caused in Tony’s life. He told you about being betrayed by the man he had trusted the most, you could relate to that. 

Life was good, really good. You felt safe with the people around you, you felt loved and trusted. You felt like you had a family. But of course nothing lasts forever.

You lived in peace for two months. Two months of happiness and tranquility, or as much tranquility as a group of superheroes are able to have. The tranquility was shattered one morning about a week before the avengers were to go to trial. 

Waking up that morning Bucky got ready as always, he headed down to the training rooms and was surprised to see that you had yet to arrive. Weird, you always arrived before him. He went back to the elevator and headed to your room, some nights you liked to sleep in a space that was your own. Opening the door his eyes fell on your empty bed, it was still made, as if you never made it to bed last night. Worried he hurried over to your bathroom and knocked,

 “Hey sunflower, you in there?” the silence that answered him was overwhelming, you weren’t here. 

Where on earth could you be? Upon closer inspection of your room his eyes fell upon a note laid purposefully on your pillow. He carefully made his way over, watching closely for any trip wires. Lifting the card from your pillow he cut open the top with one of the knives on his belt. His eyes scanned the note, he felt the breath leave his lungs, was this some kind of sick joke? He took a deep breath trying to calm himself down before rereading the paper in his hand.

Bucky,

Hello, I'm sorry that I must tell you this in a letter, sunflower. But the time has come I must leave before the sun is up. I can't follow your dreams for us anymore. I have my own and they don't involve you right now. We are done my sunflower. Don't try to find me 

Your star,

Ps forgive me

There was something off about the way the note was written. It was worded strangely, it didn’t sound like you at all. Not to mention the fact that you would never leave your soulmate like this. He thought back to the night before, you had been just as cuddly as normal, you had fallen asleep on him during the movie that you were all watching. He had gently woken you and walked with you to your room, you had given him a quick kiss and a smile before walking through the door. Bucky shook his head, bringing himself back to the problem at hand. He examined the wording carefully, looking for anything that would explain where you were. There it was, oh you clever, beautiful woman. Of course that would be your message, there is only one explanation as to where you are. Fuck. His face paled as the meaning of your message sunk in. You had been forced to write this message and yet you had found a way to tell him who it was. Hydra.

Your day was going well, you had a great time training this morning, you had pinned Bucky no less than three times. Tony had been in a good mood while you sat with him, his newest project was going smoothly and he was excited to see it in action. The best part had been the movie night that the group decided to have. You fell asleep on Bucky, how could you not, he is just so warm. He had taken you back to your room and you had kissed him at the door before parting ways. That is when it all went to shit. A hand closed over your mouth and a gun pressed to your temple. Your brain was still fuzzy with sleep, putting you at a disadvantage, it was quickly clearing but not quite as quickly as you needed. As the fog began to clear you began debating the best way to incapacitate the guy who currently had his hand on your mouth. So focused on the man behind you, you almost didn’t notice when a shadow moved in the corner in front of you. Almost, the moment that the movement registered in your tired brain you froze.

“Please don’t try to escape, we need you to come with us.” The disembodied voice was eerily familiar although you couldn’t figure out why.

You struggled against the iron grip of the man behind you, at the prompting of the man in the corner, he slowly lowered his hand from your mouth allowing you to speak.

“And why the hell do you think I would do that?” you spat at him.

“Simple,” his calm demeanor was starting to give you the creeps, how could he be so calm right now? “If you don’t we will kill every single person in this building and maybe their families too while we are at it.” your eyebrows rose at his statement, 

“Just the two of you?” disbelief evident in your voice.

He laughed, a humorous thing, it sent chills down your back.

“Of course not, stupid girl, there are more of us in this building right now. If you cooperate then they won’t need to be used, they will leave as soon as we do.”

How could you trust him to keep his word? But if you didn’t go with him then there was no way for you to protect everyone. You head swam, you knew he wouldn’t wait long for your answer.

“Fine, but you have to swear that you and your men will leave everyone else in this building alone.” 

“You have my word, he only wants you right now anyway.”

“He?” your curiosity got the best of you

“Hydra, of course, now I need you to write a letter, one that explains your absence. One that explains that you don’t want anyone looking for you.” His voice was firm, and you knew that you had no choice.

You nodded your agreement, and the man behind you loosened his grip, but the gun stayed trained on you. You walked to your desk and brought out a pen and some paper, taking a second to figure out how to let Bucky know that you were in danger. The solution popped in your mind and you jotted down your note, hoping that he would understand. As soon as you were done they tied your hands together and pulled you to their escape route. With surprising speed and ease they got you out of the building and thrust you into a car. You fought against your bonds until a needle was shoved in your neck, blackness filled your vision and your eyelids felt like lead, the last thing you heard was a man barking directions before sleep took you.

Cold. All you can feel is overwhelming cold. Whatever you were laying on felt like ice. Fighting against the weight of your eyelids struggling against the darkness that held you. Voices, you could hear voices in the background. Trying to focus on their words but unable to understand what they meant. Wake up, you thought. Wake up! WAKE UP! Forcing your eyes open you flinched as a blinding light forced you to snap them shut. Breathe. Slowly opening your eyes, you take in your surroundings, it looks familiar. Fuck. You were back, they had you again, and you walked right into their arms. Tears welled up in your eyes causing your vision to waver. No, you would not cry, you refuse to cry. They don’t get to see you break. A voice brought you out of your thoughts, eyes shooting to the door. No, no no no no. Not him, anyone but him. But his voice was unmistakable, your heart dropped, your father. No you remind yourself, not your father, just an asshole that stole you from your family and forced you to become a monster. You would not let them break you. The door swung open and the face that has been haunting your nightmares since you escaped walked into view, a cold and calculating smile on his lips. 

“Well, well. It is so good to have you back, my daughter. I so missed having you here.” fake sincerity that made your toes curl laced his voice. The gag in your mouth kept you from spitting on him, all you could do was glare. You felt so helpless. He always made you feel so fucking helpless.

“Now now, sweet girl, no need for anger, you must have forgotten that all I have ever wanted is the best for you. You lost yourself these past two years, but don’t worry we will soon remedy that.” He stepped towards you, a rope in his hand, you looked up at him, eyes widening in fear and anger, this was going to hurt.

Bucky ran into the common room, eyes scanning the room widely, gone was the cool calm and collected Bucky. This Bucky had just lost his soulmate to the very people that you had finally been able to escape. He will do anything to get her back. His eyes fell on Tony pouring himself some coffee into a mug you had recently bought for him. Bucky stalked over to him, trying to keep his overwhelming fear from showing on his face. Tony looked up at him as he walked closer, giving him a smirk,

“Hey there grizzly bear, someone steal your honey and piss in your cheerios?” His smile fell as he studied the soldier, Tony had never seen him like this, something terrible had happened.

“What is it? What happened?” Going from playful to serious in a split second. His eyes scanned the room and noticed the lack of his sister, “Where is Y/N?”

 Bucky couldn’t seem to answer, he just held out the note. Quickly reading it Tony ended up even more confused,

 “there has to be a mistake, she would never leave like this.” desperation coloring his tone and he looked back at Bucky. Bucky shook his head, 

“She didn’t, she was forced to write it. She left a hidden message, she was taken by Hydra.” 

“Fuck!” Tony had to stop himself from throwing his mug across the room, it was a gift from you and he would hate himself if anything happened to it.

 “Ok what can we do, we need to find her.” He started to ramble about all of the things he could do and how they could get to her before Bucky held up a hand to quiet him. 

“I think I know where she is. There is a Hydra base in upstate New York, they don’t know that I know about it. I was supposed to be under their control when they took me there but I was slipping, more of myself than the soldier at the time.” He spoke quickly, he wanted to get to her as soon as possible. Tony nodded and called for Jarvis to gather everyone in the mission room. They filed in confused as to what was going on, Steve was the last one to sit down. 

“Y/N has been taken by Hydra and we are going to get her back.” Bucky was clear and concise as he explained the plan to them. If everything went according to plan they should have her back in the next two days. 

Time meant nothing to you. You couldn’t tell how long you had been back in the clutches of the asshole you used to call father. Has it been a day? A week? A month? All you knew was pain. Your thoughts felt fragmented. Like dandelion fluff in the wind. Bucky would come. Keep Bucky safe. All that matters is keeping him safe. Don’t let them see you break. Your head lolled to the side when you heard the door open. He was back, couldn’t he just leave you alone? Freezing water was thrown over your battered body, you bit your tongue to keep from gasping. Cuts stinging from onslaught, the deeper gashes on your tattoos making the water run red.

“Hello, sweetheart, I think you’re ready to be our soldier again.” His eyes were filled with glee at the prospect of being back in control of you, he had so many ideas of what he would have you do, who he would have you kill. He paused, letting the news sink in before continuing.

 “There is no way you can hold out this time.” Your eyes slid from his face, too tired to focus, too tired to fight. The scientist minions unstrapped your limp body from the table that had been your home since you arrived. They dragged you, feet scraping against the floor, to the machine that you had hoped to never see again, the blender. They threw you into the chair and strapped you down, removing the gag and shoving a rubber piece into your mouth. You wanted to fight but you couldn’t feel your arms. They placed the helmet on your head and turned the machine on. 

Bucky, forced himself to calm down, they would have you back soon. It had taken them a day to confirm your location and get ready to leave. Now he sat impatiently in the quinjet with the rest of the Avengers, wondering what awaited him at the base. Praying that you were ok, that he wasn’t too late. A voice came over the intercom letting them know they were 5 minutes out. He stood keeping his hands busy with getting ready, pushing aside his worry and doubt. You needed him and he wasn’t going to let his fear get in the way of saving you.

 The plane touched down and the soldier was on the move. Ruthless and concise the soldier cut through the guards and anyone who got in his way. The only person that matters to him is his soulmate, the one he is here to save. He made his way through the base quickly, his steps never faltering as he moved towards the room that he knew they would have you in. The room that was the scene of every one of his nightmares. He busted through the door and stepped into the room, the one with the blender, the one where they brainwashed him. 

For the first time during the mission his steps faltered, the soldier was devastated by what he saw. You, alive yes, but battered and bruised, face pale and blood running from multiple cuts. A dark purple bruise obvious around your throat. Your face was full of bruises and cuts, your arms were the same. You were staring straight forward, eyes void and he knew he had failed you. He moved to step towards you but your fathers voice caused him to stop.

“Soldier, are you ready to comply?” Bucky wanted to punch the grin off of his face but all he could do was watch. 

“Ready to comply.” your voice was ice, lacking any of its usual warmth and emotion.

“Kill the winter Soldier, I have no more need for him.” You snapped to attention, turning to your enemy, deciding the best way to attack. You charged. Bucky brought his arm up in time to block your attack, moving quickly to protect himself without hurting you. You quickly flipped him on his back, standing over him, he looked at you with defeat, he couldn’t hurt you, not this time. A twinkle came to your eyes that hadn’t been there a moment before, and you did the last thing he was expecting, you winked. Bucky moved quickly rolling out of your grasp, keeping up the ruse and noticed that your blows were softer than they would be in a normal fight, you were still there. You yanked his pistol out of his holster and pointed it at him, finger on the trigger. 

“Well,” came your father's voice, impatience coloring his tone,

 “what are you waiting for? Shoot him.” Bucky saw your trigger finger twitch before you moved, a shot ringing out in the otherwise quiet space. 

Blinking Bucky turned to see the body of your father fall to the ground, bullet lodged between his eyes. Shaking off the sense of deja vu he looked back towards you. Although your actions showed that you were still at least sort of in control of your body, he could tell that the soldier was at the controller. He took a cautious step towards you. You spun, and pointed the gun at him, a glimmer of recognition in your eyes before you slowly lowered the gun. Bucky reached for the gun keeping his movements slow as he released your hold on it. Gently grasping your chin, he turned you to look at him. 

“Hello, my star,” His voice was soft, “It’s your sunflower, it’s time for you to come back to me.” Your eyes seemed to focus for a moment before you spoke,

“I have to finish my mission.” your voice was firm

“What is your mission, my star?” he asked, keeping your eyes trained on him. 

“To keep my soulmate safe, that has always been my mission.” you looked confused at his question as if the answer should have been obvious. He smiled, cupping your cheek in his hand.

“I am safe, my star, your sunflower is safe. Your mission is complete, you can let go.” At his words, your eyes rolled back and you collapsed. His arms wrapping around you before you could hit the floor. Bucky picked you up and began to carry you out of the godforsaken base. 

You wake for a moment as he carries you towards the exit, seeing his face, you were able to  relax for the first time in days.

“Bucky?”

“Hush, little one, I have you now, we are heading home.” 

The next time you woke up you were in the tower hospital, feeling weak but better than you had when you passed out. Your eyes were drawn towards the hand that currently engulfed yours, it was connected to the sleeping form of your handsome soulmate. Reaching across yourself with your free hand you ran your fingers through his hair. The soft feeling, waking him up from his sleep. Raising his head Bucky looked at you. Tears forming in his eyes as he noticed you were awake.

“Hi,” your voice was rough from screaming. His eyes softened, his metal hand coming up to rest on your cheek.

“Hi yourself, little one, you scared the shit out of me.” you chuckled at him

“Wasn’t my intention love, they got me to go with them because they threatened you. I promised that I would take care of you. I didn’t mean to cause you pain.”

“No, sweetheart, you don’t need to apologize, I am just happy that you are back with me and that you are safe.” he rested his forehead against yours as he spoke, as if he could force the words into your head. You cleared your throat, a question at the forefront of your mind.

“What day is it? Did I miss the trials? Knowing them they took me when they did to keep me from testifying, they wanted me to forfeit my right to be heard.” you anxiously awaited his answer, worried that you had ruined everything.

“No, little one, we still have a couple of days before the trials start. You were gone a total of two days, and out of consciousness another. You will still be able to make it to the trial. I have a feeling that your injuries might just swing the jury in your favor.” His lip turned up, but there was pain in his eyes, he drew his hand from yours and gently rested it on your hip where the cuts were the deepest, they had cut you to figure out which tattoo was your soulmark.

“Well I’m glad something good came out of this.” sarcasm evident in your tone as you tried to make light of the situation.

“Well that and the death of the asshole that took you from your parents.” Bucky didn’t try to hind the venom in his voice as he spat out the words. Your eyes widened, 

“Wait what? He’s dead?” Bucky looked confused at your question before understanding washed over him.

“Little one, he turned you into the soldier and told you to kill me. You pulled your punches and when you stole my gun he ordered you to shoot me, but you shot him instead.” 

You could tell that he was a little worried about how you would react. As much as you hated the man you had still believed him to be your father for the majority of your life.

“Good, the bastard deserved it.” you looked away from Bucky’s face as you spoke, shame prickling behind your eyes because of the sadness you felt.

“I do have a question though, how were you able to fight his control? Why didn’t you shoot me?” You looked at him surprised by his question.

“They haven’t truly had control over me since I got my tattoo.” Your eyebrows furrowed as you thought back to it. “When they tried to activate the soldier after the mark showed up I was able to talk to her. We agreed that you were as much her soulmate as you are mine and that we would both do whatever it takes to protect you. You became our mission.” you took a deep breath before continuing, pulling your eyes from Bucky’s face.

 “The soldier and I are one, as much as I hate a lot of the things she did, she had as little of a choice as I did. She takes control when they activate her, but I am no longer trapped in the backseat. I’m able to talk to her, and most of the time, she listens.” 

Bucky looked down at his hands in confusion, wondering if he would ever be able to say the same about himself and the winter soldier. Could they ever work together? He let the thought go as he watched you yawn. 

Picking you up, he took you back to his room, you were well enough to sleep in a real bed tonight. Heaven knows you needed it. He laid you down and pulled you close, smiling at the feeling of you nuzzling into his side. Those questions could wait till later, for now, he would enjoy sleeping next to his soulmate again.

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