#someone hold a gun to my temple and force me

[clockwayswrites]

Totally didn't write Tim being confused.

WC:1174 Masterpost

“So are you going to want in on it?” Jason asked without looking over at Tim. If his brother wanted to follow after him on his mundane patrol, let him.

“You’d be okay with that?” Tim asked, unable (or not trying to) keep the surprise out of his voice.

Jason just shrugged, sure to exaggerate the motion to show through his armor. Tim had done him a favor with this research, Jason figured he earned a spot on the bust. Besides, Jason was… trying. He couldn’t make up for what he’d done to Tim, but he could try to be better now.

“Yes, sure,” Tim said in response to the shrug. “Just let me know when and I’ll make sure the others know to cover my route that night. Or nights, if you need help planning?”

Gut reaction was to growl at the offer of help planning, but Jason forced the sound back down into a noncommittal noise. He was better now. He didn’t need to do everything himself. His goons, and god he still didn’t like that name but whatever, proved that. Crime Alley was better because of them. “Maybe. Lemme look over your data first. I’ll let you know.”

“Right, sure, of course,” Tim said with an aborted flutter of his hand. “Just let me know.”

Fuck, Jason really should say yes, let Tim help. “Yeah, I will. Just need to go over what you’ve got, get my head around it, you know?”

Tim nodded. Some of his hair slipped out of the hair tie that he had it pulled back into. Jason thought it was good for the kid to be growing his hair out, getting out of that perfect corporate box he put himself into too much, but he didn’t know how to say that in a way that wouldn’t offend Tim or make him feel judged, so Jason kept quiet.

In the quiet it was very easy to hear a too familiar voice growl, “I said back off! I’m not interested!”

Jason sighed, the noise threatening through the modulation of the helmet, and turned to run over the roof tops towards the voice. He could feel rather than hear Tim change directions with him, ever the loyal shadow.

-

Tim perched on the edge of the roof that Jason was leaning over.

“Come on, my money’s good,” huffed some dude. He must have gotten out of his car to confront the sex worker who had turned him down. Which beyond being rude, no still meant no even if the person was a sex worker, it was clear the worker was done for the night. They were carrying two handfuls of plastic bags and Tim could smell the food from the roof.

“I said no, dude,” they said. “Go find someone working a corner if you need it that bad.”

“Yeah, they don’t have what you have,” the guy said. Then he did the stupidest thing he could have done and reached out while the sex worker pulled away.

Jason was already over the ledge of the roof before Tim had twitched. He landed with a purposeful crunch on the battered asphalt and had his gun drawn and pointed as the guy spun around.

“You new to the Alley?” Jason growled.

The guy (who looked two seconds away from pissing his pants) shook his head.

“Then you should know the rules,” Jason said. He stepped forward and pressed his gun against the guy’s temple.

Tim’s gaze flicked between Jason and the sex worker, who was looking on… fondly? Something else was going on here.

“I see you fucking with people like this again and you’ll lose something important, got it?”

“Got it,” the guy squeaked.

“Get out of here.”

The guy scrambled back to his car and took off with a squeal of tires. Tim jumped down silently while Jason holstered his gun and turned to the sex worker.

“Hood!” They said with a bright smile.

“Danny,” Jason growled. “What are you doing out here at this time of night?”

“Delivering some dinner to Nickie and the girls,” Danny said, holding up the plastic bags in his hands.

Jason’s fingers twitched like he wanted to run a hand over his helmet (or strangle the other). “Dressed like that?”

The worker, Danny, pouted and looked down at his outfit. There was a large sliver of stomach exposed between the bright green crop top with a pattern of cartoon ghosts, tiny black shorts with magenta details, and knee high black boots. Tim sort of thought the look worked for him in an eye searing way.

“Oh come on, I’m going to see Nickie. You know I have to dress right or she’ll drag me off to another makeover. I can’t take any more makeovers, Hood. And… don’t you think I look good?”

“Of course you look good,” Jason said.

Tim’s head whipped over to stare. He had to purposeful close his mouth before he caught flies.

Danny’s pout grew. “Then what’s the issue?”

“The issue is people are going to think you’re a hooker.”

Wasn’t he?

Danny rested a hand on his hip and raised a brow at Jason. “You say that like being a hooker is a bad thing. Do I need to tell the girls you said that?”

“You know what I mean!” Jason argued. “You just had a pushy John try to pick you up!”

“And I was handling him!”

Jason growled again and took a threatening step forward. Instead of being cowed by it, Danny stepped up into Jason’s space, basically pressing himself along Jason’s looming form. And then Danny stood up on his tip toes and pressed a kiss to Jason’s helmet, right where his mouth would be.

Tim could hear the dial up tone in his own mind.

What.

It only got louder when Jason sighed and just slumped, the fight going out of him.

“Danny…”

“I’m fine, Hood. Look, I’ll take the food to Nickie and stay with the girls until you can walk me home. Or your little shadow can.”

When Jason’s head jerked up to looked at Tim, he couldn’t help the instinct to raise his hands innocently.

Jason just grumbled and let his helmet drop onto Danny’s slim shoulder, which started shaking with laughter.

“Shut up,” Jason said.

“You forgot he was there, didn’t you?” Danny asked. He transferred all the food to one side so that he could run a hand over the helmet and down to Jason’s neck.

Jason letting someone touch him so casually, especially as Red Hood wasn’t helping Tim’s brain reboot.

“Red, get your ass over here,” Jason said.

Tim figured it was best to listen with whatever the fuck was going on here. He slipped out of the shadows while Danny turned around, tucked himself back into Jason’s arms, and smiled at Tim.

“Red, Danny. Danny, Red Robin, one of the Bats.”

“Hi,” Danny chirped cheerfully and held out his empty hand.

“Hello,” Tim said, shaking it mostly on instinct. What the fuck was going on here?

---

AN: Oh look! Another Bat finally meets Danny! Tim is so, so confused. I'm not feeling well at all, so I went back to the tried and true fic that I'm not writing. It's been a while since I haven't written it, hasn't it?

I no longer tag, but you can subscribe to the masterpost here.

#dp x dc #dead on main #the fic that i'm not writing

[teddybeartoji]

THE LITTLE LAMB AND THE BIG BAD WOLF

on a hunt for supplies, you stumble across someone's belongings. a little bit of theft is fine, right? the cold barrel of a gun at your temple says otherwise.

☆. contains: toji fushiguro x gn!reader; apocalypse au; horror, detailed descriptions of blood and death, slow burn, crack, reader is simultaneously a scaredy-cat and a baddie, toji looks scary oh nooo

☆. word count: 6k

☆. note: the world is based on tlou!!! i am soooo into this fucking concept like i'm officially sucking my own dick here. tagging my beloveds @staryukis & @awearywritersworld bc omfg apocalypse ideas!!!!!! and also @dollsuguru @venusiansilk @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat @mossmurdock i love you guys so so much thank you for all your support<3333333

+ here's the masterlist

in a world so fucked up – it's easy to get lost in the darkness.

when the infection took over, everything changed. everything. people aren't people anymore – they've become hosts for a type of fungus known as the cordyceps. it grows all over the brain and takes control of the body, turning the person into something they're not.

if anyone were to ask you how many have you killed, infected or not, you'd be devoid of an answer.

it's hard to find your way when just about everything is out to get you. infected or not – there's always something ready to tear you into pieces, to sink their teeth into your soft flesh – that's just the way things are now.

but you're used to it. used to the feeling of adrenaline pumping in your veins as you run from a horde, used to the feeling of a blade at your throat, used to the feeling of a punch, of a slap. used to the constant grumble in your stomach, used to the sore legs and shoulders, used to cleaning off blood from yourself and your clothes, from your weapons. you're used to the gurgling and clicking, the crying and sobbing, the begging and pleading.

but no matter how much you tell yourself that you've grown used to the horrors of the new world, you cannot escape the anxiety that hides under every inch of your skin. it's always with you – holding your clammy hand as it drags you into the depths, into the shadows. you try to fight it but it's hard.

it's hard forcing away the only thing that holds you so tight, the only thing that truly cares for you. it's is a suffocating blanket that hides you from the cruelty of the world, trying its best to shelter you from it all. it's better to stay inside. it's better to stay away. they're going to hurt you. something is here. just stay here with me, under the warm blanket. they're coming. it's going to hurt. let's stay here forever.

don't you want it to stop?

being torn apart by the cold crippling fear and the warm rotting hands – it's getting harder and harder to breathe. but you've learned how to keep them at bay over the years; always in the line of sight, always on your mind. there's no rest for the wicked.

moonlight leads the way as you make your way to a shopping mall. the wind howls in your ears and sends a shiver down your spine. moss and ivy cover the walls of the massive building, swallowing it bit by bit, making it a part of the nature as the time passes.

the axe in your hand feels heavy, but right nonetheless. the handle is stained with blood; it has seeped deep into the wood and now acts as an extra weight to the blade. a small 9mm handgun sits pretty in the holster around your thigh, a knife hides in its leather sheath on your belt, a bow rests on your shoulder and a few arrows peek from your bag.

despite the armory, your bag hasn't been this empty in a while. the blame falls on a group of men you ran into a week or so back. precious ammo and resources were spent on the bastards, and while the blood reward was good - the lack of food and meds is now becoming concerning. your shoulder still hurts from the fall, a big dark bruise transforming your skin into a painting of the midnight sky.

you shake the flashlight on the strap of your backpack and listen to the batteries bounce around inside it. you give it a stronger shake and it turns on. the broken glass shines as you carefully step inside the big atrium and take a look around. your little light forces back the creeping shadows, now showcasing you the infected bodies that lay dead on the ground before you.

pools of blood conflux together and paint the tiles a dark shade of maroon; the ichor flows in between the cracks and disappears under the soles of your boots when you step further inside. they're fresh. light reflects off the liquid as you squat down to take a closer look. none of the three bodies seem to have bullet wounds – one of the runner has a slit throat while the other leaks from a hole in the side of the head and the clicker... it's head has been completely bashed in, making it hard to even recognize it as one.

beating up a clicker is not easy by any means; though the fungus growing on their face and head blinds them, it also acts almost like armor. they can take a bullet to the head and still keep coming – the call of death rippling through their body as they run at you, hands reaching out to grab, to pull, to hold.

the fact that they did this, either with their bare hands or some other blunt object, just means that they're good. it also begs the question whether they didn't have the bullets to spare or they simply decided not to use them. you just hope you won't bump into them.

standing up, you take another look around. a trail of bloody footsteps leads right up the escalators and you decide that you won't be going there yet. there are a few more bodies, two runners, sitting limp against the crumbling walls as you step down one of the hallways. the broken tiles and the glass cracks below your feet and you cringe at the noise.

never letting go of the axe in your hand, you stroll past the first stores seeing as they're completely ran through. with a sigh, you make your way over to one of the clothing stores. it's almost pitch black in there and you almost jump out of your skin when a mannequin suddenly falls at your feet. muttering out a row of whispered curses, you lower your axe with a shaky breath and adjust your flashlight. the shelves are pretty empty but that was expected; still, when you open up a cupboard door under one of the mannequin stands, you find a stack of perfectly fine sweatshirts. you check the other side of the piece of furniture and find... nothing. scoffing to yourself, you just bag the a sweatshirt and a pair of pants from another shelf before moving to the next store.

glass breaks and you hear shuffling – head whipping towards the sounds, fingers tightly gripping the axe, you take a step back and bump right into the shelf behind you. pieces of clothing fall onto the floor and a cloud of dust rises from the impact; you pay it no mind as your eyes are still glued to the counter, to where the noise came from, but when after a few second absolutely nothing jumps at you, you let your shoulders relax a little.

a stalker, maybe? but they don't tend to live in open spaces like malls, or so you think at least. the majority of them you've ran into in places like office floors and a fucked up basements – meaning they like to lurk everywhere where it's extra dark and where there are places to hide behind. yeah, they do that. little shits, taking cover behind desks and walls, playing a game of hide and seek that you never agreed to. you're never forgiving yourself for taking that wretched route.

you peek over the counter and look all around it but find jack shit. it's the darkness – it's what it does to you, to everybody. the shadows start to speak and move, the floors creak and crumble, and the growths on the wall whisper your name, no matter, how much you tell yourself that they aren't actually doing any of that that.

it's just the old building crying out from loneliness, the haunted ghosts simply looking for company as people pass by, as the infected pass by. you have to keep your head straight. faint blood marks stain the floor but it's too hard to tell whether those've been there for years or less.

you hastily knock on your flashlight when it begins to flicker, leaving you in the dark for just a blink but it's enough to have your heart thumping loudly in your ribcage.

making your way out of the store, you scour for your next location and ah-ha!

a pharmacy.

two bottles of antibiotics rattle in your bag but those aren't enough. you'll always need more of those, you'll always need more of gauze, painkillers, of everything – going in there is a must.

a metal roll-up door closed mid way is going to make this harder, but as if that isn't ominous enough – the quiet cries coming from behind it only makes the situation worse. a runner. but luckily, it isn't making too much noise and you make an educated guess of it not moving around. they do that when there's nothing to catch and tear apart, when nothing has caught their attention. they stay in random spots and whimper and cry to themselves. it makes them an easy prey.

the thought of the metal door sliding shut just as you're trying to pass under it, is making your stomach churn. and so is the thought of you making too much noise by accident and attracting the runner when you're still down on the ground. stop being a pussy. there could be emergency kits in there, pills, there could be a feast of medications in there and you're holding back. it's unacceptable.

you slowly kneel down to the cold floor and inhale sharply before lowering yourself further down. the only light in the room is yours and it immediately finds the twitching runner.

it is cowering in the corner.

you're just fucking glad they don't react to light as much as they do to noise, otherwise you'd be fucked already.

you crawl in the dust as quietly as you can, careful to not touch any of the furniture beside you that seems to be holding up the door. the last thing you'd want is to get locked in here. or get cut in half. you clench your teeth and push yourself up and to your knees the second you can do so and take a second, as you wait for him to turn around and lunge at you. but he doesn't. his back is still turned to you as he waits for you, sobs for you; his body trembling, hands folded in front of his chest – almost like he's hugging himself.

quietly holstering the axe, you pull out your knife instead. it's quieter. you grip the handle, fingers molding into the dents that have formed over time. another step and the light goes out. it's complete darkness. you hear your own heartbeat in your ears and the miserable cries of the infected just a few feet away. your eyes widen as you try to focus on your surroundings. your hands grow clammy in a matter of a few seconds and panic seeps into your body.

you shake the flashlight a few times and it turns back on. your breath is still stuck in your throat as you try to compose yourself. stupid old thing. the light paints the runner's shadow onto the wall in front of him, making it look like he's a part of some shadow play.

one more step and you're with him, a breath away. your hand goes around his chest, holding his hands and body in place as you sink your blade into his neck. it sinks into skin and flesh like butter, soaking you in the dark red ichor that hides underneath as he gurgles something at you (a thank you perhaps).

yanking the knife back out, the splattering ichor coats your skin and you immediately wipe it off against your shirt. his body falls with a thud! and another big dust cloud rises from the contact and your nose itches— it's— it itches— achoo!

your eyes are an inch away from escaping your head as you spin around, making sure that nothing is jumping at you for making a noise that loud. but surely enough, nothing seems to be interested. exhaling deeply, you rub your nose and force down the embarrassment that's crawling on your skin before starting your hunt for supplies.

it doesn't go as well as you'd hoped – only bagging a few stitching kits and a bottle of painkillers. better than nothing.

ecstatic to get the fuck out of a closed, pitch black room, you crawl back out from under the metal door and dust off your clothes.

strolling through some more stores, you're met with more dead infected. two clickers and two runners, no bullet holes. ignoring the corpses, you manage to find yourself a few nice t-shirts, a pack of boxers and a box of 9mm handgun ammo from under the cash register.

when you've gone through most of the wrecked stores on the first floor, you finally decide to take a look upstairs. the bloody footprints haven't left your mind but the fact that it's been so quiet, makes you think that maybe they did really just pass through here.

the moon light your way as you drag yourself up the escalator. the stars in the sky are barely visible because of the dirt on the ceiling window and you frown.

in front of you there are two hallways with stores on the sides and in the middle. the prints lead to the left side and towards the a lonely door at the end of the coridor; the signs on the walls don't indicate what room it might be – a security one, maybe? shaking your head, you focus on the stores ahead of you. the shop in the center is a big sports one; most of the mannequins have fallen over and their limbs are scattered all over the floor, pairless sneakers rest on top of each other and the shelves are a push away from collapsing into tiny little pieces.

stepping over the bloody clothes, you view the baseball caps on the rack when your light goes out again. you feed on the faint moonlight that's coming from the hallways as you scramble to shake the thing again. steps, you swear you heard steps. the last standing mannequins stare at you from the shadows, laughing at your misfortune. a hand touches your hip and you can't hold back the yelp that slips from your lips. you turn and bump into another statue. the light flickers three times before it actually turns on and you find yourself inches from an eerie smile. intinctively, you give it a firm push as you take a step back, hands shaking as the panic settles down once more.

no one else is here. you can't see whoever could've made the noise and by now you're sure that if something or someone is really hiding in the dark – it would've already made a move if it wanted to. stalkers don't play for that long and neither do humans.

a row of protein bars hide in a drawer in the staff room of the store and you happily throw them in your bag, along with some weird looking granola bars.

the right side of the second floor only offers you a new lighter, three pairs of socks, a can of soda, a simple necklace and a broken watch. what's the point of it if you can't tell time? it looks cool. no other reason.

heading over to the left side of the building, you keep a keen eye on the door. the remaining shops are forgotten the closer you get to where the prints lead and you officially commit to checking out the place.

the blade of your axe shines in the moonlight, your steps extra light as you creep up on the door. readying your weapon, you press down on the handle and quietly push it open. it swings all the way and thumps against the wall. the room is lit up, the windows letting in the natural light. you're greeted with rows of computer and tv screens on the tables, three black duffel bags and some lockers and cabinets next to the walls.

you check the corners of the room and let out a relieved sigh when you don't find anything hiding. closing the door, you carefully step around the broken glass on the floor. it seems to be originating from what used to be a glass case showcasing various medals. awards for the best security guards. how silly that sounds now.

the lockers have been cleared out, the only things left behind being two lovely couple's phots with hand-drawn hearts above their heads. you leave them there. the cabinets don't have anything good either. you glance back at the door for good measure before kneeling down in front of one of the bags on the ground. you pull the zipper and are met with treasure – multiple bars of chocolate, the same sweatshirt you found from the floor below, various cans of canned food, two water bottles and a small knife.

your eyes glint and the corners of your lips twitch upward, your body has a mind of its own as it immediately reaches for the chocolate. glass breaks and your eyes flick to the now ajar door as you reach for the gun on your thigh but when you feel the cold metal of a gun barrel resting against your temple... you freeze.

"don't."

...

your stomach drops, eyes glued to the bag in front of you. the voice is deep and it's rasp, confident and sure of himself; the metal against you doesn't move, it doesn't shake.

you hold your trembling hands out, fingers spread to show that you don't have any intention of grabbing your weapons. a deep breath in and a deep one out. you try to turn your head towards him but he just presses the gun deeper into your skin, forcing your gaze right back down.

his big stature looms over your smaller one and you feel like an ant that's about to be stepped on. he lets you soak in the threatening silence, the only sound being your own racing heartbeat.

"s'rude to steal, y'know."

the man doesn't sound angry, he doesn't sound mad or upset. he sounds... annoyed, if anything.

"i asked you a question."

shit.

"i– i wasn't stealing." you stammer out.

he scoffs. "wasn't stealing? just fondling my shit for fun then?"

the teasing tone makes your eyebrows furrow and you try to turn to look at him again, your body slightly raising from your knees but the gun on your head keeps you down. funny, how heavy a piece of metal can suddenly feel.

"it was empty in here! i didn't know these belonged to anyone! i–i'm sorry! i'll leave, i'll leave!" it's a pathetic slur of words accompanied by a pleading tone and you hope that it'll do the trick.

there are strategies for dealing with people and this is simply one of them.

and it does work because the next thing you know, he's lowering the weapon. you let out a shaky breath before turning to him and fuck.

he's... terrifying.

towering over your kneeling body, he's massive. big chest and broad shoulders, he looks like he could snap your neck with his bare hands. the moonlight is only making him more menacing – his dark hair falls in front of his eyes as he stares down at you; there's a scar on his lips and streaks of blood cover his skin, from his cheek to his jaw and down his neck.

dark clothes and a dark jacket – he looks like he belongs in the shadows. the fact that you didn't hear him until it was already too late is making your skin crawl. he probably only let you hear him. for the fun of it.

the terrified look on other's faces can be addicting. the big eyes and the wobbling lips; how they shake and beg – you're no stranger to it, you've had your moments, too.

other than the gun in his hand, there's a second one holstered around his big thigh just like you do. a serrated knife sits his belt and it keeps winking at you, the flashlight reflecting from it as you pull in big breaths of air.

"you're saying i oughta just let you go?" he scoffs, yanking you from your thoughts.

"please..." your stomach grumbles on cue, helping you look meeker than you really are.

you're sure you just saw him wince as he squats down beside you but the thought is brushed away immediately when the man cocks his head to the side and scratches his temple with the barrel of the gun. his scarred lips stretch into a big wolfish grin, showing off his sharp canines and his eyes glint from behind the black strands of hair, making him even scarier now. the big bad wolf.

he's taking you apart with his eyes, dissecting you and your thoughts with a smug expression while you're fending off the waves of fear and try to look as composed as you can. though you feel like it isn't working at all.

"d'ya find anything good from the pharmacy?"

"why were you stalking me?" your bark comes out sharper than you intended and his eyebrows raise an inch, eyes shining with something teasing.

"kind of hard to miss ya when you're making so much noise, sweetheart. and yer in my spot, anyway." he sigh with an eye-roll.

your lips part in a small gasp. "i was not making that much noise! and– and what do you mean 'your spot'? it's a fucking mall, i need things, too!"

"clearly." he motions to the duffel bag resting at your feet and you swallow your next snarky comment.

"sorry."

"what was that?"

just glaring at him, you hate how amused he seems. the fear in you dissipating fast and something akin to annoyance is starting to grow in it's stead.

"i didn't even fucking take anything!"

body leaning forward, fists balled up and eyes on fire – he's thoroughly entertained by your barking and you immediately purse your lips.

"relax, little lamb, will ya? tell me... what'd you find in there?"

you scrunch your nose at the stupid nickname. despite how non-threatening he's being right now - you're still planning on running. you'll give him whatever he wants and you're getting the fuck out of here.

"nothing much. stitching kits and painkillers."

he's hums disappointedly and you can't help but wonder why. is he looking for something in particular? is he hurt? "what do you need?"

"forget it."

"i have antibiotics, if that's what you need."

at that, his ears perk up. "is that so?"

you nod at him.

"well, c'mon then, show me what ya got."

you stare at him for a moment before peeling off one backpack strap. you pull the bag onto your lap and feel his heavy gaze on you as you dig around the thing. it doesn't take you long to find the right bottle, pulling it out and handing it to him.

the floor creaks and it has you both turning towards the sound in an instant. he has the door in his sights but nothing is there. your heart is hammering in your chest again and you can taste the bitter anxiety in the back of your throat again.

you've never seen anyone hold their gun so steady as he does. no shake, no tremble; he's not even really squeezing the thing, he's just holding it. there's no pressure, no anxiety – it's simply an extension to his body. he's comfortable with it, and he looks good with it. a bead of sweat rolls from his temple and mixes with the drying blood on his skin before disappearing under his clothes.

his breathing is normal, he's calm as he lowers the gun back down and starts observing the bottle in his other hand. your eyes are still on the door, still wary of the ghosts that lurk around.

the man squints his eyes at the miniature text on the bottle in the dark and you hold back a laugh.

"need me to read it for you, old man?"

"watch your mouth." it's playful at best, no real sternness behind it whatsoever and it makes you roll your eyes. you're about to ask what he actually needs the pills for but something in the corner of your eye draws your attention.

a pair of dull, grey eyes. staring right back at you. dark veins run all over her face and neck, her shoulders and her hands and she peeks from behind the doorframe.

one second. no more, no less. your sharp intake of air gets his attention just as the stalker lunges from the dark hallway, but she is met with a hole in her forehead before she can even take a proper step inside.

small pieces of brain splatter onto the wall behind her and she falls limp to the ground just a few feet from you. he's waiting for another one to pop up, his eyes still glued to the door and you know that this is your moment. he has the meds, so he shouldn't chase you down anyway. you have to go now.

scrambling up from your knees, you try to speed past him but immediately choke when the collar of your own sweatshirt sharply cuts into your airways. his grip on the material is strong and he pulls you right back into him, back into his arms. he's mere inches from your face but before he can do anything else – he feels a blade against his throat.

you really aren't the little lamb he thought you were.

he's comparing you to a feral cub in his head – big wild eyes, snarling and showing your teeth, trying to act tougher than you are, but when the sharp edge of your blade sinks deeper into his skin, he realizes that maybe you're not actually in over your head.

he already expected you to run, he was waiting for that but he thought it'd end up with you you crying and begging or something. he didn't see this coming – you're definitely craftier than he thought, faster too.

"now... why would you do that-"

you don't let him finish. "are you gonna hurt me?"

"you're the one with the knife at my throat. i should be asking you that." he rolls his eyes as your knife grazes the soft skin below his adam's apple and you're thinking about actually cutting him just out of annoyance.

"you have the pills, why not let me go?" you bark back.

"you're hungry, aren't ya?" he questions calmly. his gun hand is lowered, he's not pointing it at you but his other hand stays on your back, fingers still digging into your sweatshirt. it's warm, his body is warm.

"so what? you gonna feed me like some stray cat?"

"y'don't want to eat?" he deadpans.

...

you bite into the soft flesh of your inner cheek. of fucking course, you want to eat.

"y'can take two cans from the bag. i mean, y'were eyeing them anyway."

"why?"

"for being my entertainment tonight."

the blade on his throat finally draws blood and a drop of it runs down his skin, disappearing under his shirt.

"i oughta kill you for putting a gun at my head."

"yeah?" he cocks his head closer to you, the blade moving with him, making a few more droplets dribble from the tiny wound. "go for it, sweetheart."

his eyes are green. they're green like the leaves that sprout from between the cracks in the asphalt on a sunny day, green like the moss that flourishes on the trees in the forest, green like the ivy that is trying to swallow the world. you feel his heart beat a; calm and steady while yours is amped from the sudden proximity. he sounds so arrogant, like he knows you're not going to hurt him.

(you aren't.)

when you lower the knife to push at his broad chest with a scoff instead, he lets you. his hand falls from you as you take a step back, your face now illuminated by the moonlight. scars litter your skin, bumps and cuts – just like him.

"are you done?"

you hum with a pouty lip and put away your knife, eyes following his figure as he holsters his gun before picking up the fallen pill bottle. when he steps by you, he plucks your flashlight from its place on the backpack strap with way too much ease and proceeds to head over to one of the duffel bags that sits on the table behind you, carefully stepping over the broken glass on the floor.

"hey!"

he shushes you and your fists tighten beside your body. you look at the dead body that lays next to the door with a perfectly centered hole in her forehead. the blood pools around it, soaking her clothes and the ground below her.

you used to think about the infected more, used to ponder about how long they've been like that and whether the person they used to be is still... in there.

it doesn't matter.

you've come across people, who talk about not wanting to kill them – what if they really are still in there? but isn't that exactly why one should kill them? you can't even begin to think about how it'd feel to be stuck inside your own body as the infection takes over, making you into something you're not. how it'd force you to tear your loved ones apart just for the sake of it, how you'd turn into a bigger monster with every passing day, every passing second. you just hope that if you were to get infected, you'd still have the mind to end it. or have somebody do it for you.

you don't want to end up like her.

"i didn't realize there were stalkers here." you mumble to yourself as you tear your eyes from her. "other than you, of course. fucking creep."

he starts digging around in one of the bags and you take the moment to really observe him. his back is almost twice your size and you're sure his one bicep is bigger than your whole head.

the man scoffs. "thought i got them all but... oh, well. should've let ya handle it – was your fault anyway."

"how the fuck was that my fault?" your voice raises at his claim and you regret it, knowing exactly what his response will be.

"you are fucking loud, sweetheart."

"fuck you."

he just hums out a mhmmm. he pulls a piece of paper out of his bag and uses your flashlight to examine the text on it. his eyes. he waves at you over his shoulder. "you know where the cans are."

simply scoffing as a reply, you kneel back down to the bag but his voice cuts in again.

"and don't you dare take that chocolate." he doesn't even turn around, completely focused on comparing the information on the paper to the info on the bottle of pills. you roll your eyes again and curse him under your breath. "i wasn't gonna take your stupid fucking chocolate..."

when you've bagged your goodies, you push yourself up again. the trees dancing in the wind outside catch your eye, they look so carefree. just living from the sun and the moon and the rain, they have nothing to fear. nobody will harm them, no infected, no people. you can't wait for nature to take back everything it deserves. the cities and the buildings; it'll swallow the corpses and the living alike and you're happy for her.

he rustles with the paper, twisting it around a few times and you're about to ask what he's looking for but he cuts you off.

"why not make a run for it earlier?"

you stare at his back with a confused look. "what do you mean?"

"you gave me the pills and then tried to run. antibiotics are hard to find, y'know." he sounds curious. or patronizing.

"i know that... i had to wait for the right moment." you admit, fiddling with your fingers. "i was going to give them to you anyway, old man."

"not a lot going on in that little head of yours, huh?"

...

you let his audacity waft over you before biting back. "oh, i'm sorry... for... being a... good person?"

he turns around and leans his ass against the table, folding his arms over his big chest as he mocks you with his annoying smug grin. "i pointed a gun at you and you still wanna share your little precious belongs with me? that's cute, i guess."

"yeah. you just look like you fucking need them, alright...."

"so, you agree that you're a fucking idiot?"

your lips part in shock. "hey! look– do you want anything else or can i go now?"

"can i have my flashlight back?"

"no."

"wha— " you take a step toward the man and he raises his brows. "but it's mine! how do you expect me to go outside without it?"

"no manners whatsoever."

huh?

your jaw drops again. "excuse me? wha– what's that supposed to mean?"

"first, i catch you stealing— "

"i already apologized for that— "

"—then you try to kill poor old little me, and now you're asking for things without the magic word... tsk-tsk-tsk." he closes his eyes and shakes his head in disappointment.

"i'm not gonna fucking beg for my own flashlight back, bitch."

...

he barks out a laugh.

a loud one, from deep within his stomach. his head falls back and a pout forms on your lips, heat crawls up your neck involuntarily and you avert your gaze. "you're terrible, just terrible, sweetheart."

he takes your prized light and tosses it to you before pulling out his own from behind his back. you flip him off. "funny though, i'll give ya that..."

you grumble a yeah, thanks under your breath as he blinks the light at you twice. "may i go now?"

he stares at you before answering. "yes, you're dismissed."

at that, you knock your heels together and sharply bring your right hand to your temple – imitating a military salutation. "yes, sir!"

something sweet.

he tastes something sweet on his tongue. he wipes the drying blood from his neck and his cheeks hurt.

you're some random feral cub and yet, you've peaked his interest like nothing else. no cries and no wails, no begging and no tears – scared but alive. ready to part with valuable meds just because he apparently looks like he needs them. tch! growling at him even though he's caught you red handed, cutting him even though you weren't in danger anymore.

he hasn't felt this alive in a long time, either.

"don't let me see you again, old man."

playful, at best. you're matching his tone and the corners of his lips are reaching back behind his ears. you bite your inner cheek; despite everything – he's the most normal person you've met since the end of the world. he's not mean nor is he aggressive; everybody points a gun at a stranger these days. he made jokes and he gave you supplies – it's more than anyone has done for you in a while.

you look at the wolf in the shadow and he looks at the lamb in the moonlight. the wolf that offers food and protection and the lamb that cuts and steals.

the wolf that bleeds and the lamb that holds the blade.

#AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA #ENJOY!! #also feedback is very appreciated i need to know whether i made everything understandable!!!!!!!!!!!!! #MWAH #toji #toji x reader #toji x you #toji x y/n #toji fushiguro #toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro x you #toji fushiguro fanfic #toji fushiguro drabble #jjk toji #jjk x reader #jjk au #toji au #jjk x you #toji fushiguro au #toji zenin #toji zenin x reader #toji zenin x you #fushiguro toji #fushiguro toji x reader #fushiguro toji x you #zenin toji #zenin toji x reader #zenin toji x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #wtf mickey can write

[killerpancakeburger]

Dating Soap HCS: (Combatant!Reader)

A/N: Shoving in there all the thoughts I've had about him and couldn't squeeze into my current fic ideas.

When I say Combatant!Reader, I mean they can fight/kill/use a gun but aren't part of the Task Force nor a soldier.

SFW:

Two words: power couple. You guys could take on the world if you wanted, so good for the world that you’re part of the good guys.

Soap is one of those freaks who’s out of bed by 6 a.m on his days off and starts the day with a jog. He can’t help it, he’s got energy to spare and is addicted to the endorphin he gets from it. Before meeting him you’d have said that a partner up so early was a pain; but how could you be mad at him when he takes such care to not wake you up, and has coffee and a mouth-watering breakfast ready when you emerge? You enter the kitchen where he rewards you with the luscious view of his sculpted body covered in sweat, having already shed his shirt, then sneaks an arm around your shoulders to press an adoring kiss against your temple, along with a “G’morning, Bonnie.” before heading to the shower.

Sometimes you show up unannounced on base - well not completely unannounced cause you’d get shot -, barge into the sparring room like you own the place - and considering the company you keep, you might as well -, and hit all its occupants with a “What’s up losers?”. Before anyone else can react, Soap’s already leaping over the ring’s ropes and running to you, hugging you with so much enthusiasm that your feet leave the ground. “Ye didnae say ye were comin’!” His voice booms with unadulterated joy. “Yeah, that’s called a surprise MacTavish. Now let go of me, you stink.” He throws you a cocky, challenging smirk at that: “Make me.” His voice is way lower, intended for your ears only this time. The glint in his eyes, as he’s staring right into yours, is just as provocative as his smile. You retort with your own. “I could, but I would hate to humiliate you in front of the new recruits, Sergeant.” Cue Ghost, joining you by walking like a civilised human being, and already sick of your flirting. “If you two are done makin’ a spectacle of yourselves, we could have a smoke outside.” There’s no real heat to his words though.

During some evenings at the base when Ghost snuck up God only knows where, Soap, Gaz and you compete to see who can do the best impression of the Lieutenant. Soap’s in the lead with the advantage to be the one having exchanged the most words with Simon, but you’re confident you can turn it around.

Will touch you all the fucking time (except on missions), whether it’s an arm around your shoulder, or your waist, or a hand in the back pocket of your pants, or holding your hand. Will restrain himself if you’re against it but if he can’t cuddle in private he will be sad.

No PDA on missions, but he will definitely flirt over coms. You’re both skilled enough that you can afford to fuck around a bit while still doing your job expertly.

Talking about flirting, he is smooth… until the other person reciprocates. Then he needs a moment to get back in the saddle after short-circuiting. 

Fervently loyal. If someone comes onto him, he will reject them frankly. And if they dare to bad-mouth you, they’re getting an earful from him.

The rare fights you have are intense but brief. He always wants to apologise as soon as possible afterwards but he gives you your space if you need it. 

You patch each other up after missions. One day you pore over each other’s scars during a lazy morning in bed, asking how the other got them.

He loooves seeing you put assholes in their place. He’s so fucking proud and aroused. Tend to snap at them faster than you though. And if you’re not in the mood to fight, he will gladly take over. “You know I can fight. Pleaaase let me fight”

Your #1 supporter. Will Smith showing off his wife.meme. He admires you a lot. Not as much as Ghost, sure, but that’s still a lot. If you wanna try new things, especially thrills inducing ones like canyoning or bungee jumping, or push back your own limits in the gym or in combat prowess, he’s always down and so, so enthusiastic. First because he’s so thrilled to share these with you, and second because he relishes in seeing you become a better version of yourself and/or the person you wanna be.

He’s proud of his job and will rant about it for hours if you ask about it. Especially explosions. Your idea of a romantic evening is taking in the sunset with a couple of explosions fireworks. 

He’s a freaking sunshine and sometimes the light feels blinding. You worry you’re bringing him down. He has such an optimistic outlook on life, and you… simply don’t. You also fear that one day he realises he’s too good for you, whether it’s in terms of looks, personality, morals, or mental resilience… he’s always quick to appease your worries though. 

Not getting along with the TF would be a deal breaker. Not that he’s expecting you to become BFF with Ghost or anything, that role is already taken by him

Will not hesitate to use his sad puppy eyes on you. Or even pout. To get what he wants.

He demands a kiss for good luck before every mission, a bit lOUDLY, which makes Ghost rolls his eyes and Gaz makes gagging sounds. Price is just like "Lord Give Me Patience".

NSFW:

Don’t be afraid to (wo)manhandle him: pulling his hair, slamming him against a wall, grabbing his jaw… that will make him moan more often than not. 

Call him a good/pretty boy, praise him, tease him, make him beg… He will tease back to challenge you but it just means you should keep going.

He’s a good soldier, he follows orders well. Do with that what you will.

Endless stamina. Will wear you out first every time.

Gets off when he gets you off.

Did I mention that he’s terribly competitive? Will ask you what’s the highest number of orgasms you had in one night and will immediately try to beat that record. 

If he doesn't make you laugh at least once during the do, he has FailedTM 😔

#mine #john soap mactavish #soap cod #soap x reader #soap mw2 #cod #cod mw2 #cod x reader #call of duty #cod headcanons #cod hcs #cod smut #johnny soap mactavish #john soap mctavish x reader #johnny soap mctavish x reader #soap x you #johnny soap mctavish x you #cod x you #headcanon #call of duty x reader #call of duty x you #soap x y/n #johnny mactavish #soap mactavish x reader #soap mactavish x you

[whirlwindimagines]

Would be a terrible shame if someone were to ask for more of reader taking care of Vash and telling him how beautiful and amazing he is.

It would be :) well if someone gotta and I guess it’s gonna be me! I like writing about established relationships as well so here this! And yes I like cheesy nicknames lol <3 I also wrote this while watching John Wick lol two very different vibes lol

'I'll be your shelter'

Vash x Reader

Your staring how could you not? Vash was sitting across from you at the small table in the hotel room the two of you were sharing, he was taking apart his gun. You should be doing something productive, but you can’t keep your eyes off of him. 

Vash must have noticed your staring because he looks up at you and you can see the questioning look in his eyes, you just smile which causes him to blush. “What?” He squeaks out, you tilt your head thinking over your response. You smirk, you know he’s been a little down on himself and well you want to change that, you love him so much. 

“Just admiring my pretty boy” the sentience has the desired effect you watch in delight when his whole face goes impossibly red and he starts to stutter over his words. You don’t let him get a word in as reach across the table grabbing his hands in yours

You rub your thumbs over his knuckles, “why don’t you take a break, let me take care of you please.” You beg, pouting at him, “please don’t tease me” he whines, and you frown.

“I’m not, it’s been a rough couple of days for the both of us and we’ll I want you to know how much I appreciate everything you do.” And you really mean it, you know Vash can be weird about receiving compliments, so you're trying to be sincere as possible. 

His hands tremble slightly, “I feel like I should be taking care of you.” He admits quietly, you bring his hands up to your face placing a kiss on his knuckles, “You already do, I don’t need anything else.” You drop his hands to stand and walk around the table so you're at his side, he glances at you shyly.

You grab his chin forcing him to look up at you, “Vash, I love you very much, but you got to stop getting lost in that head of yours.” You say using your other hand to gently tap his forehead, he relaxes in your hold and you consider that a win. 

Moving to sit in his lap, you can hear him take a sharp intake of breath, wrapping your arms around his neck you press a kiss to his cheek. He wraps his arms around your waist and you smile. Resting your cheek on top of his head, “I love you too.” He whispers, you bring one of your hands up to brush through his hair scratching gently at his undercut. 

Pressing a kiss to his temple you smile contently, “I know Sunshine, how lucky am I to be sitting in the lap of the prettiest boy ever” you're teasing him now, and he groans, burying his face in your shoulder.

“Don’t get all shy on me now baby.” His grip tightens on you as he lets out a whine, “you’re enjoying this too much.” You laugh cupping his face with your hands so you can bring his face closer to yours. Squishing his cheeks together you kiss his lips, pulling back with a pleased ‘hum’

“Of course, I am, it’s you.” You reply eyes softening as he blushes, and you touch your forehead to his. Your arms settled back around his neck. Closing your eyes when you feel his hands move from your waist, trailing up your sides, over your shoulders and neck, and finally resting them on your face.

You open your eyes when you feel Vash cup your face, your breath catches in your throat at the soft look he’s giving you, now it’s your turn to blush as he pulls you in for another kiss. Pulling away with a light gasp as he pulls your body closer to his, “now you’re making me blush” you whisper against his lips. 

“And here I thought I was supposed to be taking care of you.” You continue with a pout, as he moves his hands from your face to your sides giving you a squeeze that makes you laugh. You put your hands on his chest to shove him back a bit. 

Vash can only look at you with wide eyes, so amazed by you and everything you do. And how you continue to stay by his side and try to make him feel better no matter what. He only wishes he could do more for you, 

He’s lost in thought again, but is brought back when your gentle hands run through his hair, “where’d you go?” You ask softly, “nowhere I’m right here.” He answers hugging you tightly too him, dropping a kiss on top of his head, you hold him just as tightly. You glance at the table where his gun is still in pieces, and you sigh, “you should probably put that back together.” 

He doesn’t answer, burying his face into the crook of your neck, “I’d rather stay like this.” He presses a kiss to your neck after he says this and it makes your heart skip a beat, you can’t bear to deny him such a simple pleasure, “alright handsome, as long as you need.” 

“Oh, now I’m handsome?” He teases, you roll your eyes he lets out a yelp when you pinch and pull his cheek, he pulls his head back to look at you leaning in you kiss the cheek you just pinched, and then just because you can you give a kiss to his beauty mark. “Yes, a very pretty handsome big baby, that I love very much and that I want to give lots of kisses to” your smile widens as he blushes a bright red.

“Do you want me to continue?” You tease, “I think I get your point!” He says leaning back in the chair and closing his eyes, you just give a soft laugh. Patting his face lightly with your hand, he turns his blue gaze on you. “I know I like to tease you, but I really do love you, Vash.” You know you are blushing and you are not able to hold his gaze for long, but he doesn’t let you look away his hands reaching out quickly to grab your face. 

Vash’s eyes are watering, God you love your crybaby. “Thank you, I don’t know what I would do without you Stardust.” Giving Vash another kiss on the lips, you smile when you pull back. “Not know your worth that’s for sure.” He just kisses you, and you happily lean into the kiss as well. You’ll probably spend the rest of the night like this, but you really don’t mind how could you, there’s nowhere you’d rather be.

#vash the stampede x reader #vash imgaine #vash imagines #vash x reader #vash the stampede #trigun stampede imagine #trigun stampede x reader #trigun stampede #trigun #trigun stampede headcanons #trigun x reader

[tangerinesilk]

BACK UP PLAN • TANGERINE x FEM!READER

they think you’re the diesel, but you know who took the case. too bad for you that tangerine, a guy from your past, likes to shoot first and ask questions later. as fun as that is, you quickly team up to figure out who took the case and what terrible fate they’ll meet... and of course, rehash your complicated past.

rating ✷ r (18+ only, minors dni!)

tropes ✷ enemies to lovers (but still enemies), pwp, cheeky banter, loud gf/quiet bf, butchered british slang, kind of mr. and mrs. smith energy, two idiots with one task

warnings ✷ cursing, violence being the answer, guns & knives, switch!tan x switch!reader, bathroom sex, fingering, quick p in v, lots of begging, exhibitionism, mention of hands/rings (my kink lmao)

word count ✷ 3.7k

a/n ✷ my first tangerine fic :D just feeding into my fixation and going down the aaron johnson rabbit hole again. wasn't expecting to do some bullet train writing, but..... here it is. there will be no part 2! hope y'all like it and feedback is always welcomed!

Shit was going down and surprisingly, it was not by your doing.

With your back pressed against the wall of the luggage holding, you could only hope the short but thick curtain covered your figure enough that anyone who passed wouldn’t see you. As you attempt to keep your breathing low and quiet, it hitches when you hear the sudden sound of automatic door opening.

“We need to find the cheeky fucker who took our case. Swear to God, I’ll bash his head in when I find him.”

That’s a thick accent you don’t forget. You don’t want to peak, but you can see the West Ham sticker on the back of his phone. 

It can’t be him. No, no…

“Lemon, I’ve gone up and down this train for the umpteenth time. I’m ‘bout ready to shoot any sleazy bellend who looks at me funny.”

Tangerine?

He was the only person you’ve been able to outrun yet here he was, only a few inches away and knowing damn well he would know how to tear into you for what happened in Copenhagen. Long story short, it ended with you tossing his favorite gun into the river and it’s made an even bigger target on your back.

While you do wear a mask that seals your identity during your heists, you prayed he didn’t remember eyes since you lost your only form of disguise when fighting the Prince. Just like you, she uses her looks to her gains, able to manipulate anyone by batting her eyelashes. She was the one with the case, and knowing her past, she’d blame it on someone else and you were most likely high up on the list.

“Alright, then. Let’s keep lookin’ for the bastard.” He said before hanging up.

You cover your mouth, your glare remaining steady on him before he takes a pause. His blue eyes search around the cart, huffing until you hear the other automatic door open. You fully step out of the small luggage spot and catching your breath, “I have to get off here.”

As the next stop was coming to a halt, a force pulled you back into the bathroom from an arm snaking around your waist. You couldn’t even gather your thoughts before feeling a cool metal pressing against your temple.

“Now I can only think of two reasons a girl like yourself is hiding behind a bunch of suitcases. One, she’s got a bit of a dickhead of a boyfriend or two, she’s got my fuckin’ case.”

You smirked, “If I had it, I would have hid better, don’t you think?” You hoped to fool him.

“Oh, darling. You think I’m that stupid, why don’t you just–” He turned you around to look into your eyes, and unfortunately, he had seen them somewhere, “Oi, where have I seen you before?”

“I’ve never met you before in my life, now if you’ll excuse me…” You trailed before he shifted to stand in front of the doorway, placing his gun on the sink counter.

“As much as I’d like to believe that, darling... you’re not going’ anywhere until I get my answer.” He said with an assertive tone, his jaw obviously clenched and his eyes piercing blue.

With his one hand on the trim of the sink and the other against the wall, he towered over you with his tall stance. He acted intimidating but you knew deep down there was hidden softness to his personality. ‘Warmer the closer you got’ type of shit.

Your eyes shifted from his eyes to his chest, hard to not stare with his first button undone and gold chain disappearing into his shirt. Able to display a poker face, Tangerine was still racking his brain around where he had seen those eyes before. He couldn’t place the last time he saw such a color.

I guess what you failed to mention is that something else happened in Copenhagen. To summarize, it involved a skin tight dress, a hotel key card and a getaway plan by dawn. What threw him off now was that you weren’t sporting the same short, auburn wig you sported that night you tried to get his attention.

“How am I supposed to give you an answer that I don’t have? You’re in my way.” You protest.

“And you’re not a very good liar, are ya?” He huffed, “Now, if you don’t have my case then who does?”

Not giving a second more, you pulled out your own gun tucked in the waist of your skirt, pushing it against his bare chest, “I think you better stay out of the way before you really get hurt.”

He didn’t bat an eye, but his eyes took a second glance at the tattoos drawn on the side of your middle finger and the top of your knuckles. Suddenly, he placed those hands from memory and the image of them running down his chest struck his mind. He looked back into your eyes and remembered how they kept steady contact as your tongue glided down his body.

“It’s been a while since Copenhagen, yeah?” He said, clenching his jaw once more.

Shit. Maybe you shouldn’t have doubted him so much.

“Well you’re not fooling me this time.” He grunted, quickly taking your gun while your guard was down for a split second, “I’ll give you one last chance, love. Tell me where the case is and maybe, I’ll be and gentleman and just escort you off at the next stop.”

“So cute how you’re trying to threaten me yet use a pet name. Guess I just know how to get to your soft spot, Tan.” You grinned, placing your hand on his cheek.

Mesmerized, a gloss smooths over his eyes before his phone vibrates in his pants pocket.

“Do you wanna get that or have me reach in there?” You taunted.

He replied with an eye roll, but quickly answered. “Yeah, what?” Tangerine answered, his eyebrow cocked.

A low voice told him that they needed to see proof of the case at the next stop or things could go south. Tangerine quickly hangs up during mid-threat, and you twist your lips.

“Since you can’t find your case, I assume you’re the one getting off at the next station.” You smirked, “Glad we got to catch up.”

“No, no, you little pain in my ass. You’re gonna put on a nice smile for these massive dickheads and stall with me…” He tilted his head a bit, “As far as I know, you know where the case is so I’ll be attached by the hip to you for the rest of the lovely ride to Kyoto.” Tangerine yammered on.

You rolled your eyes but he held your chin, making you look him in the eyes, “I’m sorry, does that bother you now?”

“Hmm, no. Just kind of sweet to know you haven’t forgotten about me.” You purposefully teased, your palm running down his chest before opening another button of his shirt with your one hand. It was a tactic to get under his skin, hoping to get some sort of reaction.

“You’re some tease who left me in Copenhagen, I’ve dealt with shots to the fuckin’ chest. You really think highly of yourself, don't ya.” He deflects but glances at your soft lips. 

You grinned, placing your hand on his cheek, “I don’t think I have to remind you of how low I’ll stoop to get a job done… or kneel.”

Tangerine felt your hand moving through the back of his hair, carding his loose curls before pressing your foreheads together. The tip of your nose brushed against his, your lips barely touching until the train came to a slow stop.

“Well, I guess it’s time to put on a good fucking act.” You huffed, pulling away and Tangerine didn’t realize he forgot to take a breath.

♡ ♡ ♡

He turned around, opening the bathroom door in one swift motion and the two of you stood by the exit. After quickly texting Lemon that he was going to stall, he gives you a look again– this time, his eyes shifting up and down your body, noticing the tear in your stockings. He knew you were up to something, but resisting the urge to press you up against a wall was making him ache a bit.

As the train door opened, Tangerine took a step toward you, “If anything goes down, you get behind me and get back on. Other than that, follow my lead.”

You nodded, “I have limited options… how generous of you.”

The two of you step off the train, and looking around for the men you’re asked to meet. As passengers got on and off, there was a small group that came your way and you stood next to Tangerine as they got closer.

“Where’s the case?” The tall one asked, standing center of the three other men.

“Lemon is keeping it safe right now.”

“Then who’s this?” 

Tangerine glanced at you, shrugging, “I’m a professional, I’ve got my back up… Peach.”

You wanted to narrow your eyes at him with a burning stare, but you maintained your composure to convince them. It was one step closer to getting the case, and it wasn’t the worse operative name.

The four men chuckle at it, and you cross your arms from the reaction, “So, are we done here?” You asked, “We’ve obviously got places to be now since your boss is up our asses about his case.” 

At first, they replied with scowls until Tangerine took a step in front of you, your chest basically touching his back.

“‘Cuse her attitude, it’s been a long night.” Tangerine acted as if he were in charge of you, “But, we’re all good now. The plan is still Kyoto, ta-ra now.” He faked a grin, pushing you toward the door as the alert sounded for boarding.

Before you knew it, the train was moving and the both of you plopped into two empty seats in the quiet car. As you watched Tangerine type out a text to Lemon, you scoffed, crossing your arms as you faced the window out to the city life of Japan.

♡ ♡ ♡

“Well, Lemon still hasn’t found the person with the case… fucker could have gotten off without us knowing.” 

You turned your head, “So, that’s means I’m off the list of the accused?”

“...I just don’t trust you.” He trailed, slipping his phone back into his pants pocket.

“Aw, still a little hurt from our last encounter?” You pouted, “Didn’t take you for such a softie, Tan.”

Tangerine clenched his jaw. He had little patience for your sass, but it was fun to fuck with him. You gently placed your hand on the top of his thigh, hidden under the table, and refused to lose eye contact with him. There were four stops left so, it was time to put a spontaneous plan B into motion: make him let his guard down for you.

You batted your eyelashes, “Tell me, do you still think about our night together? I didn’t mean to leave so quickly, but we had something… yeah?” You taunted him, your hand moving up his thigh. Just as your fingers were going to unbutton his pants, Tangerine quickly grabbed your wrist and put it back on his knee.

“You wanna play games, darling?” He grunted, “Then, I’ll play your game.”

You couldn’t help but admit that your heart beat against your chest, like the air in the cart had been sucked away and before you knew it, his right hand was running up your thigh until he ripped the rest of your stocking. You almost gasped, not wanting to attract attention, but he pulled it enough where your panties were exposed.

“Don’t get shy on me now, love.” Tangerine said under his breath as his hand entering between your legs. Once he pushed the black lace to the side, his two thick fingers entered your slit. The hand you had on his thigh suddenly met the wrist of his hand working your pussy.

His blue eyes softened, feeling how wet you already were and how you tried to restrain from arching your back against the seat. Being in plain light, you bit your bottom lip and concentrated on the scene passing by– obviously, not easy to focus on when Tangerine is gliding his fingers in and out of your wet slit. You could scream, knowing how deep they were from feeling his cool rings against your skin.

“I’d rub your clit, but I’d hate to make you cum right here… in front of everyone.” He looked around, as if he weren’t edging you, “You don’t really deserve to anyways.”

You took one big gulp, your hand gripping the arm rest now and you let him keep going. For as long as he wanted to and however fast he wanted to. As big of a talk you made, you were suddenly puddy in his hands– quite literally– and God, you didn’t want him to stop.

He pressed his lips against your ear, “Are you close?”

“Hmm.” You could barely let out a word, “N-no.”

“Don’t lie to me now so you can cum.” He chuckled.

Just like that, he quickly pulled his hand away and he saw how his fingers were coated in your glistening cum. As he went to place them in his mouth, you pulled his wrist and tasted your own cum on your tongue. 

All he could think was, “Fuck, her tongue is soft…” and reminisce the memory of his dick pushing down your throat.

You kissed his fingers before setting his hand back on his lap, and he watched you pant. Such a beautiful mess, he thought again.

Pushing your skirt back down, you crossed your legs as you ran your fingers through your hair. “You fucking ripped my nice tights…” You huffed, pulling the band from the waist and pulling them down your legs. You balled them up as you put your shoes back on, and stuffed them between the wall of the train and the seat.

You blew a breath past your lips, “Alright, that was fun but I gotta go.” You gulped, attempting to get up but he pushed your leg back down so you basically say back down.

“You’re stayin’ right here.” He said, not looking at you but around the cart, “Because the next stop, you’re gettin’ off… not like how you did right now but-”

You cut him off, “What?” You scoffed, your cheeks feeling heated, “No, I’m not getting off this train until I have the case!”

You didn’t mean to spill your own secret, but your guard had been put down. Shit.

He smirked, “See, I knew you had somethin’ to do with the case. Now you’re definitely gettin’ off at the next stop or I’ll-”

Cut off again, he sees Lemon walking down, also without the case in hand, and Tangerine quickly gets up. He met him halfway in the aisle, so you got up to see what was going on and if it was about the case.

“Who’s this? Looks familiar…” Lemon trailed as he pointed at you, then back at Tangerine.

“She’s no one-”

“Actually we passed each other in Copenhagen. You called me an Emily.” You grinned, tilting your head.

“Ah, yes. Emily, very kind but a tad bossy…” Lemon nodded but then narrowed his eyes, “Lookin’ for the case too, yeah?... unless you have it and we’re runnin’ around like headless chickens.” You could see his hand reaching into his jacket.

“I wish. Trust me…” You crossed your arms.

“Yeah, and she was just leaving on the next stop. No business being around here, muckin’ about.” Tangerine said without looking at you again, just making eye contact with Lemon.

“You treat me like I’m incompetent yet I beat both your asses back in Copenhagen and managed to steal the getaway car. Why don’t you two leave and let me handle whoever has the case.” You shoved past Tangerine, “Fucking amateurs.” You muttered under your breath.

Lemon turned around, Tangerine behind him, “She’s definitely is an Emily.”

Tangerine rolled his eyes, “I’ll go get take care of her. You check back down that way.” He clenched his jaw, pushing back his rolled sleeves.

♡ ♡ ♡

The door opened to the first class cart, already imagining your hands wrapped around the Prince’s neck once you had an eye on her. Dim orange lights lit your way, a few people asleep with blankets on top of them. 

Just as you came close to the lounge toward the end, a hand gripped your wrist. Before asking any questions, your other hand quickly swung down on the other’s wrist, thinking it was the Prince, but you were met with another set of bright eyes.

“Let go of me.” You muttered under your breath, not trying to get anyone’s attention.

Like deja vu, Tangerine pulled you into the bathroom and locked the door. It wasn’t as tight as the other passenger bathroom, but still had little room to move around with two people.

“Do I gotta tell you again?” Tan practically growled.

“You can’t tell me what to do. What do you want from me that you keep cornering me like this?” Your tone matched his.

He took a deep breath through his nostrils, and suddenly felt the tension. He couldn’t take his eyes from you, never admitting that he had been thinning about you since Copenhagen, so instead his lips met yours.

You weren’t surprised, but you missed his lips. You bit his bottom lip, your body relaxing as you fell into his arms. Your noses brushed together, foreheads close before you unbuttoned his shirt, your hands meeting his soft skin. It slipped past his toned arms, and he pressed your hips against the sink counter.

As you lifted your leg by his side, he put his hand underneath your knee to keep it high. Tangerine kissed and nipped at your neck after taking your shirt off, tossing it on top of the closed toilet seat. You ran your fingers through his messy curls, gripping them as you shared hungry kisses. His hard pressed against his slacks, rubbing against your inner thigh.

“You’ve got about four minutes, Tan.” You said between kisses, “I don’t know if you’re that fast.”

“You underestimate me, love.” He grunted, “It’s gettin’ a bit old.”

Suddenly, he hiked your skirt and you played along, spreading your legs enough for his body to move between them. He quickly unzipped his pants while his right hand rubbed your wet clit and the left hand against your neck. 

You giggled, biting your bottom lip before slipping the tip of his cock into your pussy. You held back your gasp, giggling instead to get a rise out of him, but it just made him squeeze your neck a bit.

“Almost forgot how big you were.” You pouted, but he thrusted inside of you. You audibly gasped, and kissed his thumb pressed against your bottom lip.

At first he was slow-paced, purposefully making you beg for it. He knew your weak spots yet his head fell against your shoulder, a light whimper escaping his throat remembering how tight your cunt was. He held your leg up again, giving him an angle to work with and his cock bottomed out inside your pussy.

“Fuck!” You croaked, “God, you’re so… big. Stretching me out so good, baby.” You whined.

“Fuckin’ Christ.” Tan cursed, his hips bucking as your skins slapped together. He was eager to make you cum, shattering in his arms and falling apart like he adored. His hand slapped against your ass cheek, kneading it the closer he got. 

You leaned your head back, rolling your eyes back and could see stars, Tangerine practically lifting you off your feet as your walls began to tighten around his hard cock.

“Please… please let me cum.” You begged, your eyes barely open, “I wanna cum. Please.”

“Gotta beg a little more, darling.” He gulped as his pace got faster, not realizing how strong he was, “Keep those pretty eyes lookin’ at me.”

You arched your back, “Ah, please!… I want your fucking cum filling me up. Make me cum all over your cock, baby.” Your pitch elevated, “Fuck, I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna fucking cum!”

He grunted against your shoulder, giving it a small bite before saying, “Cum, cum for me, love.” He lighty gasped but tried to mask it by kissing your shoulder.

Your fingers pulled his messy curls, not able to explain the complete bliss running throughout every vein and nerve in your body. His hand covered your mouth just as yours covered his, muffing your defeated moans when the two of your released inside your pussy.

As you came down from your highs, the two of you let out tired chuckles. His cock was still inside you, feeling your warm walls as he shared one last sloppy kiss. 

Your thumb ran across his cheek, “Better than Copenhagen?”

He half-smiled, “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

♡ ♡ ♡

Ultimately, you agreed to let them take it from there. It was two more stops, and the train was coming to it’s next destination. You and Tangerine stood by the door, watching it slowly open and your stubbornness was eating you up. Although it was a risk to get off the train, seemed there was more than the two of you looking for the case. If anything, you loss some pay.

“You better get off now.” Tangerine told you, the two of you watching people pass.

You hummed, “I know… hope you can tell me how it goes if we ever meet again.” You sighed, placing your hands on his chest. Your eyes met with his, and he furrowed his brows. You twisted your hips, taking a deep breath before quickly meeting your lips with his again. Tender and slow.

 As you pulled your face from his, you nodded, “Bye, Tangerine.”

He expected for you to pass, and he actually thought he was going to miss you.

Instead, you forcefully pushed him out the door and it closed him out from coming back in. You rolled your eyes, walking up to the window as you watched the train pull from the station.

“I really am good.” You smirked.

#bullet train #bullet train x reader #tangerine #tangerine x reader #tangerine x you #tangerine x y/n #tangerine fic #tangerine smut #tangerine imagine #tangerine one shot

[specialagentlokitty]

BAU x reader - what should be left in the past

May I request a BAU team x reader (platonic) where the reader is Wanda Maximoff's daughter and there's a situation where she reveals her powers? - @elemental-of-magic 💜

You could have done anything with your life, you could have stayed with HYDRA, you could have stayed with SHIELD, but you decided those weren’t the lives you wanted to live.

You didn’t want to be the bad guy, you never did, and you didn’t want to be the hero either. No.

You just wanted a quiet life, somewhere away from all the horrors you had faced, so you settled for a job in the BAU, and you quickly adapted to it.

You loved it.

You loved the job.

You loved your team.

It was amazing, and it let you live the quiet life you wanted to, and that’s how you wanted it to be.

Until this case.

And you were staring face to face with one of the very same men from HYDRA who made your life a literal hell.

“You’re supposed to be dead.” He said.

You narrowed your eyes a little bit and holstered your gun again.

“So are you.”

He tightened his grip on Rossi and you narrowed your eyes a little more, staring at him.

“Don’t you dare hurt him…”

You clenched your jaw a little bit.

“Do they know who they’re working with? What they’re working with?”

“(Y/N) step back now.” Hotch said.

“Oh how cute he’s trying to protect the worlds second most dangerous assassin, right behind the winter soldier.”

“(Y/N) isn’t an assassin!” Derek snapped.

You raised your hand in his direction and carried on staring at the hydra soldier in front of you, pointing his gun at Rossi.

There was no possible real move anybody could make, not without getting your friend killed.

“Let’s cut a deal, how about that riot? A deal.”

“Riot?” Emily whispered confused.

You didn’t dare turn around, and you took a deep breath.

This was the very part of your life you had been hiding for years, trying to keep hidden away in the deepest, darkest depths of your past.

“What kind of deal?”

“You return to us, I let them go.”

“I am not your puppet anymore.”

He shrugged a little bit.

“Maybe not, but I know you wouldn’t want to risk the life of your friend, any of them.”

He tightened his hand around Rossi’s neck and you panicked, quickly taking your vest off and tossing your gun to the ground as you raised your hands.

You took a step forward.

“Okay! Okay.”

“(Y/N)!” JJ called.

She went to grab you but the man pressing the gun to Rossi’s head made her stop.

“Anybody but her steps forward and he’s gone.”

JJ stepped back and looked at you.

Once you were close enough you let him swap you with Rossi, and you stared at your entire time in sadness.

“I’m sorry…” you whispered.

You could feel the power building up inside of you, you knew it was building it up inside of you, it had been doing it this entire time.

“You’re going to make up for what you missed…” he whispered.

“I’m not going back with you.”

Raising your hand up, your eyes flashed a deep red, and so did his, and the team stared in horror at the red mist like substance coming from your fingers.

The man dropped his gun and got to his knees and you grabbed the gun, placing it his temple, you placed a hand on his head and realised your hold.

“I gave into the void once, and I climbed out, I will not be making that mistake again…”

“We’ll get you back.” He snarled.

“Don’t count on it, you seem to forget something.”

“What’s that?”

You smirked a little and forced him to look up at you.

“I am my mothers daughter.”

Slamming the hilt of the gun into his head you watched his body crumble to floor, and you set the gun down, slowly looking up.

The whole team stood there paralysed, staring at you in a mixture of confusion and fear.

“This is why I didn’t tell you…” you whispered.

You took a step back and someone in fear fired their gun and you barely managed to stop the bullet, letting it clatter to the ground.

“Reid!” Rossi snapped.

“I.. I’m sorry!”

He quickly put his gun away and you gave a sad smile.

“I understand… I’d be scared of me too… I am scared of me…”

You looked at them all.

“Thank you for everything… I shouldn’t have come here..”

You backed away and turned around, and they watched as you just seemed to vanish from sight.

They went through the rest of the case, and they tried your hotel room to bring you home but it was empty of your stuff, you had gone.

So when they got back they went to your apartment, and it was empty, your desk was empty, all signs of you were gone, aside from the resignation papers on Hotch’s desk waiting for him.

You had left, and they didn’t know where to find you or if they could.

And you weren’t sure you wanted to be found, you kept your phone turned off, and you turned back to the compound with your mom, and you just sat leaning into her side.

“I’m sorry..” she whispered.

“It’s not your fault, I’m proud to be a maximoff. I guess… I shouldn’t have gotten so attached to them…”

Wanda kissed to the top of your head and she looked at the holograms you were carefully watching.

The holograms of your team all sat around the conference table trying to figure out ways on how there were going to find out and talk to you

#criminal minds imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds x y/n #criminal minds x you #criminal minds x reader

[night-dazai]

requesting an ango x reader where reader gets hostage and ango just flips the hell out because he hasn't realize his s/o has been kidnapped for 2 days and his ass is so overworked he didn't know 😭

In the end he gets back to his s/o safe and sound 💕

Note: Sorry took a lot longer almost a month, was not feeling so good for the past weeks.

Let's Go Home :

Tags: angst, kidnapping, comfort and fluff

Heavy eye bags, dead eyes, messy hair sweating in an air-conditioned room. Ango stood staring at the big screen in front of him, people near him froze seeing the hacked screen where you lay on the floor beaten and bruised. Dress torn, bleeding from your lips and a little from the head and unconscious your body lay while someone angled the camera to your puffy face strained with tears and blood “Release him, Jay whom you arrested a week ago if not she is done for good “ a voice said showing your face and chuckling another voice spoke .” Hey hey she is such a beauty lets not let it go to waste “ hearing that voice few more voices broken into laughter as the screen went black.

Coughing and wheezing you slowly open your eyes, which hurt. Your entire body hurt but your head hurt even more and so did your hands which were tied behind your back as you sat in the chair trying to look up at the men looking at you. “Your bf sure loves you I think he looked so horrified, “ one said. Words were heard but it was hard to process “Ango….” you thought “Sa….me” you mumbled before fainting once again recalling that night ……………………………….

“It is my fault …it is my fault “ he mumbled to himself holding his head and almost tearing his hair out. Ranpo was looking at the files he had shown about Jay while the director of ADA was talking with Mori “It has been 2 days, it is very risky now but since they showed she is alive …we can try I guess” he said while the director just listened staring at Ango.

His heart was beating fast, very fast for the past few hours and all he could imagine were the worst possible things those men could do to someone like you. A normal person who has no idea what about the cruel underground world.”If only I took her calls, if only…..I was there …”

“I should have never fought, even if I did I should have gone and said sorry. I should have not left her alone … She is not involved in this world at all ……” he thought his nails scrapping his scalp when a bandaged hand yanked it from his hair “Enough we found a location if Ranpo’s guess is the right its to best to go fast, “ he said.

Ango could hardly process what was happening, he tried searching for you for hours but had no clue but the moment the mafia and ADA joined hands it was in 4 hours they found your location, was he too tired to search, was he angry at himself for not taking your calls ? he did not know but he knew one thing “ they are going to regret it “ he said following Dazai and Ranpo out.

“Please take it I am sorry “ you kept thinking clutching the phone as if it were your life you kept calling your lover “Please ango I am sorry “ you mumbled keeping it close to your ear as the ring went and went and said the person had not taken the call. Tears ran down your face, you both fought yesterday night when he came home late for the 1000th time according to you “I was forced to work okay “ he said rubbing his temples indicating he was annoyed “If you do not want me in the house.... fine “ he said in a low tone and before you could react he had left the house and did not come home in the morning also.

In the morning when the doorbell rang, you ran to it thinking about how to say sorry, but something told you to take a look at the window near it and there stood 5 men one with a gun talking to the others.

Running inside you hid in your closet and called your lover but he did not take the phone, and it did not take long for the kidnappers to find you and here you were fainted all bloody and beaten up thinking how you shouted at your already overworked boyfriend “ I am sorry …” was all you could think.

“No more ..it hurts ….” when your whole body pain was felt again as you slowly started to gain conciseness you just wanted to rest. But no people were screaming and shouting, there were some harsh words “What was…was it…..” you paid a little closer attention “ Chuuya!” said a loud voice “she is in that room “.

The voice sounded familiar but you could not place it on anyone and instant gunshots were heard, but you could not move or do anything and at this point, your body was on the verge of collapse “ Ango…..be safe….” you thought and fainted as you a bright light in front of you.

The room door which burst open had Ango rushing into you while destruction and chaos were behind him. His hands skilled but trembling untied you from the chair, and he slapped your face gently “Wake up…wake up…y/n….” he said but you did not wake up.

Ranpo came in and stood at the entrance, he knew Ango for reasons and many knew him for various reasons but none were good. They have seen him smile and laugh but not one person has seen him this devastated. Dazai smiled a little standing next to Ranpo “ he found some he truly loves I guess “ he said.

Ango was rocking your cold body mumbling “You are safe …please see me y/n ..open your eyes please” his eyes were wet with tears “Let's take her to the office and get her treated “ Dazai said placing a hand on hso shoulder .

Your head had a sharp sting “Again….” you thought “Voice…just voc-Ango ?” you mumbled slowly opening your eyes. The room was brightly lit it took your eyes a few seconds to adjust but once it did you saw your lover.

Ango was talking to the director or ADA and Mori while the doctor lady from ADA was adjusting your IV “Ango..” you mumbled again a bit louder gaining all their attention.

He rushed to you, holding your hand “Y/n..yes me I am here ….i am here “ he said. His voice broke as he kept saying sorry, his hands were trembling. You have never seen your boyfriend like this and you also did not like this. You wanted to tell him it's okay and it's not this fault, you wanted to comfort him but your throat hurt at the thought of speaking loud.

Collecting any strength you had you pulled him closer by his shirt, hugging his neck you kissed his cheek “ I love you …” cough ..” home.. let's go home “you said. Your words made the man lose all kind of control and sob in your weak little arms but it felt so strong and warm as everyone left the room.

#bsd x y/n #bsd x you #bsd fanart #bsd #bsd x reader #bsd x female reader #bsd x gender neutral reader #ango sakaguchi #bsd ango #bungou stray dogs dazai #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs #bungo stray dogs x you #bungo stray dogs ango #ango x reader #ango x y/n #night dazai

[writeforfandoms]

Click Click Boom

Find my CoD masterlist

My first shot at writing Alex, and he’s a wee bit feral in this one. Because why not. Also, these two do know each other, but I’m just dropping you in without a lot of background.

Warnings: Canon typical violence, imminent threat on life, threat of explosives, reader is having a Very Bad Day. 

Italics is speaking in Arabic.

Word count: 2.1k

Alex x f!reader

You’d been in Urzikstan for two days, and were scheduled to be there for a few days more. You didn’t think it would a problem, since you were staying in the quieter parts of the country. 

You were wrong. 

Someone had clearly fucked up advising how volatile the situation was, because you went from talking to one of your sources over lunch to a hostage situation. Half a dozen armed men held up the entire patio, shouting to each other. 

One of them looked at you and sneered, and your heart plummeted. “An American will make a good sacrifice,” he said, stalking over to you. Your contact cowered a little away from you - not that you could actually blame him. 

But you still closed your eyes when the barrel of a gun kissed your temple, warm from the sun. 

Hands grabbed you, forcing your arms behind your back, wrists bound too tightly together. You opened your eyes just in time to be shoved away from the table, towards one of the men. You stumbled, and he grabbed your upper arm, hauling you with him. 

“What–?” you started to ask, only to gasp in pain when the man nearly wrenched your shoulder of its socket. 

“Quiet,” he growled, pulling you harder towards an unmarked van. You shook your head, half in denial, half pleading. 

But there was no mercy for you as you were shoved into the back of the van, the door slamming shut behind the man who’d grabbed you. 

You opened your mouth to try asking a question, and coughed as a rough wad of fabric was stuffed between your lips instead. He tied it tight behind your head, uncaring. 

“We have what we need,” he said over your head to the driver. “Let’s go.”

The van pulled away from the restaurant, and for a moment you wanted to panic, to cry, to do something. 

But it wouldn’t help. 

Instead you closed your eyes and thought about Alex, how that silly mustache tickled when he kissed you, that syrup-sweet smile after drinks the last time, the warmth of his skin as you fell asleep next to him. 

The realization that you may never see him again was a cold wash down your spine. 

But you didn’t give these bastards the satisfaction of your tears. 

The van stopped sometime later, and the man hopped out first, reaching back in to drag you out into blinding sunlight. You blinked rapidly, trying to adjust, eyes watering. 

“She is still conscious?” a new one asked, stalking over to the man holding your arm. “Fool!” The new man raised his gun, butt towards you, and you had a single moment of fear before he hit you, hard, and you knew no more. 

–

Alex really kind of liked Urzikstan… apart from the parts where he got shot at, and sworn at, and had things thrown at him. Other than that, it was a great country, with some great people. 

But if he never had another op here, he’d be thrilled.

“Alex,” Laswell greeted over the phone. “We’ve got a situation.” 

“What kind of situation?” He glanced around, wary. 

“Al-Qatala has taken a hostage. American press.” 

Alex’s stomach dropped all the way to his boots. No. No, there was no way. “Who?” he asked, a little hoarse. 

Laswell read off your name, and Alex’s blood froze. “We need her back alive.”

He swallowed hard. He’d have a chance to get retribution later. He needed to focus now. “Location?” 

“I’ve got a chopper ready to take you most of the way,” Laswell informed him. “This needs to be done quietly.”

“Roger that.” Alex took a deep breath. 

“Keep me updated. Watcher out.” 

Alex had about two seconds to feel fear. To panic. To give the ugly emotions their moment. And then he stuffed it all down, because he needed to be alert to get you out of this alive. 

He restocked everything he needed, and then some. Because he was going to get you back. And he was going to make every single bastard who’d taken you pay. Dearly. 

The rhythmic thumping of the helo had him jogging outside, and he hopped up into it the moment he could. 

“We’re gonna have to drop here, sir,” one of the two Marines aboard told him, holding out a tablet with the location marked in green. “She’s at red.”

It wasn’t terribly far, really, all things considered. But it was too far for Alex, his heart still thrumming with the need to get to you. 

“Understood. You two coming with?” Alex grabbed onto the netting as the helo took off again. 

“Yes, sir.” 

“We do this quick and quiet. I don’t want her being put in an active hostage situation. Got it?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

Alex settled uneasily for the remainder of the flight, trying hard to stay focused. It wouldn’t help to think of what state you might be in, if you’d been hurt, if you were even still alive–

“Just about there, sir,” the first marine piped up, and Alex was grateful for the imminent drop. 

His feet hit the ground and he was off, trusting the two marines were behind him. He paused at a corner, back pressed tight to the building, listening hard. Nothing. A quick peek showed nothing - no people, no movement for ways. He slipped around the side of the building, advancing carefully, pistol in hand with suppressor attached. 

The first AQ to fall didn’t even see him coming, a quick knife to the throat keeping him silent. Alex swallowed back the first rush of vengeance, of satisfaction, and continued forward. 

Another fell beneath his knife. Three moved out of a building, chatting amongst themselves, at ease. His lips curled and he nodded to one of the marines behind him. All three fell within moments, not given enough time to raise the alarm before bullets pierced their skulls. 

They were getting close now, or they should be, based on the intel. Alex paused, glancing at the two men. 

“We’re gonna start clearing buildings,” he murmured, keeping his voice low. 

“Copy,” both murmured in reply. 

One nod, and Alex was off, checking all his doors and corners as he made his way inside. One more AQ, then two in the next building. Nobody had had a chance to raise the alarm. 

One more building cleared. More bodies left behind. But the vengeance singing in Alex’s blood wasn’t satisfied, not yet. 

He dropped another AQ, the two marines fanning out. And then he stopped.

You were alive. Blood crusted over part of your face from a cut over your eye, the skin puffy and irritated. Your hands were bound behind your back, shoulders pulled tight. But your eyes… your eyes were open and clear and terrified. 

The bomb strapped to your chest beeped once, and started counting down. Alex whirled to see one of the AQ a marine had taken down was not actually dead yet. A headshot corrected that, but the damage was done. 

He turned back to you and swallowed hard. 

–

“Okay, sweetheart.” Alex holstered his pistol, approaching you slowly. You tried to steady your breathing around the gag still stuffed in your mouth, though you couldn’t help the tears slowly leaking from your eyes. “I’m gonna get you out of here, okay?” Gentle hands tugged the gag down around your neck, and you immediately gasped in a few breaths. 

“Go,” you gasped, tugging uselessly at your hands. Your wrists were already chafed raw, but you barely felt the pain anymore. “Alex, go.”

“No.” Alex crouched in front of you, gaze flitting over the bomb strapped to you. “You two, outside,” he barked without ever looking up. “Keep the perimeter clear.”

“Yes, sir.” Two marines slunk outside, one giving you a last pitying look over his shoulder. You swallowed hard. 

“You don’t have time,” you argued softly, trying hard to blink back tears. You wanted to see him unimpeded before… before. 

“I have time.” He kept his voice pitched low and soothing, hands moving around to your back to feel where the bomb had been fastened. His lips curled in anger, brow furrowing. It was locked on pretty firmly - you knew because the two who had strapped you in had laughed about it. 

“Just go,” you whispered, yanking one more time at your wrists. Something warm dripped from your fingers and you gave up. “Just go, Alex.”

“I’m not going anywhere without you.” Alex rested his hands on the outside of the bomb, carefully checking wires. 

“Alex–” You stopped yourself, biting your lip. He was stubborn, sure, but he could be reasoned with. You just needed to be reasonable. “Alex,” you started again, slower, softer. “How much time is left on the timer?”

“Doesn’t matter.” He clenched his jaw, pulling a pair of snippers from his vest. 

“It doesn’t make sense for you to stay.” You kept the same tone, staring at him, trying to get him to be reasonable for once in his life. “You should go. We don’t both need to–” You stopped, unable to say it. A lump settled in your throat and you had to swallow twice to get it down. “Please, Alex.”

“Told you.” He separated the wires, confident and even. “I’m not leaving without you.” 

“You’re not getting yourself killed for me.” You sniffled, wiggling your fingers. 

“Neither of us are dying today.” Alex sounded a bit like he was trying to bend the universe to his will by sheer force of personality. 

“Don’t make a girl a promise you can’t keep.” You let your head fall back a bit, looking up at the cracks in the ceiling. Your lips felt chapped, dry from hours of being gagged with no water. 

“I love you.”

You froze. Very slowly, you lifted your head again to look at him. He hadn’t even looked up at you, still focused on the wires. 

“Say that again.”

His lips quirked into a little smile. “I love you,” he repeated, as if it were that easy. He snipped a wire. Just one. You barely even heard the snikt over your racing pulse. 

“You absolute bastard,” you breathed, watching him sit back with a sigh. “Now?” 

“Figured I might as well.” He flashed you a grin. 

“You…” You trailed off, staring at him, and then craning your neck to look down at the bomb. A bright red “0:07” showed just how close he’d cut it. “Alex.” 

“Yes, sweetheart?” 

“Get over here so I can kiss you.”

He laughed, low and quiet, but obligingly leaned in to kiss you. But he kept it chaste, pulling back before you could even try for more. “Later, sweetheart,” he promised. “We’ll have time later. We need to get you out of here first.” 

He moved around behind you, a sharp inhalation his only reaction to the sight of your wrists. Another snip, and your hands were loose and hurting like hell. 

“I need the bolt cutters, Jimenez,” he said into his radio, one hand resting on your shoulder to help steady you. 

Jimenez jogged in, holding out the bolt cutters to Alex. He smiled at you, easy and warm. “We’ll have you outta here in no time,” he assured you before shifting his attention back to the door. 

You felt it when Alex cut through the padlock, the straps loosening around you. A few careful movements and a handful of seconds later, Alex had the bomb off of you. Suddenly it was a lot easier to breathe. 

“Alright, sweetheart. Up we go.” Alex carefully helped you to your feet, holding you steady when you swayed. “We’ll get you bandaged up real soon, I promise.” 

“I know.” You blinked rapidly, holding tight to him as you found your equilibrium again. “I can make it.”

“I know you can.” He smiled, warm and approving. “Let’s get you out of here.” 

“What about that?” You eyed the bomb left on the floor with no small amount of fear.

Alex’s smile shifted, something bloodthirsty peeking out. “Oh, that? Well, it was a nice gift, but I’m afraid I’m gonna have to return it.” He winked at you, looping one arm around your waist to help steady you, scooping up the harness of the bomb in the other hand. 

“Hey, Alex?” You timed it right as you rejoined the two marines. A little payback for his earlier stunt. 

“Yeah?” 

“I love you too.” 

Alex stumbled, and the two marines looked away. You smiled serenely, tightening your grip on Alex. You still had a long ways to go before you could kiss him the way you wanted to. 

#cod fanfic #alex x f!reader #alex echo 3 1 x reader #f!reader

[captain-mj]

I want this to be Price&Graves, idk how but yeah. What if Graves didn't want to betray the 141 but Shepherd was holding something over his head. Like what if Graves had a daughter and Shepherd was holding her as leverage. You don't gotta write the kid, I know you ain't interested in that, im far more interested in how you'd write the 141 finding it out from Graves and maybe possibly how they'd want to help when they learn (specifically Price)

I decided to do this for one reason and one reason only which you will find out at the end.

Graves survived.

Barely.

But he survived. And now he was tied up in front of the majority of the 141, in almost a mockery of what they had one previously to Valeria. The only real difference being that he kneeled in front of them.

Those had been fun times.

There was a click of a gun, pressed right at his left temple. Internally, he hummed to himself, though he didn't make a noise out loud. He didn't want to agitate them.

Price sat in front of him. "You betrayed us."

''I had no choice." Graves responded. "Absolutely none."

"And why is that?" Price used his boot to force Graves to look up.

"He had her." Graves saw Price's expression flicker. He had no clue what it meant, but it was there. "I call her Dumpling. She's only 2... He told me he'd kill her if I didn't do what he said..."

Price didn't soften, but Gaz did. "Dumpling?"

"I have a photo in my wallet."

Price looked at him for a moment before glancing at Soap, the one not holding the gun. "Grab it."

Soap rifled through his pockets and eventually did find the wallet. He flipped it open.

Graves knew the photo well.

Price took it and looked at the three people in the photo. Graves, a beautiful blond woman, and the small child she held. It must be recent as the child looked... approximately what he assumed a two year old to be. She was reaching for the dog in Graves's arms. The two adults in the picture were so close to each other.

Price swallowed down his feelings over that. The two men had slept together a few days before the betrayal, so seeing that he was married, or at least in a committed enough of a relationship to have a daughter, threw him for a loop.

He could add cheater to the list of his crimes.

"I see."

"She's my whole world. I couldn't let her die. You have to understand."

"You killed so many people."

"I know. I was told my orders."

"Shepherd called you a dog with a bone." Price leaned down. "That all you are? A fucking dog? You could've thought for yourself."

"He had her. He threatened her. I was scared of what he would do to her." Graves sounded so genuine, it was hard to not believe him.

Price stood up. He motioned to one of the soldiers. "Keep an eye on him."

Alejandro looked angry but slightly more understanding than he had been before. "Think he's telling the truth? Cute little kid."

Rodolfo did not seem as easily convinced, but he wasn't arguing. His jaw was clenched hard.

Ghost glared. "Soap. You're the one that got shot. What do you think?"

"It's his daughter. Might not like kids, but I can get that."

Gaz nodded. "Don't like him, but its his kid... I can't... imagine having something like that hanging over me."

Price noticed Ghost and Rodolfo exchanging glances, both clearly judging all of them. They stood down though and that's all he could ask for.

"Alright. Colonel. If you're willing to work with us again, I say we rescue his daughter and put all of this behind us."

Price ended up sitting with Graves that night. He didn't want to make someone from his team lose sleep over watching him. They would take over in the morning and he'd get some sleep.

Graves just... sat there. His face had tear tracks down the soot on his face. After a while, Price got something to clean his face. There was some burns on his shoulders and along his throat. Luckily nothing on his face so he didn't have to worry about any infections.

"Where did you get the cut on your face?"

"Cartel. Fighting against them after being paid. Slipped up. They slashed me and told me to go back to my leader and never return."

"Looks recent."

"It was. They didn't know I was the leader." He grinned a little. "Let me go because I look younger I guess."

"How... old are you?" Price sat with him, getting more comfortable. He left Graves on his knees though.

"35."

"Huh... Makes me feel better about sleeping with you."

"Worried you were robbing the cradle huh?" Graves did the half smile and Price noticed now that it was because it tugged the least at the wound across his cheek.

"A little. Good to know you're only two years younger." Price hummed. "Comfy?"

"Oh, I haven't felt me feet for hours. I'm pretty sure this is a stress position, ya know."

Price shook his head. "Maybe you deserve it."

"Yeah. Probably do." Graves hung his head, though it was clearly to get more comfortable, not out of shame.

Price ended up cutting him free. He didn't know why. It didn't like it was from empathy.

Graves's wrists were torn. The fresh burns had been rubbed against until they were bloody. Price cleaned those too.

"We're going to help you. We're going to get her back for you."

-two weeks later-

They received a call from Shepherd. Even through the phone, Price could feel the evil, the distain, rolling off of him.

"Hello."

"So I heard the Commander survived." Fuck. Must be a leak.

"Don't know what you're talking about."

"Tell him he tells you one goddamn word and I'm sending him the bitch's ears still bleeding."

Price froze, not expecting such out right hostility. Yes, Shepherd was evil, but cutting off a child's ear to prove a point... Jesus.

"This is cruel. Even for you."

There was a moment of silence before laughter. Almost hysterical. "You think this is cruel? After everything you've done?"

Price growled. "I did what I've done for the safety of all, not to start a war. And I've never held something like this over someone's head." He couldn't believe this.

Yes. Price had done cruel things. But to hang someone's child? Their daughter?? over their head? That was nothing like what he had done. He couldn't believe the hurt he had conflicted was being compared to wanting to harm an innocent child. A toddler.

Shepherd hung up but Price told Graves the threat. He thought for just a moment, from how pale Graves went, that he'd faint. Luckily, he did not. He just nodded solemnly.

"I'll tell you everything as long as you promise we can move fast."

-two more weeks-

They had done it. They were in the safehouse where Shepherd was keeping Graves's daughter.

In that time, Price would admit that the man had wriggled back into his good side. Along with most people's. It made sense. A man doesn't become Commander for no reason. He had charm. Charisma.

But that was not important. What was important was that they had not found Dumpling. He had wanted to ask for her real name, but honestly just hadn't gotten to it. No one else had seemed curious enough to ask.

Price searched every room, but he found no sign of a child. There was a child's bedroom but no sign of her. Or anyone really, besides the two dead hostiles that had been guarding it.

They all started to search and eventually, Alejandro let one of them people 'detaining' (it was babysitting, the man mostly read horror novels and watched football until they asked him questions) bring him along.

"Why?" Soap asked, genuinely curious.

"Sometimes kids tuck themselves into weird places. Thinking as her dad, he might be able to find her."

"You know a lot about kids?"

"I know almost nothing, but I'm pretty sure this is how they work."

Graves arrived after about thirty minutes, Price had been keeping him close by for... reasons. Totally not to admire him while pretending to interrogate him.

Price knew he shouldn't. Graves was married. With a kid. he still did it.

Graves didn't immediately go searching, which caused some alarms. Ghost already tightening his grip on his gun. Then, Graves whistled.

And there was Dumpling.

The DOG from the photo.

She yipped and spun in little circles despite having a clear and pronounced limp.

Graves scooped her up and started... fussing over her. It would've been endearing if Price wasn't so fucking mad that Dumpling was a FUCKING DOG.

"What the fuck." Ghost said, staring at the tiny squirming ball of fur.

"Dumpling!" Graves said happily, grinning from ear to ear. Maybe it was endearing even though he was mad. He touched her hurt leg. "Looks like the bastard may have dragged her around. Don't know why, she's a good dog."

"She's a dog."

"Yeah? I showed you guys a photo, how did none of you know she was a dog?"

"The child in the photos??" Alejandro spoke up.

"Is my niece and she's clearly 8 years old in those photos??" Graves frowned at them.

They all exchanged glances and Soap was the first to admit it. "Yeah I have no clue what children are supposed to look like."

"John. Seriously." Graves looked at Price.

"So that woman in the photos is...." Price completely ignored the kid thing. He had thought she looked a bit big for two, but maybe she was just in a higher percentile. How was he supposed to know?

"My sister. I'm gay. You all know I'm gay right??"

"I assumed you were bitchless honestly." Gaz quipped.

Graves stared directly into his eyes for a few minutes. Dumpling seemed to finally relax in his arms. "I fucked Price two days before betraying you guys." He turned around and left.

Everyone, very slowly, looked at Price.

"I also don't know what children look like."

More importantly, Graves was single. And came with a cute dog.

#cod #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #Phillip graves #John Price #Captain John Price #Price x Graves #Graves x Price

[himimosa]

nightmare

warnings: a little angst but more like hurt-comfort, spoilers(?) from latest chapters (not exactly any spoilers but of course don't read if you don't want to learn what might happen)

this is how i am coping with latest chapters guys, i am sorry...

All you could sense was a terrifying noise. and red red RED... The fear inside you was almost primal, like a survival instinct. Your brain was screaming at you to run, the common sense of terror in humankind when they meet something much more powerful than them... Something more mystic, dark... And god-like...

All the cells inside your body were craving to escape, but your soul couldn't let that happen... Not when the man who you loved was being destroyed by the said God right in front of your eyes...

You tried to reach for him, but he was so far for you to hold... You were trying to scream, only to realize you didn't have a voice. You started to feel hot, so hot. And while you watching the man you love was vanishing, the heat become unbearable-

You woke up with a deep inhale and jumped upright in your bed. This was the most horrifying dream you ever had. You were trying to get calm by taking deep breaths but you were not doing so well...

The body next to you moved slightly. Then the light turned on, and you saw Chuuya's sleepy face

"Babe? Is everything alright?"

You couldn't help but hug him tightly, burying your face into his chest. Chuuya froze for a second only to hug you tighter right after "Y/N, listen to me... It was only a dream. You are with me, you are fine..."

When he pulled back and looked at you, his heart was crushed by your expression. Your eyes were red as blood and you were trembling with fear. You opened your mouth to talk, then you realized your mouth was so dry...

Chuuya noticed that and poured a glass of water from the jug on the commode for you: "Here, take some water.." He helped you to drink since you were still shaky... He waited patiently for you to catch your breath before you spoke slowly: "You were dying..."

Chuuya squeezed your hand lightly "You can feel this right? This is real. I am here... "

You nodded your head, then you continued "...but Chuuya... it was so... terrifying... someone forced you... to use the corruption... you were not yourself, your body dissolved-" you choked on your words and started to cry harder with remembering the details...

Chuuya wrapped his arms around you again, he started to pat your hair while he was talking with a hushing and soft tone: "Babe... you know this is not likely right?.. There is an oxygen-waste-mackerel who wouldn't let me go apeshit like that.."

You took a deep breath. "..but Chuuya... Dazai was already dead in my dream... he was shot from his head, laying there in blood... when you used the corruption, he wasn't there to stop you..."

You didn't want to say the worst part of your dream for some reason. That part of your dream made you sick, where Chuuya acted like he got possessed by something, and shot Dazai with a gun himself...

Chuuya thought for a minute before speaking again "Not likely... Do you believe and trust me, darling? I know that waste of bandages more than I know anyone else... He is like a little cockroach, even if you cut his head, he would find a way to come back... I know your dream is not likely to happen, you know why?" he asked. You looked at him with your still teary eyes "Because I have you two on my back... I know you wouldn't let anything like that happen to me, you would protect me... Isn't that right?"

You nodded slowly, and Chuuya gave a kiss on your temple.

"God knows, that bastard would rather kill me by his own hands rather than leave me to die by my power " he chuckled. You smiled too. You were feeling a little more relieved than before.

"..Chuuya. Promise to me.. to be even more careful..." you mumbled. Chuuya smiled at your request. He took your hand and kissed the inside of your palm "I promise... Now sleep well darling... I promise I will be right beside you when you wake up, as always" he whispered.

You closed your eyes to have a beautiful dream that was enough to make you forget the old one...

#nakahara chuuya #nakahara chuuya x reader #nakahara chuuya x you #nakahara chuuya drabble #bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs #bsd #bsd drabble #bsd fic #bsd x reader #bsd x you #bsd fluff #nakahara chuuya fluff #chuuya x yn #chuuya x you #chuuya x reader #chuuya fluff #dazai osamu

[tommysversion]

Heyooo, I love all of your work!!! Low-key binge read all of it!!! I don’t know if this is like a weird or bad ask, but I really want to read a fic of Joel Miller or Din Djarin seeing the readers SH scars for the first time and asking them who did that to them or getting worried. I think this would need some sort of fluffy ending lol

I struggle with SH and just kind of want to see how you think he would react to seeing such scars.

Hello anon! This is not remotely a bad or weird ask, I’m sorry I didn’t get to it sooner. This is something that’s very very personal to me, as well. I struggled with SH and attempts for ten years. I’ll be clean four years in October. I’m sorry this isn’t as long as I wanted it to be, I got kind of emotional writing this. I hope you like it, and I hope you’re doing alright. My inbox is always open if you need someone to talk to. 💞

{ Scars }

You didn’t think anything of it when you rolled up your sleeves to prepare dinner. That the scars were there was as natural to you as anything else, your hair colour, the freckles on your arms, the shape of your nose. 

You were so used to them being there, the old ones and the not so old, some covered and some not, that they didn’t even register to you. You weren’t exactly comfortable showing them to people, though, and so usually you wore long sleeves. 

It made sense that Joel hadn’t seen them. If anything, you’d been subconsciously trying to make sure he didn’t, not so much afraid of what he might think of you, as you wanted to avoid the conversation. 

Tonight it was inevitable, as he leaned against the kitchen bench, watching you, his gaze eventually falling to your hands, your bare arms. He stopped mid sentence; he had been talking about teaching Ellie how to play guitar, how he would teach her a few old songs he liked. 

“And I thought I’d teach her Country Ro-“ 

He circled the bench, taking your hands in his, turning your arms face up so he could see the scars there. 

His first, almost foolish thought, was to ask who had done this to you; to worry that you had been tortured. But then he looked a little closer, and realised, releasing one of your wrists and almost absently touching the scar on his head, because he knew. 

“I’m not gonna ask if you’re alright, sweetheart.” He said finally, “because I know that’s a stupid question. So instead I’m gonna ask if you’re safe?” 

You took a moment to breathe before you could look up at him, forcing yourself to exhale before you nodded. 

“It’s been… a while. You probably think I’m stupid, or weak, or-“ 

He shook his head, leaned down to kiss your forehead, cutting you off. 

“I don’t. I don’t think you’re weak. I know… I know what it’s like. To have so much pain inside that you don’t know what to do with it.” 

Again his hand brushed his own scar, remembering the cool metal of the gun to his temple, the way his hand had shaken, the way he had flinched. The trail of self destruction that had followed that failed attempt. 

“I just…”

“I know.” He reassured you, releasing your other wrist so he could wrap his arms around you, holding you close. “Believe me, baby girl, I know.” 

The idea that this man, the epitome of survivor and strength, knew exactly how you felt was… calming. Reassuring. He had survived so much, had worked through so much pain and come out the other side. If he could do it… if he was there with you… perhaps… so could you. 

#My Writing #Joel Miller #joel miller x reader #cw sh #pedro pascal #joel miller fanfiction

[cas-kingdom]

Hi! For the five line fic could you possibly do “I’m not afraid to die.” With whoever you like! Happy Wednesday :)

A/N: Set during OST, when Blackbeard tries to get Jack to jump off the cliff, but instead of threatening Angelica, he holds Will’s sister (reader) at gunpoint.

“I’m not afraid to die,” you spoke through gritted teeth and a harshly clenched jaw, your eyes forced to the side as you glared at the man holding a gun to your head.

Blackbeard laughed, a godawful sound that had your blood boiling. He pushed the barrel of the gun harder against your temple and leaned in close, the smell of his alcohol-riddled breath wavering your senses.

“You might not be afraid of your death,” he said, his voice gravelly, “but he is.” He nodded towards Jack, stood dangerously close to the edge of the cliff he’d been ordered to jump from and into the deep water below.

“Jump, Jack,” Blackbeard ordered once more. “Or I’ll shoot.”

It there were any words capable of pushing Captain Jack Sparrow from his high perch and down a couple notches into reality, it was those. Three words that had him considering every possibility of escape, no matter if most of those possibilities ended with his death. To be frank, he couldn’t care less. Jack had made many promise in his productive lifetime, but the one he held in the highest regard was the one he’d sworn to Will Turner after he had been made Captain of the Flying Dutchman; the promise that Jack would keep Will’s young sister safe as you sailed the seas together. That had been the agreement. Will had much rather you stayed on land with Elizabeth, but he was no fool. In the years you’d spent adventuring with Jack, you’d regained your sea-blood more than him. You belonged to a ship as much as Jack, and Will had allowed it with the half-hearted oath that Jack would not let a single hair on your head come to harm.

He was dangerously close to breaking the promise, and it was the first thing in a while he was choosing not to take lightly.

Cautiously, a newfound stoniness set in his brow, he peered over the edge and down to the rushing water below. He straightened suddenly and spun on his heel to point at Blackbeard. “If I jump—”

“When you jump.”

“—you’ll not harm her?”

Blackbeard’s lips turned upwards in a sickening grin. He lightly waved his hands about. “Not unless you leave with my chalices before I get there, Jack.”

Jack pressed his lips together in a thin line, glancing quickly between Blackbeard and you. Blackbeard and you. Blackbeard and you. Then, somehow, Angelica made the cut, her face clearly wondering what he was going to pick.

Blowing air into one cheek, he rolled his eyes. “Bugger this.”

“Don’t do it, Jack,” you said hurriedly. You hissed in pain as Blackbeard hit the end of the gun against your head. Jack’s expression hardened and he took two steps towards you.

“Not a hair on her head, Blackbeard, you hear me? Harm her in any way and you know I’ll know.”

Blackbeard threw his head back to laugh. “Jack Sparrow! Who knew you’d finally let someone wriggle their way into that black heart of yours?”

Angelica tried not to fidget so much. She valiantly failed, her discomfort at her supposed father’s words masked only by the way she suddenly lurched forward, heading for the cliff edge. “This is nonsense. I’m going.”

Jack pushed past her before anyone could react, leaping off the cliff and plunging down with an echoing scream. It was silent for a moment. Then, you swiftly took advantage of Blackbeard’s loosening grip. You wrenched yourself from his hold, blocking out his yells of “grab her, Quartermaster! Grab her!” When you reached the edge, you wasted no time in stepping off, pinwheeling your arms and letting loose your own screech as gravity yanked you down. 

It happened so quickly that when your entire body became submerged in icy water, your lungs grappling for the air it had so suddenly lost, you panicked for a split second. That was until you felt strong arms wrap around your chest and pull you to the surface where you gasped for air and swept soaking hair from your face before turning to see your saviour.

“Y/N! You jumped?” Jack yelled, still gripping you even as you settled into your surroundings and began to tread the water yourself.

Your mouth dropped open and you splashed water in his face. “I said don’t do it!”

Jack splashed back, much harder than yours. “Didn’t really feel like watching you get shot!”

“Oh, please. Don’t be stupid, stupid! You really think you could do this without me?”

Jack scrunched his face up and let you go, shoving past you to swim to shore. “I could’ve done without you scaring me bloody beard off,” he called back, wondering why wet seemed to be the answer to most incidents recently.

“That’s a no, then, I presume!” You belatedly coughed out salt water before splashing after him, feeling the weight of the water begin to drag you down. Once you got within a foot of him, you surged forward and latched your arms around his neck, resting your chin on his shoulder. 

“You’re happy I jumped, really, aren’t you?” you asked him as he redoubled his swimming efforts thanks to the new added weight.

“‘Course I am, Pearlie,” he said sincerely, flashing you a gold-toothed grin. 

POTC Masterpost

send me the first sentence of a fanfic and i’ll write the next five, except i don’t know when to stop writing so i guarantee there’ll be more than five

#pirates of the caribbean #jack sparrow #jack sparrow x reader #jack x reader #captain jack sparrow #reader #reader fic #sister!reader #sister reader #teen reader #teen!reader #drabble #mine #baby fic

[dominimoonbeam]

To The Edge - 2

This work is mine and I do not give consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted without my permission. I am sharing chapters as I work on this story but it is copyrighted material that I plan to rework and publish when completed.

story tags: scifi romance, hijinks in space, rogues learning to trust, violence, blood, guns, death, explicit language, so much kidnapping,

Works organized and easily found over on the patreon. <3

TO THE EDGE - CHAPTER 2.

“Stardust Solinoh Fairvell Malou,” they heard someone saying in the dark. It wasn’t a call, not searching for them or trying to get their attention. It was on the cusp of being a reprimand—a reminder of who they were and all the weight that should come with it. They called that weight pride, but it tasted like a threat. Their name wasn’t just a name, it was a full “Don’t you dare forget who you are. Don’t you fail. Don’t you fall short. Or else.”

Stardust woke with a choked groan, a spike of pain bursting behind their lids and burrowing deep into their skull. They forced their lids open against the onslaught of light, like it had been a challenge rather than a warning.

“Stardust?” someone asked, voice full of relief. Their name sounded strange in his mouth, different than they’d ever heard it before. “There you are.”

They lifted an arm to shade their eyes, squinting at the man beside their bed. The hum of the ship hit their senses and they remembered everything. Well, almost everything. How had they gotten on another ship? They sat up, vision blurring but arms pushing out to try to shove him away. The cuffs on their wrists rattled but they’d worn them for so long they’d gotten used to it.

He caught their forearms, holding on gently. “No, don’t freak out again. We’re on my ship, we’re off world and headed out of the area. You’re safe.”

Safe? He clearly had no idea what was going on.

“You fainted.”

Stardust wrinkled their nose only to wince at the pain that shot through that delicate bone between their eyes. “No, I didn’t.” They pulled their arms out of his hold to gingerly touch their forehead.

He huffed something close to a laugh. “Um, yes you did.”

“No, I didn’t.” They pushed at their temples, hoping that pressure might shift the pain rolling around inside their skull.

“Okay, you can keep saying you didn’t, but you did. I had to carry you. I think I’d know if you were unconscious or not.”

Stardust dropped their hands and squinted up at the man. Was he law of some sort? Or a bounty hunter? He looked like a bounty hunter… “And you want what? A medal for it?”

His eyes went huge and his mouth pulled into a grin, flashing teeth. It wasn’t the reaction they’d expected. “You are the most ungrateful kidnap victim I’ve ever dealt with.”

“How many kidnap victims have you dealt with?” Stardust asked quickly, trying to buy time for that splitting headache to wear off enough so that they could figure out what to do next. They seemed to be in the galaxy’s smallest medical room on a ship. His ship?

“How many? Really?”

Stardust waited, not letting pain or fear stop their eyebrow from lifting in brutal patience.

“Well, I mean… Are we counting the ones I personally kidnapped or just the ones I retrieved on behalf of rich criminals like your grandmother?”

Stardust felt a jolt cut through their spine, making them sit straighter. “Fuck you!” They kicked their legs off the cot, toes grazing the floor. They were still barefoot. Those pirates had stolen their boots.

The stranger laughed hard. “Fuck me? Like you didn’t know who bankrolled the chrome you were flying? You might be on a lesser-known branch of that particular family tree, Stardust, but blood is blood.”

They glared at him, because really, what could they say to that? Of course, they knew. And it seemed, even this far away from the Prime, everyone else knew too.

So that made this guy a cosmic bounty hunter or lacky of some kind.

He sighed and waved a hand at their wrists. “Let me see those cuffs.”

Stardust frowned hard enough to remember that their lip was scabbed, the pain so deep that it somehow felt like it was in their jaw. What was he going to do? Chain them to the cot? To the wall? If he knew who they were, then he was trying to get paid by returning them. He couldn’t kill them and, at the moment, they couldn’t get away from him. They lowered their arms, hands easing into the space between them.

He pulled a small tool from his pocket and started tinkering with the cuff.

“You can unlock it?” they asked, words coming out in a cracked whisper, forcing them to cough to try to hide the weakness there.

“What? Yes, of course, I can get these off you. You just have to pop this panel and then hold the reset button. It’s really easy as long as you’re not the one in them,” he said, doing just that.

The cuffs popped open and Stardust gasped, relief welling in their chest. It had been days since they’d had their hands free.

He tossed the cuffs onto the table beside the cot, still holding onto their arms, gently running his thumbs against their skin—not touching the deep purple rings but skirting them. “Your wrists are bruised but they look okay. Does that hurt?”

They winced but shook their head. “It’s fine.”

“Hm. Okay.” He let go and took a step back. “Take your clothes off.”

Stardust’s head snapping up to look at him, for a split-second doubting what they’d just heard. He waited. They jumped off the bed and tried to push past him toward the door. When he grabbed their arm, they kicked and screamed. They hadn’t spent a week fending off fucking pirates just to be creeped on by some bounty hunter!

“Woah! No kicking!”

“Let go, you creep!”

He pushed just hard enough to put them on their ass on the cot again and then stepped back, hands up but blocking the way out of the room. “I’m not a fucking creep, I’m just going to make sure you’re not dying, patch you up, and then give you something clean to wear. You can lock yourself in the storage room after that if you want. Spend the next two weeks snuggled up with my stockpile of meal bars until you’re back safe and sound.”

Stardust glared, dragging deep breaths and not liking how winded they were from just that little struggle. They really were in trouble. They had to lean back against the wall to keep from slumping over.

The bounty hunter sighed and tried again, “If you die because of internal bleeding or some stupid infection, they’re going to blame me for it.”

Stardust didn’t have to ask who “they” were. “They” were always the same people. “They” were their family. “So what?”

He laughed darkly, clawing a hand through his hair. “Thanks, Stardust. I appreciate how much you care about my safety.”

Stardust glared at him. He didn’t seem particularly affected by glares though. Instead, he sighed, like he had all the time in the galaxy.

“Take off your shirt. It’s literally crusted with blood and…is that puke?”

They didn’t look down. They were very aware of the state of their clothes. “It’s not mine.”

“Classy.”

Stardust didn’t budge. Was he serious or was he just trying to get a look?

“You’ve got nothing I haven’t seen before.”

They snorted. “Wanna bet?”

“Do I want to bet? Are you serious?” He laughed again. “Oh shit, are you really concussed? I should have scanned your brain before you woke up…”

“Too late now.”

The cosmic bounty hunter groaned. “Just take your fucking clothes off, Stardust. I promise I won’t maul you.”

They didn’t think he would maul them, not really. That wasn’t why they were still hesitating, just like it hadn’t been why they’d fought tooth and nail to keep that nasty piece of clothing on with the pirates. Still, they stalled, holding up one hand, pinky finger out. “Pinky promise?” they smirked even as they asked.

“Pinky— Are you serious?”

They waited.

“You are the weirdest kidnappee I have ever dealt with…” He rolled his eyes and hooked his pinky with theirs. “Okay, pinky promise.”

“You know the rules of pinky promises, right?” Maybe they did have a concussion…

#To The Edge #scifi romance #ride or die in space #audio script to chapters #own work #own writing #adventures of stardust and cosmic #<3 #dominimoonbeam #clover down #romance #adventure

[hosseinis]

"God- here just hold my hand"!!!!!!!!!

HANNAH!!! i'm sorry i ended up writing criminal minds fic but i have the BRAINROT so this is way more comedic than whumpy so you can still have fun <3

send me a ship and a prompt and i'll write a quick oneshot!

“Reid.” Hotch’s voice is tight and stressed, and Spencer can actually feel his heart pounding. Hotch’s heart. Spencer’s heart has been pounding since they first found themselves in this situation. He can’t stop counting the beats. “I need you to calm down.”

“Yeah, of course,” Spencer says far too quickly, trying to shove some of the panic back into his stomach where it’s making a run for it right up his throat. He tries to maneuver himself around a little bit and instead just pushes himself up harder against Hotch’s chest. Their increased proximity gets even worse, and Spencer’s pretty sure the pantry may actually be shrinking. “I’m calm. I’m totally calm.”

A pantry. A pantry! Who the hell gets stuck in a pantry? Especially with Hotch around, who on his best days is basically a tank dressed up in a crisp tailored suit. But then again, even a well-dressed Virginian tank apparently has no luck against an unsub with a sawed-off shotgun, Spencer reasons.

At least he just forced them to drop their guns and phones and then locked them in the pantry, rather than shoot off their faces right then and there. They did profile him to be the submissive of the pair, and that he would balk at killing someone outright. There’s a can of something digging into the small of his back. Probably tomato sauce. Or corn. Or maybe beans. So at least the team is going to realize something’s off when they don’t show back up at the police station.

“You’re not calm,” Hotch grits. Maybe he’s got a can of something nonperishable digging into his back, too.

“Sorry,” Spencer says. “We’re just— it’s really tight in here. And I’m claustrophobic. Did I mention that?”

“You did.”

“Oh. I did?”

“Several times.”

“Oh,” Spencer repeats, and tries to wiggle away from the can again. “It’s just that the traditional definition of claustrophobia refers to it as an irrational fear of confined spaces, when in reality I find it entirely reasonable to not want to be squashed into a tight space where you can barely breathe, not to mention the lack of air circulation, and adding another person into that—”

“Reid,” Hotch says again, maybe for the fourth or fifth time. “I understand that you’re anxious, but right now we need to focus our attention on getting out of the pantry.”

“He padlocked it,” Spencer replies immediately, wishing he could move his arms. They’re pressed up against Hotch’s chest, and with barely an inch difference between their respective heights, he’s basically right in Hotch’s face, too. Hotch, for his part, has his arms awkwardly positioned at his sides. Spencer’s more of a beanpole, having to duck his head to avoid smacking it into the lightbulb above them, but Hotch has bulk. He’s probably even more uncomfortable. “And you don’t have enough space to kick it down.”

“I’m aware of that,” Hotch says, and the tension in his tone has ramped up. “Do you have any ideas?”

“Uh,” Spencer says, blinking. Hotch is a little cross-eyed. “No.”

“Try to think of something, then.”

“Oh,” Spencer says again. “No, I’ve been thinking this entire time. I actually can’t stop thinking. The good news is at least that we have about twenty-one hours roughly before we run out of air, even with the CO2 buildup, because the gap under the door is about three-quarters of an inch which means we can still get some oxygen, though it would be much better if this pantry had a door with slats rather than the typical—”

“Spencer.”

The use of his given name does actually stop Spencer in his tracks, but more than that it’s the way that Hotch says it. His eyes are squeezed tight, his teeth are gritted together, and there’s a bead of sweat that’s running down the side of his temple. Classic signs of… anxiety? Stress?

“Hotch,” Spencer says in stunned disbelief, “are you claustrophobic?”

He doesn’t get a response in the form of a word, but rather in the way Hotch opens his eyes again and glares at him. It’s not a real glare, necessarily, more of a you’re not supposed to figure that out glare, which just serves to shock Spencer even more. He blinks at him.

“You are,” Spencer says.

“I’m just… not comfortable in tight spaces,” Hotch corrects, which is the textbook definition of claustrophobia. But Spencer is absolutely willing to let it slide, because there’s something… oddly comforting about being in the exact same situation as someone as stalwart and fearless as Hotch. “It isn’t usually such a problem.”

“Oh,” Spencer repeats, and hums. “True. This isn’t a typical situation one would find themselves in. I guess normally it wouldn’t even come up. And I guess that means neither one of us are entirely equipped to keep the other one calm, since both of us are starting to show the signs of increased anxiety that come from prolonged close contact while in a confined space, and increased respiration from continued anxiety could also reduce our survival rate from—”

“God.” Hotch starts wiggling, which definitely makes a bag of chips fall somewhere and manages to extract one arm, which he holds, palm towards himself, up to eye level. Spencer stares at it, and Hotch shakes his hand a bit. “Here. Just hold my hand.”

Spencer gapes at him, speechless. If only the team could see him now.

“Hold your… hand?”

“Yes, hold my hand.” Hotch stares at something just to Spencer’s left ear before his gaze slides over to make eye contact again. He pauses, and then nods slightly. “Jack asks me to hold his hand when he’s scared. I figured it couldn’t hurt, given our… limited options.”

Spencer considers that for a moment, and then manages to squeeze his arm over so that he can take Hotch’s hand. Their limited options pretty much boil down to waiting and hoping for the best, so Hotch really isn’t that far off.

“You know, Jack’s pretty smart,” Spencer finally says after a moment. “Hand-holding reduces the level of the stress hormone cortisol, which means that we’re able to think more clearly. Plus the increased pressure from our hands can slow our heart rates, decrease our blood pressure, and put us in a much more relaxed state.”

Instead of answering verbally, Hotch just squeezes his hand tighter.

Spencer thinks about it again, and then smiles a bit awkwardly.

“You know, I never would’ve guessed that about you,” he admits. “You’re pretty much the most valorous person I’ve ever met. It’s actually kind of comforting to share the same fear as you.”

Despite everything, Hotch’s lips quirk up and he squeezes Spencer’s hand once more.

“I’ll just go ahead and take that as a compliment.”

#aaron hotchner #spencer reid #criminal minds #this was written to be platonic but it can be read as a ship too! #anyway: hotch and spencer are autistic and trapped in a pantry <3 #ginny does that writing thing

[st4bslut]

i want to be tied up and taunted with a knife and a gun. i want someone to tease my flesh by dragging it ever so softly against my skin. i want them to choke me and hold their gun to my temple and threaten to kill me. i want them to press their knife against my skin, just using enough pressure to not pierce the skin. tease me until im crying, and then they plunge the knife into me. leaving it there for the blood to trickle out of me into a puddle on the floor. them standing away pointing the gun at me and telling me how they should splatter my brains against the wall and fuck my stupid corpse. i want them to force me to bend over as they rape my holes and hold the gun to my head. i want to be forced to cum even though i don’t want to. i want them to cut my thighs so they bleed and make a mess and need to be stitched up. even after im gone, my body and holes still useable for them.

#pro para #paraphilia #pro paraphile #n3crophilia #murder kink #knife play #knife kink #gun kink #autassassinophilia #biastophilia #erotophonophilia #hematolagnia #blood kink #bd/sm masochist #bdsmkink

[blood-mocha-latte]

Okay hear me out. A Valentine's Day ficlet wherein everyone in H Company is out on fancy dates except ace!Chuckler, who is S T O K E D to have the apartment to himself. He's gonna Tom Cruise underwear dance yo.

bestie you absolute GENIUS by god. ace!chuckler my beloved!! loosier sort of Shoved themselves into this, which i hope is okay!

i love this too much. so much. all the much. i hope you enjoy <3

~

“Please don’t tell me those are what I think they are.” 

Chuckler smiled, smug, and adjusted the sunglasses across the bridge of his nose. “I think I look classy.” He said, and Lucky looked at him with something that matched vague horror.

“They’re bigger than the continental US.” He said, sounding somewhat impressed. “And pink.”

“And stylish.” Runner jumped in easily, rounding their kitchen island with a cup of coffee and sitting across from Leckie. “You could be on the cover of Vogue.”

Lew grinned, and tilted his face up so the sunglasses wouldn’t fall off. “Because of my stunning good looks?”

He’d gotten the glasses for half off at the gas station that sat kitty-corner from their apartment, and it was, in short, the best three quarters and a dime he ever spent. 

“I think I’m gonna wear them everywhere.” He said, and took them off only to admire them, the heart-shape of their frames, the red tint of the shades. “Paint ‘em green, go out for a night in the town.”

“Get horribly lost again.” Runner agreed, and Chuckler made a face at him.

“Okay, well, that wasn’t on me.” He said loftily, crossing his arms and setting the glasses down on the table. “Someone took the charger so my phone was dead, so I couldn’t Google-walk home—”

“—that was extenuating-fucking-circumstances, I was supposed to get a call from a publisher—” Leckie is jumping in with a protest before Lew can even finishing talking, holding up his hands defensively, and Runner started talking over him after that, a large jumble of shouting that ceased only when Leckie’s door cracked open.

Lucky nearly fell out of his chair when Hoosier shuffled out of his room, blanket wrapped around his shoulders, hair sticking up in every direction. “Coffee.” He said, and Hoosier grunted, a nonverbal confirmation that sounded only slightly murderous.

“I hate you.” He said, shuffling the short distance between their bedroom and the dining room table and dropping into Leckie’s now unoccupied seat. Leckie in question was pouring a second mug of coffee, still steaming, and was quick to move and set it in front of Bill, pressing a kiss to his temple that Hoosier was too slow to bat away.

“I love you, and I’ll get you whatever you want tonight.” He promised, already turning back into the kitchen to find the creamer. Hoosier curved his hands around the mug, bringing his face down to inhale the steam.

“I want a new boyfriend.” He muttered to it, and Runner snorted.

“Bad night?” He asked, and Chuckler raised his eyebrows, pushing his glasses closer to Hoosier when the other just gave him a blank look.

“I was having trouble with my novel.” Leckie said absently, clattering around at the counter as he did something that Lew couldn’t see. “And was trying to force myself to write, which—”

“Which means that I got one and a half hours of sleep last night, and also am going to get a gun.” Hoosier said over him, face still against his mug. “To kill you, Bob, if that wasn’t clear.”

“It’s very clear. And very understandable.” Leckie said, turning back around with one of the semi-stale croissants they’d gotten at the same gas station that Chuckler had acquired his glasses at. “Have I told you how gorgeous you are?”

“I’m breaking up with you.” Hoosier said. “We’re done. Get out of my house.” Leckie hummed, setting the croissant in front of him and crossing an arm over the front of his chest, dropping his face down to his hair before kissing his forehead. 

“I’ve got an awesome day planned.” He said, and Hoosier groaned, holding up a hand to fend him off. “You’re gonna love it—”

“I’m gonna be too tired to enjoy it—”

“Well,” Chuckler interrupted, pushing his sunglasses back onto his face when Hoosier showed no interest in them. “I mean. I slept great.”

Hoosier just blinked at him. “Would you like company tonight?”

“Baby—” Leckie started, holding his hands out, but Lew was already shaking his head, vehement. 

“No way in hell!” He said cheerfully, pushing his glasses further up on his nose. “Today for me is about me. Today for you is about you and Lucky, it’s not my fault he’s a terrible partner.”

Hoosier dropped his forehead to the table with a groan, and Leckie shot Chuckler a vaguely threatening look. Lew just shrugged, still grinning, and Runner snorted.

“I mean. I’m gonna have a great day too.” He offered, and Chuckler held his hand up in a high five.

“Hell yeah!” He said, enthused. “But you can’t stay here. I have dibs.”

Leckie made some sort of frustrated sound, still clattering around in something that seemed to be in an effort to reap forgiveness. “When can we come back?” He asked, complaining, and Hoosier snorted.

“Why do you care?” He muttered to the table. “You’re never getting laid again.”

Chuckler just shrugged. “Sleep over at Hoosier’s place.” He offered to Lucky, and Hoosier groaned over him in protest. 

“He’s sleeping in the fucking street before he’s getting into my bed again.” He said, and Leckie sighed.

So. Very par for the course.

“I’ll give you seven dollars if we can come back by nine.” Lucky offered, and Lew grinned, delighted.

“Nope! This is the first time I get to be by myself in nine months, by darling friends, and I don’t want to see any of your faces for the next twenty-four hours. You have thirty minutes to get out of here.” 

He finished off his own coffee, and Hoosier pushed his face off of the table to squint at him, under eyes bruised purple. Leckie moved around him again, attempting to kiss his cheek, and Hoosier steered him away with an open palm to the face.

“I like your glasses.” He told Chuckler.

“Thanks.” Lew said, cheerful. “I like your croissant.”

“Thanks. You can have it, if you want. You can have the man who made it, too.”

“Babe—” 

Chuckler snorted, wrinkling his nose. “Thanks, but I’m okay.”

--

His plan for the night, as written out:

Wrap all of Leckie’s shoes in cellophane.

Last month, Lew had woken up at four in the morning with his singularly obtained Buffy the Vampire Slayer comic book shrink wrapped, and Leckie sitting at their kitchen table, sipping at coffee, calmly writing out what seemed to be a letter.

Finally, he had time to seek his revenge.

(He had also conveniently forgotten that the reason Leckie’d wrapped his comic book at all was because Chuckler had replaced all of Hoosier’s keys with plastic baby rings.)

Do his laundry. In peace. 

Last time, Runner had gotten cheetos in the dryer. Lew wasn’t even sure how he managed that, but never again. Never again.

Text Hoosier to make sure he hasn’t actually killed Lucky.

“Hi.”

“Hey! Are you okay?”

“Uh, yeah. It’s fine. It’s all fine. I’m still mad, though, so. Uh.”

“Lucky plan something good?”

“Ugh. Yeah. It’s really sweet, the motherfucker. I’m never gonna forgive him for this.”

“He took you to the Observatory, didn’t he?”

“Yep. The bastard. How’s it going for you?”

“I mean. If it makes you feel better, he has a nice present at home, now.”

“Hm. Make him suffer for me.”

“Okay! But don’t make him too upset. This is, like, a big night for him.”

“...”

“Hello?”

“Chuckler. You have to tell me if he’s going to propose. Legally. It’s — you can get arrested if you don’t.”

“Hm. I don’t think I can. But he’s not gonna propose—”

“I — I mean, we’ve talked about this, and I’d say yes, but if he proposes on fucking Valentines day—”

“He’s not gonna propose! I promise. Scouts honor! Roommates honor!”

“That is the most cliche shit I’ve ever heard—” 

“All I did was tell you to be nice to him! That doesn’t mean he’s going to ask you to marry him—” 

“Oh, holy fuck, I knew that he was being weirdly nice—”

Make a cake.

Although whatever drama Hoosier and Leckie were going through was interesting enough, he also had a recipe that he wanted to try and last time he’d tried to bake anything of any sort, Hoosier had poured jalapeno sauce into it. 

Which, come to think of it, may have been because Chuckler popped all of the keys out of Leckie’s laptop.

Listen to Simon and Garfunkel.

Runner hated Simon and Garfunkel, and because Chuckler was to be a good person, he didn’t blast it through the house when he was home.

But he wasn’t home, was he!

Lew loved Valentine's Day.

Call Hoosier one more time. Just to be extra certain Leckie isn’t dead.

“Oh, good, you picked up! Please tell me you haven’t got engaged—”

“What? Oh, no. Bob has been, uh. Well. Bob’s been arrested, so—”

“Bob’s been what—” 

“But it’s not my fault, I feel I should make that incredibly clear—”

“Uh-huh. Okay, well, I’m not coming and getting you. Call Runner.”

“No, no—”

“It’s my day, Hoosier! You know this! It’s my day, I’m not dragging my ass down to the station—”

“My boyfriend’s in jail, Lew, I think that’s extenuating circumstances—”

“Ope, the Sound of Silence just came on, so I’m gonna obey its wise title and hang up. Call Runner!”

“I — uh. Fine. It’s your day.”

“It really is! Good luck. Don’t say anything without a lawyer.”

Yeah. Lew loved Valentine’s Day.

#rie writes #peace and love and ace chuckler on planet earth <3 #thank you for the prompt i ADORED it #the pacific #chuckler juergens #loosier #hbo war