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sexy-monster-fucker · 7 days

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Consorts [Part 1]

The Ghoul|Cooper Howard x F!Bounty Hunter!Reader

Summary: Months back, the Reader and Cooper got in a huge mess after deciding to work together after finding out they were given the same bounty. Neither has seen each other since. Reader has been laying low in a far off settlement, working a common bar job just to make a living...

a/n: very excited to attempt another multi-part story for the first time in years!! for the record, I have only watched the show through once and I have never played one of the games sooooo sorry for any inaccuracies

~~~

You sat another glass in front of one of your bar dwellers.

It had been months since you even dared go outside this town. You hid your face anytime you were outside the walls of your dwelling. You were forced to lay low after your last bounty went south. Not only had you lost all credibility as a bounty hunter, but a giant target had been attached to your back by the group who you had wronged. There was no where safe for you.

Although your face had to be mostly covered, your job required a certain level of attracting customers. You would make sure to wear something rather revealing of your chest, along with skin tight pants. Making sure you flirted strongly with your eyes to attract more people to the bar.

A group of men who had been sat at a table for sometime all approached the bar at once. You could hear them mumbling something back and forth as glances were shot your way.

"Great," you thought, "Some moron got bet by his friend to hit on me." You rolled your eyes as you cleaned one of the glasses.

"Sweetheart," followed by a whistle.

Your skin crawled. Smug faces met yours when you turned around.

"What's a lady like you doing working in a place like this?" He cocks an eyebrow at you. You huff in response.

"Don't misunderstand now..." a click and suddenly all the men were pointing guns at you, "I want to know why you thought someone worth so much would be hiding in plain sight. We all swore you were smarter than that." You stared down the barrel of his gun.

You sucked your teeth, dropping your head to the side slightly, "Y'all're here for the money? I thought you were going to compliment a lady." Your gun is fired quicker than any of them can register. The man in front of you falls backwards, the others squatting down in fear. You take your opportunity and run out the back exit.

Your mind is playing every possibility of this ending. Gunfire dancing on the ground around you as the men chase you. You end up in the middle of town, firing your gun at them as they are hot on your tail. In a flash, the amount of people after you practically doubles. Your eyes widen as you attempt to find somewhere to hide. You grab a grenade off your belt, throwing it center at them.

While smoke surrounded them, you slid under and behind a large lean-to. You were on all fours, looking through the small crack in the wood. The men were scrambling, firing their guns in any and all directions. A fight was breaking out.

"FIND HER YOU IDIOTS!" One of the men shouted.

You heard more gunfire joining theirs. You knew it had to be some local fighting back. You scanned the area around you, seeing a small pathway that led to a more exposed part of the fort you had hidden in. You crawled, hoping it would lead you out.

"My, my," a familiar voice spoke above you. You looked up to see him staring down at you, his head cocked to the side. "Oh, sweet Jesus," one of your hands rubs down your face. "Longtime no see, doll," he grinned.

The infamous Ghoul. Few knew his name, fewer lived long enough to share it. The two of you had become more than acquainted in a prior mission gone wrong. The one that had left you both on the run.

He reached a hand out to you, pulling you up to your feet. "Didn't expect to see you here," he grumbled. You rolled your eyes, placing your back against his preparing to fireback together. You felt him turn his head slightly, "Y'know, I didn't take you for a brothel girl." Smugness was written on his tone. Your cheeks flooded with a slight embarrassment. He shifted positioning his lips directly next to your ear, "Took you for more of a cowgirl after last time." Heat radiated your body with his obvious innuendo. "People have to do things when they're on the run," you breathe out. He scoffed in your ear.

The Ghoul aimed his gun out, shooting and hitting one of the goons. "I'll get us out of this, but you've got to make a deal with me," he looked down at you. You crossed your arms, "What could you possibly want from me?"

"We're going to finish the mess you got me in," he pointed at you. "That I got you in? That isn't at all-" "I don't have time for this. You either take the deal or I leave you here."

You blew your breath out, "Deal." You gritted your teeth. His lip curved into a smirk, "That's a good girl. Now you stay here and on my signal come out." You nodded.

The Ghoul stepped out from behind the wooden building, whistling to get all the gunmen's attention. You watched as they all directed their attention towards him. Guns all pointed at him before realizing who stood before them.

"There's the other one!"

"That's the Ghoul they're promising a reward for too!"

"We could get double the money!"

The brim of his hat hid his eyes from them.

"Don't make this harder than it has to be, ghoul. If you just give us the girl we can be on with our way," one of them shouted.

"So you can come back and get me later? Not gonna happen," he pointed his gun at them, "I'm leaving here with the girl."

The man chuckled, "You're out numbered here."

The Ghoul shrugged his shoulders. He fires his gun at the giant water barrel suspended above the town. It tips over, soaking all the men in radioactive water. The Ghoul swiftly runs back to you, grabbing your hand and running off with you. You were quick on your feet following behind him.

You both run as fast as you can until the town is no longer in the distance. You slow down, attempting to catch your breath. Loud and obvious huffs leaving you.

"C'mon, Y/N. We've gotta keep going before they get smart." He gestured at you to follow him.

~~~

END//Part 1

[Thank you for reading! If you are interested in being tagging in any of my writings don’t be afraid to message me! All tag lists are open! I have a master taglist and one for each character!]

Tags:

@mortuus-poet | @giggle-shade |

// Part 2 //

#cooper howard x reader #cooper howard #fallout #fallout series #walton goggins #writing #fanfic #sexymonsterfics #part 1 #walton goggins x reader #the ghoul #the ghoul fallout #the ghoul x reader

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makriiii · 11 months

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Caught Ⅲ (Arthur Morgan × f!reader)

Word count: 3.1k

Authors notes: Sorry for the slow uploads. Btw, when I copy-paste this from my notes app, tumblr double spaces my paragraphs and I'm too lazy to change it. 😭

Warnings: 18+, angst, & cursing.

Pt1! Or pt4

Wattpad or Ao3

♡

Caught Ⅲ

The land around you briskly faced a blanket of darkness as the sun had just set, the colors had kept you busy for just a stint, longing for them as they faded into deep shades of gray and blue.

People were now rekindling their fires from the night previous, preparing for dinner, a preparation you didn't need to worry yourself with, as much as you wished you did.

Keiran was across from you, and despite being part of your gang, you hadn't exchanged many words. He never did seem too fond of the gang.

Neither of you conversed, not only due to the fact that he tried desperately to distance himself from being an O'Driscoll, but because everyone in camp would also be part of the conversation.

With Keiran ignoring you, and Dutch's gang shunning you, you may as well have been the naughty kid who sat in the corner with a dunce cap on.

The only thing that kept your sanity was finding out that, Arthur, so you came to know, had taken your horse with him that day.

With nothing to do but sit defeated, you zoned out, staring at your horse. The thoughts of escaping with her danced around in your head.

Revenge didn't even cross your mind, in fact, at this point you were willing to let it all go, so long as you had your horse.

Rival gang members came and went, gawking at both of you like zoo animals. At one point, a lady who seemed personally victimized by Keiran had come and dropped food on him.

You were slightly taken aback by her actions, you were hoping it wasn't just for the fact he's an O'Driscoll, otherwise you felt you'd be next.

It was clear you weren't welcome despite being forced to stay and by all means you were happy to leave if they'd allow it. You'd even take Keiran along as well, but they had no such plans.

Out of all the people who roamed before you, your eyes met with one, much to your despair.

You had had enough of the man over these past days when he would check on you, once or twice each day, occasionally giving you water but only teasing you with food.

He kept to asking you and Keiran both, where on earth Colm was, and on that earth, you couldn't give him the darndest of answers.

Each time threatening to rid of both of you right here and there every time you gave him the same answer.

He was no man to play games with, but you still played them. He threatened it but never did actually point the barrel of his gun at you again. You shivered as a small ache crept from your arm just thinking about it.

With the eye contact you regrettably made, Arthur finally decided he'd saunter over and have a friendly little chat with you.

You shifted your weight uncomfortably, your arms and shoulders hurting with every second you didn't stay still.

He seemed to have this look in his eye that you couldn't quite place.

"I reckon it's time to change that bandage of yours." He commented, half gesturing for your arm before looking down and reaching into his satchel.

You didn't want him to touch you, hell, you didn't even want that stinking man anywhere in your sights.

"No, please. I'd rather it get infected so god can take care of it instead." You dismissed, kicking out your leg in an attempt to wave him off since you couldn't use your arm to do so.

He snickered as he crouched down beside you, moving for his knife, and to your surprise, he started cutting at the ropes that kept you tethered to the tree.

"That'd be a good few weeks of worse pain before it finally took you, pain I can just save you from now."

"There's a lot you could've saved me from, not being a poor aim on the day you shot me would've been it." Jeering at him with sass.

Any relief you would have felt from the breakage of your bounds was cut short as you hissed out a gasp of pain.

His large, calloused hand wrapped and dug in just above your wound.

Your instinctual reaction had your right hand balled into a fist and swinging around into a hook that landed sweetly on the side of his face before you could do anything about it, or so that's what you claimed.

It caught him off-guard, taking him a second to react, by which he squeezed your arm even harder and reached for your other wrist in a tight, abrasive grasp.

You cried out while he manhandled you. "Fuck- quit grabbin' me like that, you big brute!" You stirred under him, but he kept you still in an almost a perfect manner.

The whole commotion caught everyone's attention, their turned heads held looks of confusion and surprise.

"Im tryna help your ass, woman." He snarled, keeping you from jerking around. "Hold damn still before I save myself the trouble instead."

You looked away, mumbling a curse under your breath. By no means did you relax, but you stopped fidgeting, he cautiously let go. His eyes burned holes through you as he did.

Suddenly, he reached for your buttoned shirt, you flinched back in befuddled surprise.

"Just what the hell do you think this is?" You demanded, fully desiring to line up another fist to his face, if it wasn't for the control he had over you with clasping your arm.

"Your sleeve doesn't roll up that far. Didn't I tell you to hold still?"

You felt overwhelmed with rage, and worst yet, you couldn't do anything about it.

"Don't look at me like that, how else do you think I took care of this for you before?" He adds, leaving you in silence.

A man undoing your shirt wasn't the problem. The man doing it, was.

"I was hoping you had left me in the care of one of the more dignified ladies here."

"You wandered off so far from where we camped, you would've died before then." He counters, shaking his head.

"And I would have thanked you, if you left it at that." You stayed arguing, but slighted your head up, giving him easier access to your buttons.

His eyes flickered from your face and to your shirt for a moment at your small gesture.

"Left it at that? Nah, I couldn't let you get away with all that money." He takes a moment, unbuttoning your shirt half way, exposing most of your bra.

It was enough to get your arm out but not leave much to the imagination.

"I was hopin you'd know more than your buddy, yet, neither of you annoying shits seem to recall jack all." He nagged, giving you a stern look before returning his gaze to your arm.

You couldn't say much in return when you felt him pinch and prod at your arm, needles running through your body.

You groaned your hurt, though he didn't seem to care much.

"Don't punch me again, y/n. I ain't beyond hittin' a lady like you."

You gave him a dismissive, smug look, shrugging your shoulder through the aching and burning he inflicted on you.

"I'll just skip that part and put a bullet through your other arm instead," he halts his medical measures and grabs your face, squeezing your cheeks in a firm grip. "You understand me?"

You shook your head away from his grasp, a small, childlike and petty desire to jab at him grew inside you.

"You sure feel me up a lot for someone who hates O'Driscolls so much." Your lips curl upward into a mischievous smile.

He raises a brow, leaning away from you, scoffing in disbelief.

"I'd prefer much anything over you, O'Driscoll." He gripes, returning back to your wound, unraveling the old bandage.

"Yeah, I can see that, considering you have me almost half undressed." You did your utmost to keep from looking at your wound, instead keeping your eyes on Arthur's face. His eyes kept strictly at your arm, never faltering as he lazily slathered on some sort of ointment.

"You're full of yourself. I wouldn't be doin' this if I didn't need to." He shakes his head.

As he finished with the fresh bandage, his hands finally had stopped poking you, leaving your arm in peace and an onset of relief.

"You know, I was thinkin' bout feedin you tonight," his words brought you back to how starving you were.

"Can't say I'm feelin' so kind now." His hand found the side of his face, his fingers inspecting the welt you had inflicted on his cheek.

Your stomach found his words utterly strangling, but begging him was out of the question.

"Dead people can't tell you where Colm is."

"So, the answer comes to you if you're fed?" His eyebrow shoots up, sarcasm plastered all over his freshly punched face.

"I can give you my best guess if you feed me." You explained, irritation being the entire undertone of your statement.

"You think guesses are gonna get you fed? Huh, girl?"

"That, or I simply wont have enough energy to think much on Colm." You cajoled, your smirk slowly returned.

"Careful with that mouth of yours, it's gettin' real tiresome." He sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"Yours reached that point way long ago." You fired back, his face now full of frustration.

"Glad to hear you're not hungry, O'Driscoll." He griped, returning rope to your wrists.

You full well expected it, but having them back on so soon displeased you beyond words.

Once he tied you up good, he got back up without a word and promptly left back to camp, leaving you alone on your tree once more.

You leaned your head back, wondering just how much longer they'd leave you tied up before they acted on their word of killing you both.

Minutes passed as you felt your eyelids get heavy, you didn't want to sleep, not until at least everyone else, but being tired, starving and having been shot only a few days ago left you exhausted.

"Don't you fall asleep yet, y/n." That man's voice chimed. You grimaced at his return.

The front of him was shadowed in contrast to his backside, which faced the camps fire light. You couldn't quite see what he held as he made for you.

"Couldn't get enough of me, huh?" You teased with a straight face, irritation filling you once more.

"You would like if I couldn't, wouldn't you?" A shit eating grin spread across his face at his own comeback.

You scoffed in response, staring him up and down as he got closer and to your surprise - the smell of food wafted into your nose.

Your whole body jolted with excitement, though, you couldn't tell just why he decided on feeding you.

He unties your wound-free arm, but hesitates when handing you the bowl in his hand.

"What?" You ask, looking up at him, his large frame towering over you.

"Say please." He demands, an evil look on his face.

"You're crazy. Now hand it here."

You reach for it but he pulls it away.

"Just say please, O'Driscoll." He laughs, taking a step back to avoid your waving arm.

"Quite actin' a fool and just give it to me." Your voice tightened with anger, your hunger almost possessed you into fighting him for it.

"Didn't anyone teach you manners? Please aint that hard to say."

"It is when the man you're saying it to is the same one that shot you. Now-" You reach again, your hand finally collecting the soup filled bowl.

You glanced back up at him, almost in shock that he actually let you grab it.

"Alright, alright, but next time, I expect some manners, O'Driscoll." He grins, knowing this set you off.

Next time? Next time, really? Your face furrowed with disbelief. "I'm happy you're an optimistic man, Arthur, but next time'll be in your dreams."

"Don't get too cocksure, darlin'."

"You know, you look pretty good when your face has a big red mark on it from my fist." You commented, shuffling in bites as you spoke.

"Really? Well, I think you also looked pretty good tied up all these days." He countered, the smile he had on his face ever growing.

That smile, on that nasty man. You hated it.

"Leave me to finish my food in peace."

He hums in consideration. "As much as I'd like to, you aint tied back to the tree."

You glower at him, desiring to eat slower so you could spend more time to rest your rope burned wrists, but ridding yourself of his presence felt more important.

You stayed silent as you finished the rest of your food, which didn't take long, tossing the dish to his feet and laying back on the tree so he could re rope you.

"That's what I like to see from you, O'Driscoll." He nods with approval.

You ignore him, your pride hurt with every moment more you had to give into this man and his crook gang.

He ties you back up and returns to the heart of camp.

It wasnt long before you finally dozed off.

(Set after the scene when Keiran gets interrogated.)

You sat petrified, still as the tree behind you, gelding tongs. They pulled down his pants for it too, if Keiran hadn't spoken up, you feared you'd be subject to it as well.

Goosebumps had crept up your back just thinking about those searing hot metal peices anywhere near your barren skin.

Keiran had finally come up with something.

Six point cabin.

You recalled having been there a few times, but was Colm up there? Your guess was as good as Keirans unless he actually was sure of it.

Arthur finally released Keiran from the tree, pushing him to the direction of the horses, then he came to you.

"You get to join us too, O'Driscoll." A small sinister smile creeps on his face, cutting through your ropes. "You better hope he's not trickin' us."

"Either way, if I'm rid of you, it's fine with me." He finishes, pulling you to your feet, guiding you to his mount.

"I'll get the most joy out of that, I reckon." You affirmed, somewhat stumbling as he releases you.

"Whatever you say, princess." He chuckles, closely following you.

Arthur calls out to a John and Bill, telling them just what's about to happen.

Keiran and a man with a nasty scar on his face were mounting, if you had to assume, the name John seemed best to suit him.

The other - Bill who had to be the man that threatened to 'geld' Keiran, coincidentally the one who also ratted on you that not so faithful day.

As you reluctantly walked along, you passed your steed you so woefully desired to mount instead, your ticket out of here. But Arthur quickly dismissed the thought for you, pushing you to his horse instead.

You gave him a hard stare in return, frustrated with his shoving.

"We're gonna pay your buddies our respects." He announces, entirely unconcerned.

"They taking us to Colm?" Questions John, steering his horse away.

"That's what he says." Arthur attempted to lift you up but you wave away his hands and pull yourself up instead, as much as your arm protested in agony.

Keiran stuttered out his assumption on where the cabin and Colm was, they pushed their horses in the opposite direction of camp.

Arthur mounted on after you, and for the first few moments you chose to hang on to nothing, however as if he knew, he kicked his horse to a trot, prompting you to grab at his sides.

Even underneath his layer of clothing, you could feel his heavyset build that helped keep you steady. Looking him up and down, a shiny metal caught your eye.

You were captivated at the sight of your revolver, missing the feel of it at your side and in your palm whenever you saw fit.

He had taken your gun as if you weren't still alive to be the owner of it.

You clenched your jaw, angry at everything and now finally riding to your more likely than not demise, worse yet, possibly executed with your own gun.

He kicked his horse into a lope, leaving you clinging to his sides firmly.

He turned to look over his shoulder at you, clearly in response to your tightened grip.

A small smirk crossed his lips before peering back to the trail up ahead.

The rest of the entire ride consisted of Keiran condemning O'Driscolls, bickering and directions shouted from you and Keiran.

It didn't take very long at the speed in which you rode, though you feared slipping off everytime you didn't have a good hold on Arthur.

You approached a small hill, Keiran confirmed the destination upon arrival.

"Okay, off your horses." Arthur draws back the reins. "Let's go." His voice now low in tone.

He jumps off and you follow suit shortly after, sliding off the back of his horse.

John reminded you and Keiran as you snuck forward, that he was keepijg his eye on you. Although you felt Arthur had beat him to it, he stared daggers at you as you crept along with the rest of them.

"I ain't gonna shop you now, come on." Keiran assures. "That'd be suicide."

"You'll die, boy. But you'll lose your balls first." Warned Bill, his gravelly voice blunt as could be.

Bill wasn't a man you wanted to be too close to with threats like that, so you kept closer to Arthur.

"Jesus christ…" Keiran murmured under his breath.

The lot of you kept low as you came to a ridge overlooking the cabin.

Keiran gave the rundown, confirming they were in fact armed, drunk and not fond of strangers.

Colm would be in the same way, just in the comfort of the cabin, which you agreed on.

Unlike Keiran's declared opposition, the O'Driscolls were a gang you rode with for a good while and despite Colm's nasty behavior, you felt a large sense of betrayal. Betrayal or your life, as it was now.

Your thoughts interrupted by three men emerging from the small cover of young trees, conversing about something miniscule and not far from earshot.

Suddenly Keiran was grabbed by John, a gun to his head and a hand over his mouth.

Arthur followed suit, pulling you into him, losing your balance with his sudden pull, your own gun held to your head and any potential cries for help blocked by his rough hand.

The now non existent barrier betwen your back and his chest was closed, you could feel each breath and each nervous heart beat agaisnt you.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x you #lemon fanfic #rdr2 fanfic #red dead redemption arthur #red dead redemption two #red dead fanfic #enemies to lovers #rdr2arthur #rdr2 #arthur morgan fanfiction

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cyborgdragongirl · 1 year

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I love Warframe, so much.

The super fluid, only touch the ground to start another parkour sequence, the floor is lava, bouncing off walls and flying across rooms and down hallways style of movement.

The >utterly overwhelming< number of weapons available. Primaries range from bows (Paris, Dread) to rocket launchers (ogris) grenade launchers (penta, tonkor), a handheld laser cannon (opticor), spicy bows (Lenz and Bramma are both rocket launchers cosplaying as bows), an 18th century naval cannon (zarr), machine guns with a 200 round magazine (soma prime) and machine guns that get more accurate the longer you fire (Tenora my beloved), innately suppressed smg (baza). You want a chaining lightning gun that will kill the guy you’re aiming at, and the next two rooms of people via daisy chains? Amprex. if you need a tactical weapon for grouping enemies the Mutalist cernos shoots an arrow full of grabby tentacles that brings enemies together for group hugs. Do you need a rifle to hunt cthulu T-Rexes (eidolons)? Rubico (Prime) or, my favorite, Kuva Chakkhurr - a black powder musket that shoots moderately slow projectiles, high skill high reward, you land a shot, it’s gonna feel it. Here’s a goody - Tigris (Prime) - it’s a double barreled shotgun, with a duplex trigger - you squeeze the trigger, it fires one round, you release the trigger, it fires the second! really interesting to play with, though with the changes to shotgun status a few years ago it’s no longer the powerhouse it was, though quite potent. Phenmor is also one of my favorites, a precision semi auto rifle, land a couple headshots to charge it, and it evolves into an archgun (gun for mecha or exosuits, bigger, and badder) that’s basically a minigun. Corinth (prime) is cool, primary fire is crit based shotgun, alt fire shoots an air burst grenade you can manually detonate over enemies heads (prime version, regular corinth is locked at 20m detonation). Kohm is an auto shotgun that spoils up like a minigun, the higher the spool the more pellets it shoots, very ammo hungry, but man if it isn’t satisfying to point down a hallway and watch it fill with red mist. Astilla is a shotgun that shoots glass slugs that explode on impact. Arcs Plasmor shoots solid walls of energy. like straight up, point down hallway, and you shoot a bright blue (ur energy color) brick wall of plasma. you can’t miss. Simulor is a gun that shoots miniature black holes. Trumna charges it’s alt fire with the literal souls of the enemies you kill. Shedu and Bubonico are the weapon arm cannons of sentient (enemy robot faction) that we ripped off and stole.

secondaries are have a bit less variety, but we’ve still got oodles of goodies

Pandero, a pocket sniper rifle, this lil handcannon is hella accurate for reaching out to touch someone, and alt fire dumps the entire magazine in an automatic burst. Laetum is the cooler pandero, land a few headshots and it evolves into an automatic assault rifle. Lex (Prime) was my starchart clearing gun, back in the day. space deagle. Nukor (and it’s cooler older sister Kuva Nukor (Kukor)) are similar to the amprex in that they chain to enemies, however they also have the quirk of having the highest critical damage in the game, with the lowest critical chance. (there’s shenanigans you can do to force them to crit, making them devestating). Pyrana (Prime) is an auto shotgun, it’s got high spread and high rate of fire, but get in their face and drop mag and see the magic. Zakti (Prime) shoots small needles that explode in clouds of aoe gas after a moment, really good for priming status effects and swapping to melee or primary to take advantage of. Euphona Prime - look, i love it, it’s not great, you gotta build it exclusively for the slug firemode or for the shotgun fire mode. it’s really cool, you should try it if you can, but it’s solidly just okay. Sepulcrum feeds on the souls of its victims to power its alt fire, and it’s just a massive beefy fuckin pistol straight out of 40K. Tenet Spirex force procs impact, and with the hemorrhage mod you can guarantee you turn some of those impact procs into bleed procs for DOT damage. Athodai is straight up like retro sci-fi laser pistol, it shoots beams, and alt fire has a big burst of energy aoe in front of you. Twin Kohmak are like the kohm, but smaller, and akimbo, for pocket dakka. Twin Grakata MOAR DAKKA. A beloved meme gun in the warframe community. just two fuckin bullet hoses that will eat your ammo faster than you can find it. truly one of the guns of all time, and a joy to fire.

and don’t think for a moment i’m going to forget about melees lmao.

we got Nikanas (space katana - nikana (prime) , skiajati ), we got greatswords(Gram (prime), Galatine (prime)), we got throwing glaives(Glaive(prime) Xoris), we got gun blades (like think those bizarre renaissance era swords with guns built into the hilts? got it? yeah, those, but space-y. redeemer (prime), sarpa), we have claws (venka) , we have sword & board (silva & aegis) scythes (reaper prime), hammers (heliocor, jat kittag), dual blades up the wazoo, single daggers, dual daggers, fist weapons, fist and feet weapons, war fans (quassus, arum spinosa), staves (Bo, pupacyst), tonfa (kronen), a gigantic saw (ghoulsaw), rapiers (endura, ), blade & whips (atterax, lacera)

#warframe #long post #totally normal about this game #also i own almost every weapon #i’m missing the most recent 5

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angelictyphoon · 10 months

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@strywoven for sloan

The man in the reflection of Agustin’s General and Feed Store is not Vash the Stampede. With his reflection superimposed over the peeling poster taped to the inside of the display window, a passerby might claim that he bears a passing resemblance to the legendary outlaw responsible for the JuLai incident.

To everyone else here in this small town, he is just Eriks.

9:30AM.

The day has only just begun, and the list of chores he has is still long. Eriks adjusts the brown paper bag in his arms once more and cards through the contents one last time to ensure that nothing is missing. Grandma Sheryl has lectured him on the importance of precision before. Every week, they need to replenish their stock of: onions, potatoes, garlic, and ginger. No, dry won’t do. No, you can’t sub taro root for potatoes even though they are both tubers. And don’t forget to pick up a dozen tomas eggs!

He can feel his ears ringing already, and he hasn’t even stepped away from the storefront yet. Rolling a few potatoes out of the way and pulling back a few layers of wax paper is met with a small exhale of satisfaction through his nose.

Next, to pick up the latest double dollar novel penned by the Mc Caffrey sisters for Lina. He makes it about two steps, hand still half in the bag when he suddenly comes up into a solid wall of…fleshy mass?

“Oh, uh. Sorry about that. Didn’t see you there! Excuse me!” Eriks exclaims, giving the unmoving mountain a pat on the shoulder as he strafes around the man to continue further into town. Before he can get out of arm’s reach, Eriks suddenly feels himself yanked backward by his shirt collar and is unceremoniously pressed up against Agustin’s window panes.

“You. This you? You’re Vash the Stampede?” A pudgy finger presses into the glass next to his head. The man, dressed in raider leathers and spikes, lets out a garbled snort from the back of his throat when Eriks does not answer right away. The glint in his eyes is hungry and set. A predator who would take any excuse to latch onto their prey drive. “Look like him.”

“You know ‘im? I alwaysh wanted t’know what he was like.” His voice is distorted from being squished against the glass. He manages to push back against the man’s hand at his back and glances at the holster at the bandit’s hip, then continues, “Hey! Let’s talk about him over there. It’s too noisy over here. I’m Eriks. You are..?”

“I’m Ten-Shots. ‘Cuz that’s all I need…Vash the Stampede.”

Uh-oh.

“Hey, let’s not get hasty, I just–”

A crack rings out and a line of dust shoots up next to his foot where Ten-Shots fired a bullet directly into the ground. The quick-draw doesn't make him flinch.

Okay, then. So talkie time was over. Eriks looks down at the disturbed ground, then back up to meet Ten-Shots’ squinting, focused eyes looking at him down the barrel of his gun.

“So…what happens after you shoot ten times? Does that mean you let me go?”

And then he runs, taking off in the opposite direction away from the center of town while hugging his precious cargo close to his chest. An onion bounces out, rolling off to the side and stopping against the wooden step of the local barber’s, but he can’t turn back for it now as bullets spit up dirt at either side of him. Grandma Sheryl will just have to forgo the French onion soup this week.

How many shots were they at? Four?

Bang!

Five.

#strywoven #sloan.#[ planet era: 0105 ]#i set this not long after julai. hope that's okay! let me know if i can tweak anything to make it easier for ya #the rare eriks!vash makes an appearance

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geocait0815 · 2 years

Text

Demons Grasp - Chapter 18

Warning: This chapter contains viloence and death.

We are rounding the building while staying close to the wall. About ten meters ahead of us I can see a dimly lit doorway. Two men are standing guard to either side of the door holding semi automatic guns crossed over their chests. Beaker turns around to me and puts his index finger to his lips. Does he think that I was about to break into song?

Jacky breaks away from us and sneaks in a sem-circle towards the path leading up to the entrance, avoiding the illuminated area. At some point I am losing sight of her. But a few moments later, she comes strolling down the path casually, directly headed for the two guards. The men raise their guns and one of them steps forward.

“Stop!” Jacky puts up her hands. “Good evening, gentlemen. I am sorry for the disturbance. But my car broke down and I don’t have a phone with me. How stupid of me, I know. I already thought I’ll have to walk all the way back to town, when I saw lights down here. I was hoping you could help me out and call a mechanic?” “How did you get in here? This is private property.” Jacky takes another slow step towards him. “The gate was open.” Another step.

As she takes another step, standing almost right in front of the gun pointed at her, she pivots slightly and one of her raised hands hits the barrel of the gun, pushing it away from her. With her other hand, she grabs the folding stock close to the guard's chest and she pulls it towards her while kicking him in the crotch. The surprise makes him topple over and Jacky slams the weapon on his head, putting him to the ground.

In the meantime, the second guard attempts to spring into action. But before he can, a shot explodes next to me and he falls to the ground. It takes me a moment to realize that Midas shot him. The men move forward, grab the presumably dead guard and drag him away into the darkness, while Jacky ties up the unconscious one with zip ties that she produced from her pockets. I walk up to them slowly.

This was the second corpse I am confronted with in as many days. How many more will there be before the night is over? I should feel bad about this, guilty. At the very least I should be afraid. But none of these emotions kick in. Just like the other day I feel a strange calm settle over me.

“Do you think someone heard the shot?” I ask. “If so, then we will have company very soon. You better get your gun out as well.�� Beaker replies while already grabbing the second guard to pull him out of sight. I do as I’m told, fumbling briefly with the safety.

Now, the men position themselves on either side of the door, backs to the wall, guns held up. Jacky remains across from it and motions me to stand behind her. Beaker puts his hand on the door handle and probes it cautiously. It is not locked. Very slowly, he opens the door and Midas steps into the doorway. After a second, we hear him call “Clear!” So we follow him into the dark hallway.

From the plan I know that there are several doors to both sides of the corridor leading to smaller rooms. As we proceed towards the first corner, where the staircase will be located, all doors are being checked by Beaker and Midas in the same manner as the entrance, while Jacky and I stand guard outside.

This is taking forever. All I want to do is run to Jake. Jacky seems to sense my unrest. “We need to check all potential hiding spots. Just because the cameras did not pick anyone else up, does not mean that there weren’t more men out of sight. We would not want them to surprise us from behind, would we?” I shake my head and take a deep breath.

Finally, we reach the foot of the stairs. The men sneak upstairs while Jacky and I continue around the corner. At the end of this section I can already see the double-winged door leading into the main manufacturing hall. There is a lonely light bulb above it, the only light source in this hallway.

As we proceed down the hallway I can hear gunshots from somewhere.

Still, there are a few more doors to be checked. And just as we approach the last one before the end of the corridor, the door swings open and a man steps out while zipping his pants. He must have heard our steps and expected one of his colleagues, because he turns around with a grin, which quickly fades to confusion. But then it is already too late for him. Jacky tackles him and he topples over backwards. Standing over him, she smacks her gun to his head. There was hardly any sound during the entire encounter, aside a horrible cracking sound when metal hit bone.

Remind me to never get into that woman's way.

I catch up with her, stepping over the man's body while avoiding even looking at him. I’ll untangle all that trauma later. Jacky motions at a sign on the door saying ‘pull. I nod and we each put a hand on one door handle. On her sign, we pull the door open.

And then several things happen at the same time.

The first thing I see is a man with a gun pointed at Jake. That must be Cecil Hall. The second Jacky steps through the door he shifts to point the gun in our direction. Then he shoots and I see Jacky going down next to me. She grunts. Unsure, I take a step forward, holding my own gun in front of me. I should do something before Hall gets another chance at pulling the trigger.

But suddenly there is another man right next to me. Something hard hits my wrist and I can’t help but drop the weapon. The man steps in front of me and hits me in the face, hard. I can taste blood in my mouth. “Kill that bitch!” The order came from Hall. His voice sounds frantic.

I raise my arms in defense, but my attacker manages to land another equally hard hit. The impact makes me lose my balance and I fall to the floor. I try to stagger backwards, but he is on top of me immediately, hitting me again.

From the corner of my eye I see a movement. Jacky got back up to her knees. A shaky hand reaches the gun I’ve dropped and she shifts it over to me. Somehow, I manage to reach it before my attacker realizes what is happening. I pull it up and press the nuzzle right to his chest. When my finger finds the trigger, I hesitate for a second. Do I have it in me to kill a man?

I look up into his eyes and see pure hatred and desire to kill. The decision is simple. It is his life or mine. I choose mine.

And pull the trigger.

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

#duskwood #duskwood everbyte #duskwood fanfiction #duskwood fandom #jake duskwood #duskwood jake x mc #jake x mc

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my-mt-heart · 2 years

Note

can you do a minific where carol and daryl are enemies in a moment where theyre fighting but theres lots of sexual tension

At long last haha Just to be clear though, I have no intention of continuing this. It is what it is D=

Stupid Bitch

Imagine if Daryl’s and Carol’s first meeting wasn’t exactly friendly.

Daryl and Merle creep through the woods, dead squirrels dangling at their hips. Daryl has his crossbow raised, eyes trained on the ground. He signals his brother to halt, pointing to a fresh set of deer tracks.

The brothers give each other a look, Merle’s meth eyes expanding with anticipation. They approach the clearing where a doe nibbles on the vegetation. They crouch behind the bushes. Peeking over the top, Daryl lines up his shot. He’s about to squeeze the trigger when the doe lifts her head.

The bushes behind her rustle, and then a handful of walkers stumble out. She runs off before they can reach her. Merle spits on the ground angrily.

Merle: Hell, no! Them dead sons of bitches ain’t stealin’ ole Merle’s dinner tonight. C’mere you ugly, rotten, dead pieces of shit!

He storms the clearing, drawing his knife.

Daryl: Merle!

He starts to follow his brother until a twig snaps behind him. He swings his crossbow around… nothing’s there. He waits a beat, bracing for danger, but everything’s eerily silent and still.

Daryl: Come out!

No answer. No movement. Daryl steps forward very carefully, reaching the bushes where he heard the noise. Slowly, he pulls back the branches and —

BAM. Daryl meets the butt of a shotgun, falling to the ground. He groans.

Through his double vision, a WOMAN appears over him, pushing her face closer to his until everything realigns and he can see her clearly. Her gray hair is shorn, her skin caked in dirt. She’d look unhinged if not for her eyes. They’re soft, frightened, very blue, and very pretty.

Daryl’s still in a daze, partly from the pain and partly from the woman’s captivating features, when she takes his squirrels in a hurry.

Daryl: Hey!

He tries to make a grab for them, touching her forearm by accident. She jerks away and shoves the barrel of the gun in his face. Her voice trembles.

Woman: Keep your hands off me!

Daryl raises his hands to his injured head. Their eyes connect, a sense of understanding passing between them briefly. Then anger takes over.

Daryl: You keep your damn gun off me!

He tries to move out from under it, perturbed by an intense wave of pain. She prods him with the barrel again.

Woman: Where is it? Your lighter?

Daryl: Huh?

Woman: I saw you using it earlier. Where is it?

Daryl: Where do you think?

She barely hesitates before reaching into his pant pocket. This time, Daryl’s the one practically leaping out of his skin.

Daryl: The hell, lady!?

The woman retrieves the lighter, gathers everything else up including Daryl’s crossbow, and scrambles to her feet. She looks down at Daryl, conflicted.

Woman: I had to.

She bolts out of there as fast as she can. Daryl finally manages to sit up, groaning miserably. Merle bursts through the bushes, his clothes and his face smeared with blood.

Merle: Ain’t no geeks tryin’ steal our shit and gettin’ away with it. Nuh-uh. These woods are only big enough for two thieves. The Dixon brothers!

His crazed energy turns to confusion when he sees Daryl struggling to stand up.

Merle: Christ on a—the hell happened to you?

He pulls Daryl up roughly. Daryl throws him off.

Daryl: Could ask you the same thing, asshole!

Merle: Where’s your shit? Don’t tell me you lost those rodents!

Daryl glares at Merle, wanting to take a swing at him, but he doubles over instead.

Merle: You gonna keep actin’ like a pussy or you gonna tell me who did this so we can kill the bastard?

Daryl: Was a woman.

Merle: A woman?

Daryl: Yeah.

Merle: Bullshit! Ain’t no woman out here on her own.

Daryl: Ain’t lyin’! Snuck up on me. Hit me in the head with her shotgun.

Merle looks stunned. Then he huffs a laugh.

Merle: I’ll be damned, lil’ brother. That is just like you to meet a female and get screwed in the head. Lucky for you, I’ve snagged more of them in my life than I have the four legged ones and I’ve snagged me a bunch of those too. We’ll find her.

Daryl peers back at the bushes where the woman escaped, his anger burning white hot.

Daryl: Stupid bitch.

#caryl #caryl scenes #darylneedscarol

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greenkirbkid456u · 1 year

Text

The Spiral Eye Traveler part 2

(Ps none of these characters are they all are made by arcadekitten )

(Hyllindrix and jaxter are see running towards the smoke until they reach the bar)

H: well god damn! Was this giant hole always here!

J: No! Not at all those damn Bandits put a hole in the bar wall!

H: hey look i got this im a Sheriff (he is not)

Your town will be fine :)

J: for some reason I'm even more worried now

(Hyllindrix run in to the bar)

H: HEY WHICH ONE OF YOU FUCKERS WANTS A ASS WOPPING!!

J: how will yelling help??

H: what? This will intimidate them :)

?: HEY!

J: oh no is them.

H: its who?

V: the names vasilis this is mitzi and Reginald and we are the gem Bandits!

M: ah hell yea!! We stealing your shit boi

R: ( whispering) vasilis you said we stealing the towns diamond and i hate to have to tell you this but we are at a bar. Why are we here?

V: (whispering) yea yea i know don't worry this is part of the plan ;)

R: how?

V:well you see someone in this bar works at the bank and if (vasilis starts yelling) THEY DON'T COME OUT NOW EVERYBODY IN HERE GETS BLOW UP IN THIS BUILDING!!

R: okay calm down vas!! Noone needs to die!

H: yea and noone will not when I'm around >:)

V: the hell are you going to do? Bore me to death? Cuz everyone else I fight just loses to me after just a few turns

M: oh really! You never told us that you usually lose multiple fights you are in

V: SHUT UP MAN!!

J: yea there right look hyllindrix these guy are a joke don't let them intimidate you i just want to know how they got the bombs?

V: oh look what you done now they he knows

M: shit sorry :(

R: surprised he didn't know before

H: oh if thats the case this fight should be easy!

J: oh! Yea right you're a Sheriff right! Then they should be easy for you!

H: yea with my 1 year of Sheriff training in High School this should be easy >:) (right.. He said nervously)

J: (omg) are you actually a sheriff or were you just lying!

H: lying :)

J: i hate all of you.

V: look i don't care about pedantics we fighting or not?

H: hell yea we fighting!! Bring it on…uhhhh hey before we fight what are your pronouns?

V: them\they why?

H: can't insult someone without knowing their pronouns first bring it on cunt!!

V: in that case(vasilis pulls out a gun) bring it on fucker!!

H:alright then if you want to die so bad (hyllindrix pulls out a shotgun)

M: oh yeah killing time ( Mitzi pulls out sticks of dynamite from they're vest)

R:sorry about this i really am but it's just business (he pulls out two double barrel shotguns)

J:well i see where they got the bombs from!

H:OH WOW hey jaxter my good friend can you. Help me (please he said worryingly)

J:look man i would help but I don't know how to fire a gun let alone even have a guns!

H: welp shit ("._.)

H: hey fellas let ta-

V: FIRE!!(vasilis and Reggie start blasting and Mitzi start throwing bombs)

H: oh shit!!

J: oh no! (Jaxter ducks behind cover)

H: (hyllindrix start to desperately trying to dodge and is some how's succeeding) FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK!!!

J:( whispering) wait i have an idea!!

V: grrr stand still!!

H: oh oh oh what the matter? Can't hit me aw there there i have something that can help you out my guns and fists!! (He shots his gun at vasilis)

V: (they Dodge out the way) HA you miss me!!

H: yea that did but i won't!! (Hyllindrix jumps into the air) howdy cunt!!

M: oh god boss look out!!

V: wait wh-(hyllindrix land on top of them)

H: sorry buddy but we are playing my game now!!( and then he start beating the shit out of them)

V: ow shit!

H: HA HA!!

V: ow ow shit help me idiots im you're boss!!!

M: uh ok!(she tries to get him off this only results in hyllindrix grabbing them and start wailing on them too)

H: HA HA!! Got you!!

M: oh shit!! Ow ow fuck why do you have four arms now???!!!

V: yea what gives??

H: he he he you FOOLS i am made out of 90% slime!!!

V: ( them grab fist and hyllindrix fist and then the fist sticks to vasilis hand) ew he's right what the hell are you?

H: i don't know :D

R: ok this is getting ridiculous and you three just look like idiots… wait. Where is the fox?

J: right here bi-

R: yea no( he grabs jaxter by his neck)

J: EUK..kuk ek

R: listen here you little shit i have I have been trying for years to find her had to pair up with these two idiots that only care about money i don't know what traumatic experience made them like this and i don't care i-

H: what the oh god jaxter!! Wait i have a idea hey Mitzi

M: yea?

H: do you want to have a teammate hug with Reginald >:)

M: first off it would be a sibling hug second off. NO!!

H: well too bad!! ( hyllindrix takes the lighter in mitzi's pocket out lights the dynamite on her vest and then Chuck her at Reginald)

M:ffffffffuuuuuuu

R: (Reginald puts down jaxter and then put a shotgun in his face) so say out of my way you insect or you will be sorry

J: cough cough. Hey you may want to look behind you

R:why would i do that? I already know you're going to sneak attack me so-

J:(Jaxter moves out the way) because of her!

M:ckkkkkkkkkkkkkk

R:oh sh- aAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

:(they they both crash into the wall)

M:fuck my back…

R: Mitzi what the hell happened why (b:tic tock tic tock) well fuck

Boom!!!(they both go flying out of the bar)

M and R: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

THUD!!!( they both hit the ground HARD causing them to fall unconscious)

R: wElp nIGht NigHTzzzzzzzzzz

M: HA Ha THe STars Are PREttyzzzzzzz

H: nice!!!

V:shit!!!

J: well damn hyllindrix guess your not as dumb as I fought

V: shit shit shit!!( vasilis runs runs over to the two unconscious dummys) god damnnit you morons get over here(they then put both of them over their shoulders they are somewhat struggling) you won't get away with this You Haven't Seen the Last of The Gem Bandits!!!

H:he he see jaxter told you it would be fine.

J: yea guess you were right you're not so bad after-

(All the town people start cheering) hooray you stop the bandits!! Thank you!!!

H: aw shucks its nothing I was just doing what was right i just made sure the gem was safe.

?: well about that( the mysterious person said sadly)

H: what wha- what do you mean?

?:well my name is Emerald I'm the mayor of the City and i hate to tell you but the diamonds been stolen :(

H: WHAT WHEN??

J: last week I was going to tell you earlier but you know

E: yea is sucks and i was trying to find someone brave enough to go find it

H: well shit.. But hey i can help!!

E: oh thank god thought I was going to have to convince you to do it in that case you and jaxter can go and find the diamond :)

J: WAIT WHY ME?????

E: because you we're in the fight lol but hey don't worry if you lose your job( what you most likely will because how long you're going to be gone) I'll give you guys $2,000 dollars if you can get the Diamond back!

J: look that good bit i have n-

H: great come on new buddy let's go find the diamond!! :D( hyllindrix grabs jaxter and then throws him on his horse) lets go!!

J:WAIT I DID NOT CONSENT TO THIS!!!!

E: good luck Brave Cowboys!!( please get the Diamond back please)

To be continued

#arcadekitten #blackout hospital #here for sweethearts #cemetery mary #hyllindrix #jaxter #vasilis #Emerald #Mitzi #Reginald #the spiraled-eye Traveler

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powderblueblood · 2 months

Note

the old Hollywood au makes me want to rattle the bars of my enclosure like coco the gorilla so 6 and 19 for the old Hollywood gang?

interrogate me about my characters

goddammit you know how this gets my motor runnin!!!!!!

6. THEIR VICES (PHYSICAL OR EMOTIONAL)

steve harrington is a semi functional alcoholic with a fully functional penis that rarely gets hard these days without the help of a little playful roughhousing aka he loves getting hit in the face sexual style by women, especially unassuming women such as…

beadie pike, who likes playing human dress up but even better if her life sized dolls whimper when she harmlessly pricks them with a sewing pin. she loves a man who’s good about letting her tie him to his carved mahogsny four poster bed and letting her take control. she also loves caramels!

eddie munson (as in every universe) likes to be swept off his feet and treated a little special. even a country boy like him can turn a taste for the finer things in life, like caviar and blowjobs from flappers with double barrelled names.

pidge sterling likes guns, moonshine, cocaine and semi-public fornication (sometimes with blowjob giving flappers and company), otherwise known as puttin’ on the ritz. she’s a company man.

19. PEOPLE WHO THEY’VE HURT OR INDIRECTLY KILLED AND HOW IT AFFECTED THEM

steve harrington has three ex wives to his young name and sends them all extravagant easter baskets every year (always easter, for the nonsensical reason that christmas or valentines is too gauche), but nothing makes up for the fact that he was a bastard that became more and more evasive with each trip up the aisle. the flowers wilt, the fruit rots, yet each year he sends maude, dorothy and norma a weak but genuine attempt at an apology. like his father used to do. steve is not quite so low that he’d attempt to send one to his mother—the harrington estate must be full of them by now.

beadie pike still sees her family every sunday for tea, even if she doesn’t go to church with them. she lies and says that the studio keeps her at such strange hours that she attends a different service in west hollywood, and watches her sister bounce a baby on her knee, a baby that doesn’t belong to her. beadie brings her mother scarves of silk stolen from the wardrobe department in the hopes that she’ll look her in the eye again one day, but a woman of god will not be swayed by frills of vanity.

eddie munson doesn’t think much about the people he’s shot in the swinging wind of grand railroad larceny, except with the booze runs out and the night becomes thin and the car doesn’t tear fast enough through the arid valley he sometimes rides through. he knows this is a new lease on life, in the eternal sunshine of los angeles, but he’s still paying off an old lease in kentucky. each week, eddie tucks a quarter of his steadily growing pay check into an envelope bound for kentucky, addressed to wayne munson, care of allen munson and hopes the money doesn’t liquify into hooch before it reaches his ailing uncle’s hands. it’s the least eddie can do, stealing away into the night like that, all those years ago.

pidge sterling wonders if her family blame her for her late ex-husband’s demise. it’d be easy to—died of a broken heart after she left, or more accurately almost drowned face down in his own claw foot bathtub under mysterious circumstances. it would’ve been easy for his family to pin it on her too, but the fact that sterling senior is a district attorney probably made them reconsider. but, he survived, if now non-verbal and confined to a sick bed for the rest of his days. pidge knows the depth and extent of what a disappointment she is; not only an embarrassment to her family having left this once fine man, but a tragedy following it, seeing what became of him. that small, pathetic line of thinking makes pidge wish she had killed him. at least then her family could demonise her for something that was actually her fault, not something that was done to her within the confines of marriage.

#powder room talk #decreations #WOW shoutout to the fact that this is the first thing I’ve written that I’ve liked in ages LOL #steve harrington #eddie munson #beadie pike #pidge sterling #e. munson by powder #s. harrington by powder #burn like nitrate

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laneynoir · 7 months

Text

Day 6

Tauriel/Kili

Prompts used: Made to watch/"It should have been me"

Me at nearly two am for some reason: hmmm... zombies.

"They're getting closer, Meleth, and we're almost out of the ammunition"

Kili swears under his breath, and steadfastly refuses to even glance at the gass monitor. "Check the glove compartment, and the toolkit under your seat." He swerves to avoid another body as the redhead shakes open the rickety door. She makes a small noise of satisfaction when she finds a couple small boxes that rattle when she shakes them.

Tauriel tosses the gun in her hand to the back seat and swaps it for the double-barrel shotgun, quickly loading it and poping up through the sun roof that has long since lost its glass. Two shots and four adversaries down, she reloads and takes aim again. It hardly makes a dent in the numbers that follow them.

She sinks back into the seat,and flicks the safety on as a second thought. "This is only wasting bullets, how far can we get in this thing?" Silence answers her question better than any words ever could. "Ah. Well then."

"I have an idea," Tauriel knows that tone. "And it's probably both a bad one, and a dangerous one."

"But it may work?" It's strange, that even now she can manage a smile.

"Aye, it may work."

After a short explination of what will probably be their death, Tauriel scrambles around the trashed vehicle, stuffing everythibg the can into the duffle bags. Guns, blankets, ancient granola bars, a keychain with a thermometer on it, and a bag of makeup are only some of the random assortments that makeup the strange haul. She goes so far as to pull the radio from the console, earning a flirtatious whistle from the partner.

"Up there, do you see it?" Tauriel looks forward, the imcline is sharp, which will slow their adversaries down... Hopefully enough. The path to the top of the hill is covered in trees, most dead, which makes what they're about to do somewhat less painful, but she still regrets the necessity, the treetops remind herof home.

Home, so long gone, lost forever. No, that's not entirely true, she glances at the driver, hair wild about his face and stubble growing somewhat wild from negligence.

Kili is flooring the accelerator, and as soon as they reach near the top of the imcline, Tauriel has the duffle bags to grab, and a homemade fire starter at the ready. Kili wrenches the wheels to the side, turning the car so that it block the road and puts it in neutral. Kili grabs three of the bags, leaving Tauriel with one and the lighter.

As soon as rhe flames lick at the cardboard paperwork roll filled with drier lint and hair spray, Tauriel stuffs it past the fule cap and takes off over the over side of the hill, looking back in time to see the car begin twisting down hill into a river of decaying body's clawing their way up. But what makes her blood run cold is Kili's leg twists and he falls to the ground under the weight of their supplies.

She can do nothing as the fire sparks the car into am explosion and pieces of metle are flung onto the air. The sudden brightness blinds her, and when she regains her sights, the fire has enveloped the entire area, and is spreading fast toward her. Logic and emotion tear her apart from the inside, but even now the flames lick at her boots as she slowly backs up, staring into the fire that had stolen her home.

#whumptober 2023 #lotr #modern AU #kili/tauriel #kiliel #tauriel/kili #kili x tauriel #thats enough of that then #shocking tun of events: i still dont know how to tag shit #my fic

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bridget-hatair · 2 years

Text

He lied and they died

Ankoku had been in the best mood since last night upon hearing the good news from his partner, Ulan. The two of them were going to start their own little family, something he had hoped would happen in his lifetime. For the first time in ages, he felt like a regular person and not a creature from the Void all thanks to Ulan. They meant the world to him, feelings he didn’t even know he had rising to the surface whenever his mind drifted in the direction of daydreaming about his partner.

The Viera went through the process of unlocking the door leading into his apartment but grew confused when he found the locks already disengaged. Odd. Did he forget to lock the door when he left earlier? Thinking nothing of it, Ankoku opened the door to his small apartment and stepped inside. Almost immediately he heard someone else in the room and flicked on the lights. And to his surprise, Bridget was there!

“Hey, Bridget! Man, I have the best news for you,” Ankoku said as he walked over to the Miqo’te.

“I don’t care,” was her reply, bright green eyes flicking over to look at the Viera. Both of her eyes were bloodshot and bruised, her nose showing signs that it had recently been broken and snapped back into place. Her clothing was simple, a stretch of black fabric wrapped around her chest where a set of pantyhose were attached to a pair of black shorts.

“Oh, we’re still doing this?” Ankoku asked, deflated. “Are you going to tell me what happened?”

“Nope. I have no plan on telling you anything,” she shot back, returning her attention to the cabinet she was rooting through.

“Okay… So, are you going to tell me why you’re here then?”

“I’m taking what’s mine,” Bridget muttered as she tossed in several boxes of ammo into a large black duffel bag.

“Bridget, none of this stuff is yours. This is all my stuff.”

“No, it’s not. It’s Kakeru’s belongings. And last I checked, this shit is all mine. He didn’t leave you shit in his will. Don’t worry, I won’t take it all, but I’m taking everything that he left me.”

“You can’t just… Come in here and take whatever you want, Bridget. I thought we agreed to share all this?” Ankoku asked before lighting a cigarette.

“I changed my mind,” Bridget said, glaring over at Ankoku. “The guns, soul-stones, ammo, his sword… All of it is mine.”

“Whoa, hold on now. I’m not giving you his sword. You gave that to me!”

“Yeah and now I’m taking it back.”

Bridget looked over at Ankoku and glared at him as she filled the duffel bag. She moved over to another cabinet and threw open the doors revealing an impressive collection of soul-stones. Using one hand the Miqo’te swept them all into the bag and before moving onto the next cabinet, threw a few of the stones out onto the floor. Ankoku watched as she opened the display case housing all of their firearms and carefully placed the double barrel shotgun, bolt action rifle and both handguns into the bag. Once they were secure she took the ammo for each gun and dumped it into the bag, zipped it shut and slung it over her shoulders.

“The sword. Give it to me,” she said, extending her hand.

“Not happening,” Ankoku said with a shake of his head.

The Miqo’te let out an annoyed sigh and stormed over to the other display case. She took hold of the door handle and tried to open it only to find that it was locked. With almost no effort, Bridget broke off the handle and ripped the door out of its frame, causally tossing it aside. Now that the door was out of her way she reached in and took the sword that had once belonged to Kakeru.

Ankoku stormed over to Bridget and reached out to grab her by the shoulder. She was faster than he was, ducking out of the way and stepping off to the side. The Miqo’te transferred the sword to her left hand before drawing the black blade, surprising Ankoku with her willingness to use the weapon on him. She pointed the tip at his chest and shook her head, as if to tell him not to try taking the sword from her.

“Can you at least tell me why you’re doing all of this?” he asked, arms crossed over his chest.

“Your carelessness and lies caused the death of my parents,” Bridget spat out, glaring death at the Viera. “You said they were safe! You even said you made the extra effort to ensure they were safe! BUT NO! YOU FUCKING LIED!”

Bridget flipped the sword around and lashed out at Ankoku, smacking the flat side of the blade against his head. She snarled and took a step forward after flipping the blade around, holding the sharp edge against Ankoku’s neck again. For a while neither of them said anything, a hurt look washing over Ankoku’s features.

“I’m sorry… I didn’t think she’d go after them since she didn’t know where they were.”

“WELL SHE FUCKING DID!” Bridget screamed at him. “YOU LIED AND THEY DIED! FUCK YOU, YOU LYING PIECE OF SHIT!”

Ankoku sighed, reaching up with one hand to push the blade away from his neck. Despite his best efforts, Bridget was clearly stronger than him, adamant about keeping the blade where it was. As he tried ti push it away she pushed against him, pressing the sharp blade against the soft flesh of his neck.

“I never want to see you again, Ankoku. We’re through being friends.”

Bridget whipped the sword away from the Viera and quickly sheathed it before making her way over to the front door. She glared back at Ankoku who was having a staring contest with the floor. He had a look of regret on his face, finally knowing what was going on with his former friend.

“Oh, Yuki and Ulan are fired. I don’t need their help anymore.”

And, with that, Bridget stormed out of the apartment, slamming the door behind her. She started preparing the proper spell to teleport herself away and in the blink of an eye was simply gone, leaving behind no trace that she was even there. Inside the apartment Ankoku remained where she had left him looking hurt and feeling sorry for himself. After a few minutes he sighed and started cleaning up the mess Bridget had made, humming a somber tune to himself as he worked.

0 notes

ankoku-n · 2 years

Text

Lies

“Hey, Bridget! Man, I have the best news for you,” Ankoku said as he walked over to the Miqo’te.

“Oh, we’re still doing this?” Ankoku asked, deflated. “Are you going to tell me what happened?”

“Nope. I have no plan on telling you anything,” she shot back, returning her attention to the cabinet she was rooting through.

“Okay… So, are you going to tell me why you’re here then?”

“I’m taking what’s mine,” Bridget muttered as she tossed in several boxes of ammo into a large black duffel bag.

“Bridget, none of this stuff is yours. This is all my stuff.”

“You can’t just… Come in here and take whatever you want, Bridget. I thought we agreed to share all this?” Ankoku asked before lighting a cigarette.

“I changed my mind,” Bridget said, glaring over at Ankoku. “The guns, soul-stones, ammo, his sword… All of it is mine.”

“Whoa, hold on now. I’m not giving you his sword. You gave that to me!”

“Yeah and now I’m taking it back.”

“The sword. Give it to me,” she said, extending her hand.

“Not happening,” Ankoku said with a shake of his head.

“Can you at least tell me why you’re doing all of this?” he asked, arms crossed over his chest.

“I’m sorry… I didn’t think she’d go after them since she didn’t know where they were.”

“WELL SHE FUCKING DID!” Bridget screamed at him. “YOU LIED AND THEY DIED! FUCK YOU, YOU LYING PIECE OF SHIT!”

“I never want to see you again, Ankoku. We’re through being friends.”

“Oh, Yuki and Ulan are fired. I don’t need their help anymore.”

0 notes

piratesfromspace · 2 years

Text

Atlas (Triple Frontier)

Pairing: Triple Frontier boys/Fem!Reader

Word count: 5k

Rated: Explicit

Summary: Mysterious soldiers attack your home and take you and Frankie hostage...

Note: After that last tooth-rotting fluff of a crack fic I wrote for Christmas, we’re back to usual business with some very angsty hurt/comfort & smut involving a bunch of hot brooding killers as love interests. I’ve split this text in 3 chapters because I’m a fancy ass bitch, but it’s just a long one-shot. Also I can not recommend enough @charnelhouse Watch Your Step, which inspired me to finish this fic that was sleeping in my WIP for literal months.

TW: unwanted sexual touching & implied threat of rape (this is brief and stays pretty vague, but please be careful when reading if that’s a trigger for you), implied past abuse, home invasion, torture, blood & injuries, PTSD, overall canon-typical level of violence & angst

CW: poly vibes, showering together, consensual smut

PART 2 // PART 3

MASTERLIST

I. Fire

There is a shout and you wake up with a groan.

What the fuck is Frankie doing?

Are the three others already back? They left like 15 minutes ago for the town, or were you actually asleep longer?

From the haze of your nap, you're slow to understand something is wrong.

And then the unmistakable sound of a shot being fired feels like a bucket of ice water thrown in your face.

Oh shit oh shit oh shit

There is more shouting and heavy steps on the stairs up to your floor. You guess men, at least 2 or 3.

You grab your phone, send a single word to the group chat.

ATLAS

You pray to all the gods of war they will get the message.

You know they haven't forgotten the word. The dreaded word, meaning it's bad. Really bad. As in “the safehouse is compromised” bad. You had only used it once, a long time ago, when the crappy flat you've been hiding in for a mission in Columbia had been discovered.

And you know none of you would use it for a joke.

You never thought you had to use it again, but it seems your previous life is catching up on you. The former sins never really leave the sinner.

ATLAS

Shots fired

There is an hesitation before you type out the next words. But there is no hiding the truth.

Catfish status unknown

You hit send the second Santi's answer appears on your screen.

ETA 20min

It’s a long-ass time in a situation like this. You know it. They know it. No use in lying right now.

The three dots meaning Santi's typing a new answer are blinking, but the steps are getting too close now. You throw the phone under the bed and dive on the nightstand to reach for the gun hidden there.

That's when the door flies open. A mass of black fabric and shiny parts crashes into you before you can remove the safety of the gun. You land heavily on the wooden floor, the firearm gliding too far from you reach. The violence of the attack punches the air out of your lungs. Pain surges, unexpected and brutal, albeit familiar. You thought you had managed to forget about it, but you guess your body couldn't bury the memory of the bruises blooming and the bones straining to stay in one piece.

But with pain comes the adrenaline, hot in your veins, urging you to do something, anything. You kick and fight and scream. And the mass on top of you finally moves. The cold barrel of a gun is pressed on your brow, and you think that's it. That's the end. That's how you're gonna die. Just awaken from a nap, in the space you thought the safest on hearth, pressed on the floor of your own bedroom. You've gone weak, you think. Just a couple years ago, you would have no problem keeping on the fight.

One of the men is seizing your arms and yanking them in your back, and you hear the small buzzing noise those double zip ties handcuffs make when being closed.

Oh.

So you're not gonna die right away.

They keep you there, flat on the ground, while one of the men checks the other rooms. You focus on the black boots in front of your face. Nothing else you can do. Military models. Clean, but not brand new. The leather is worn but well taken care of. Shit. This means it is not their first rodeo, means those guys are professionals to some extent.

You're pulled up by gloved hands roughly digging in your arms. Brought back down to the living room. You expected the place to be a battlefield, but apart from the 2 strangers clad in black and the hole of a bullet just above the couch, it looks deceptively tidy. And then you see him, Frankie, hands and ankles tied, kept on his belly by the boot of one of the brutes pressing between his shoulder blades. His hair is a mess, there's red on his face, but his eyes are wide open, frantically searching for yours.

Your attackers are five. They're all sporting the same black tactical gear, all wearing a hood except for one of them. Shaven head, a five o'clock shadow, mean clear eyes and a square jaw. A gnarly scar slashing white on his chin. You don't know him, but he definitely looks the part. You guess former military, probably went to work for private security companies, and every now and then some shady missions, easy and generously paid in cash by some unknown patrons.

"Bring me the girl." He orders his men when your eyes meet his.

You're yanked next to him, forcefully plopped on a kitchen chair. He comes closer and without any warning brings his fist to your guts. You let out a strangled cry. It hurts fiercely, and you think for a second you’re gonna puke.

“Just so you know we’re not here to play.”

It’s a message both to you and Frankie, who’s gritting his teeth, straining more than ever against his restraints.

“Now I’m sure both of you are trained to resist interrogation, but we will have to find a solution.” He continues, circling around you, before coming over Frankie and crouching in front of his face. He grasps his hair, forcing his neck in a painful angle.

“I’m gonna ask you something and you’re gonna answer. Ok?” he adds. “Or else I’m gonna start hurting your girlfriend over there, and it’s not gonna be pretty.” His tone is flat, devoid of anger or scorn. It’s freaking unnerving.

“So, tell me where they are? The three others…”

Frankie stays silent.

Well. That's bad news he knows about the whole team, but the simple fact he’s asking this question shows they’re not as prepared as they seemed to be. Real pros would have had the house under surveillance hours before breaking in, and would definitely have followed your boyfriends when they left half an hour ago. Good. In this shitty situation, that’s at least something good. All you need is to buy some time.

You’re still trying your best to not throw up, but you overplay the thing a little, keeping your head down, and heaving loudly. The hood-less man finally leaves Frankie alone, and comes back to you. The other soldiers stay put, but you catch some of their nervous little moves in the corner of your eyes. He grabs your jaw, fingers pressing bruises in your flesh, making you look at him. Showing his face like this, thinking he doesn’t have to hide it, what a fool.

“Where are they?” he asks again, turning to Frankie. “Fuck you” you answer, even if you know he’s not asking you. He slaps you, hard, and your head flies to the side. You don’t have to fake the pained grunt escaping your busted lips.

The sounds around you are muffled for a second, but you can hear Frankie swearing in Spanish and threatening to do all sorts of ugly things to your tormentor if he keeps hurting you.

But the man keeps asking “Where are they?” and honestly you could laugh, because it’s all so absurd. You’re still wearing those flimsy pj shorts and this oversized blue T-shirt you stole from Benny, and you’re tied up in our own living room, and there are 5 goons-for-hire trying to coax out of you the fact Pope and the Millers are just downtown shopping for car parts and frankly none of this makes sense, and you briefly wonder if you’re not just having another very vivid nightmare.

He hits you again, and warm blood trickles down your chin. Frankie’s rage just grows another notch, but he says nothing. He knows you can take it, the physical pain is like an old friend at this point, you’ve known worse in your previous life.

That is until your attacker switches tactics. He looks at Frankie, “I see you don’t want to talk” he removes his gloves and explains very calmly. “You know there are other ways to make people hurt. Maybe this will make you reconsider your choice.”

He’s not hitting you anymore, he just splays his hands on your thighs, then slides higher, on your sides, before he paws at your breast, only covered by the thin cotton of your T-shirt. His touch is not rough. It’s soft, the touch of a lover.

Except he’s not.

You freeze. You could easily headbutt him, or throw your knee into his crotch, or try to flee. But your muscles refuse to obey. It’s not like a panic attack, you’re not hyperventilating or screaming or crying. It’s worse actually, you can’t focus on anything else but his flesh on yours. It burns like acid. There is bile in the back of your throat, and terror in the pit of your stomach. You’re stuck on this freaking chair, helpless, and as soon as you catch up with his intentions, it's like your mind has left your body. You're not in control anymore, you can't even speak, words stuck into your throat even though you want to scream. The feeling is unfortunately not new, although it doesn't lessen its violence, quite the contrary - you’re that terrified teenager again, caught in a room you can’t escape. This is a nightmare, you think again.

Frankie sees it, your terror, the sideration. He forgets his angry swearing to speak in quick and soft words, voice shaky as he's begging for the man in black to stop.

I'll tell you everything, don't do this

Please

Stop

Please

The gentle thud of a bullet being shot through a silencer registers as the same time one of the soldiers heavily hits the ground. A second guy falls down limply just before a smoke grenade detonates behind you. In the span of a second everything turns to chaos. You use to thrive in chaos, and the perfectly timed diversion allows you to regain some control over your body - finally. You throw yourself on the ground, your shoulder and ribs landing with a loud crack on the hard tiles.

Bullets are flying around for a brief moment as the three remaining attackers are firing back, but they’re quickly terminated or at least hurt enough to not be able to fight. All you can see through teary eyes is grey smoke, and your lungs are burning from it, but you know it means this nightmare will be over.

Familiar shoes enter your visual field as the smoke lazily dissipates, and Will’s face is suddenly next to yours.

“Fuck, are you hurt?”

The inhuman sound you make when he grabs your upper arm seems to indicate you are.

“Shit, don’t move, don’t move.”

You feel a cold blade grazing your wrists and you’re free, finally flopping on your back. The same blade slashes through your T-shirt, baring your dislocated shoulder to Will’s gaze.

“Fuck. Shit.”

Language you think, too high on adrenaline and pain.

“It’s gonna hurt a little babe, I’m sorry.”

Will is not very fond of nicknames, it should be really bad.

“Ok, don’t move” You would not be able to even if you wanted to. He grabs your injured arm and instructs you to “just breathe.”

You do, and then he pulls and twists, and the bones of your shoulder click back in place. You let out a groan as your vision darkens, the pain piercing through your chest, nasty and cruel.

You get back to your senses when Will lifts you up in his arms, carrying you out of the room, your good hand clutching at the strap of the sniper gun slung on his back. The living room is eerily silent, save for the low voices of Santi and Frankie talking to your abuser, reduced to a shapeless black heap lying at their feet and barely breathing.

“Don’t look” dryly comments Ironhead, and you can hear the cold anger in his voice although it's not directed at you. All you can catch is the glint of Santi’s combat knife and the squeaking of the man on the floor before you’re carried outside.

II. Aftermath

The rest is a blur. You remember being left on the back seat of a SUV, Benny at the wheel, freaking out at your disheveled and bloody appearance. You remember the long drive, hours, maybe even a whole day, and then the nice cabin next to this small lake - a very old family home of the Millers. You remember your boys taking turns guarding your new house, while the others could rest a little.

This little encounter has you drained for a week. Except for your shoulder, no major injury is accounted for. Bruises and cuts, some swellings and scratches, a very sensitive nose bridge and chafed wrists. Nothing new and nothing that should affect you this much. But you know it's more about the wounds of the mind than the physical ones. You're slow to recover and your newly-found insomnia is not helping. Fortunately, each time it's Will's turn to be able to sleep, he comes to your bed and cradles your body with his own - and that's the only way you can finally feel safe enough to fall asleep.

***

You wake up one day to discover Will is gone, and you hum in contentment at the realization you managed to sleep on your own. The modest room is gently lit by the late morning sun piercing through the cracks of the wooden shutters. You need a shower, and you desperately need to wash your hair. But with an arm out of service, it's not the easiest task. You silently pat through the narrow corridor and muffle a yawn while opening the bathroom door. You’re welcomed by the sight of Frankie's bare back, still damp from the shower he just took.

A few drops slide along the lean muscles of his back only to be caught into the towel around his waist. He’s not as broad as the others, not as strong, not as young. But what he lacks in pure physical strength, he makes up for in skills and patience. Both on the battlefield and in your bed. There is a smear of yellow on his golden skin, a faint bruise between his shoulder blades. A testimony of what had happened a week ago. You reach for it, and he lets you, looking at your blurred face into the mirror in front of him.

“Are you okay?” you ask, fingers ghosting over his skin.

“Do you need my help? To wash?” he answers instead.

He doesn’t complain when he leads you where he just was, turning on the water, making sure it’s not too cold. The room is still foggy and warm from his own previous shower, and you start to relax under the hot spray. Frankie handles your injured arm with care, but he’s not afraid to put some pressure on the rest of your body. You melt under his touch as his fingers explore each of your limbs. When he’s done, you lean against his chest and grip his arms to fold them on your belly, savoring the calming feeling.

“I’m sorry” he whispers, breaking the comfortable silence, “I’m so sorry”.

You understand what he’s talking about, and you’re not surprised he’s the one of the team who seems to harbour the most guilt. Catfish would always been the most susceptible to self-doubt, to letting himself drown into the dangerous spiral of self-loathing. He’s not looking for your pity, you’re sure of that. He just needs you to know this truth.

“I’m the one who’s sorry, I’m the one who should have saved you, we both know I’m better than you at close combat, Fish.” you end your sentence with a sad chuckle. He doesn’t protest, because he’s too smart for his sake, and he lets you have the final word. He will keep his guilt, no matter what.

He’s not the only one to feel guilty though. You’ve seen how the face of the others crumble when you flinch because of a jerky movement, when you seem to always be on high alert with each unexpected noise.

You are a wild thing, always had been - hard to approach, harder to tame.

And PTSD is not a new thing, not for them, not for you, it basically comes with the job. But you’ve usually managed to deal with it one way or another.

Until now. The other day, you almost punched Santi out of reflex when he gently pulled on your wrist to grab your attention. He had hopefully ducked in time to not finish with your fist into his nose. You had thrown yourself into his arms and apologized profusely, while he patted your back with a stunned face, trying to calm both you and himself.

Words thrown out in the dim light of the cramped kitchen, hoping that telling them out loud would make them true somehow.

It’s ok, love…

It’s ok…

***

It’s rare you spend more than a few days without fooling around with at least one of them. But it’s been almost three whole weeks and you’ve yet to venture further than a quick kiss or a very chaste shower with Frankie. The slickness between your legs when you wake up next to the firm and warm body of Will is sometimes hard to ignore. But you’re not so quite sure you actually want this.

When you’re alone for more than a couple minutes, you replay the events of that day in your head. And it’s like you could feel the ghost-touch of the man in black, on your jaw, on your thighs, on your breasts. As if he had left something on your skin, burning and impossible to ignore. No matter how long you shower, no matter how tight you wrap yourself into the sheets of your bed.

You realize that no one has asked you exactly what happened. Frankie had told Santi and then the others, but none of them seems brave enough to ask for your version. Or maybe it’s just they don’t want to upset you by forcing you to relive the handful of minutes who wracked your life so spectacularly. Thing is, you’re already rehashing them every fucking day. It’s obsessive, it’s swirling non stop at the back of your mind and you don’t know how to stop it. It feels like being caught in quicksand, it’s actually becoming worse the more you try to escape it. You can’t remember a mission, even the most precarious ones, settling their poisonous claws into your brain like this.

And the worst is you start feeling guilty too. Guilty because you’ve not only been unable to fight back then, you’re also unable to fight right now.

You’ve gone weak, weak, weak.

III. Healing

Each day looks like the previous one, and if it wasn’t for your bruises and scrapes gradually fading into your skin, you could swear time had stopped. During another eventless afternoon, you’re looking for that damn phone charger that you keep losing. Benny is by your side, not really helping but following you around like a freaking therapy dog. After emptying all the drawers in the bedroom, you blindly reach under the bed, in a desperate last resort. Your hand unexpectedly closes around something soft. You come out with a crumpled T-shirt in a familiar dark blue shade. It’s dirty, and stained in blood, and torn apart at the sleeve.

“Hey that’s my T-shirt, I’ve been looking f-...” Benny’s last words die on his lips when he remembers and understands what exactly it is. You’re too fazed to react. Eyes wide, a breath hitching in your throat. He gently pulls you against him.

“You can steal another one from me if you want, I promise I will only mildly complain about it.” he murmurs into your hair. You chuckle because he’s being dumb and that’s exactly what you need right now.

“I’m sorry Benny, I was too weak to even defend your favorite T-shirt…” you scoff.

“Hey, hey, look at me. Don’t joke about that, babe, you weren’t weak, ok?” He calls your bullshit with such candor, you can’t be mad at him. Calloused hands cradle your face. “I’m sure you did what you could.” he goes on, and you feel a little lost in the grey-blue of his kind eyes, “you know, if you… if you feel ready, you can tell me what happened, so I can help you see that.”

There is a solid minute before you break the silence.

And you let it all go. Barely taking breath between two tirades, the words stuck into your throat for too long finally tumble out of your mouth. Fat tears roll on your cheeks at some point but you ignore them, forging on with your confession. Benny listens carefully, thumb gently wiping away the wetness on your face. The sky outside is the same color as his eyes, casting a comforting glow in the room.

There is a pause when he waits to make sure you’re done, before speaking again. “You managed to send an efficient distress signal before resisting torture long enough to buy us time, I would not call that weak.” he offers.

Benny plants a quick kiss on your forehead and lingers a bit. You close your eyes.

Suddenly, there seems to be a little less quicksand in your mind.

***

The boys all have their routine around the house. Will spends most of his day taking care of your new home - which is actually not new at all, and in desperate need of various repairs. You can catch him on the roof cleaning old tiles or with an axe in hands cutting some wood for the stove. He needs to feel useful, to keep busy, to craft and mend and patch things up.

Santi, he goes for a run at any hour of the day or the night, and comes back barely standing. He’s being too hard on himself, it’s self-harm at this point. He’s always seen himself as the leader of your little team - no, your little family - and he took that attack personally. He failed to protect you, to protect Frankie, to protect your home. And he’s not sure he will ever forgive himself.

Benny spends a lot of time with you, his usual babbling is a welcome distraction. You sometimes feel like two kids endlessly planning mischief. One day, you gathered enough wood scraps and spare parts to set up an improvised shooting range behind the cabin, under Pope's disapproving glare. At least, now you've figured how to shoot and reload with only one hand.

And then there's Frankie. Quiet as a cat, he can usually be found bunched over a map or a computer, his mind racing to try and understand who is behind the attack.

And how to make them pay.

Having four men looking out for you at any and each moment can really be annoying, but at the same time it’s kinda nice. Nice to be held in strong arms when you wake up from a nightmare, nice to have someone to clean your wounds, nice to know they have your back.

It's nice also to lean against a broad chest, dozing off on the couch, like right now. Will is laid back, taking the whole couch, with you on top of him. He’s studying a folded paper map of God knows where, you guess on Morales' orders. The other boys are somewhere outside. The sun is not yet setting. The only sound you can hear is the faint but steady beat of Will’s heart and the soft background noise of the woods: birds and a gentle breeze in the deep green leaves. It’s calming. You could almost feel serene. Your nape feels hot and you shift a bit against Will, gosh this man is radiating heat.

His hand absentmindedly falls on the top of your head, like he’s trying to reassure a startled animal. You let him gently pet your hair for a while. A familiar longing settles in your gut, warmth spreading between your legs before you can prevent it. Your body is reacting once again on its own, it’s freaking Pavlovian at this point. He can’t lay a finger on you without you getting slick. But, it’s the first time in weeks that your mind also wants to follow this lead. You move to sit up between his legs, facing him. His hand goes to cradle your cheek, and he opens his mouth to ask something but you shush him, staring back at him with intent.

You want to give in to your need, but you’re scared all of a sudden. You need to try at least. You can’t let those men who stole your home and peaceful life also steal your right to intimacy. You put your own hand on top of the one of your lover, and slowly move it down, on your neck. The ghost handprint of the man in black starts burning under your skin, a sense of danger inexplicably hovering at the border of your mind. There's a second when you think you can't do it, can't fight the panic and the bile rising in your throat. But you soldier on, fingers getting stiff on top of Will’s, teeth clenched. You keep his hand there, you focus on his soulful eyes, the softness of his touch.

One deep breath. Another.

Slowly, the acidic feel of the bad memory ebbs away, only to be replaced by the very real - and very pleasant - sensation of Will’s hand. Like a balm to your raw nerves. You could cry with relief. Maybe you actually do, because you’re pretty sure your lashes are wet when you crash your lips against Will’s.

“I want to take care of you” he mumbles against your mouth before laying you back on the couch and reverently peeling your leggings off. He holds back for a second, waiting for your nod of approval before removing your panties as well. From this moment on, he only lets you focus on him, his tongue against your sensitive folds, his capable hands holding you tight even when you shudder in pleasure.

“Let me open you up, it’s been a long time, don’t want to hurt you.” he breathes against your collar bone. You could protest and try to explain him that’s not exactly how your body works, but he’s so thorough and gentle and fuck you missed that, you missed him. He uses his fingers to draw another orgasm from you, making sure you’re utterly wet and wrecked before he even pushes his cock inside you. Finally he takes you on the couch in shallow thrusts at first, too afraid to inflict pain instead of bliss, and maybe too afraid he will lose it right there if he buries himself to the hilt into the tightness of your cunt. He carefully bears his weight on top of you, wary of your injured shoulder.

There are so many ways he could hurt you, he thinks, it’s unfair when you’re the best of them all, when you’re the purest yet the most fragile. Like porcelain, hard yet brittle.

It’s frantic and intimate at the same time. He fucks you like it’s the first time, and you remember his restraint and his genuine care, it was sweet. Just like now, he seemed so scared that he would somehow lose you, that you would love him less because of his passion. Will is but a simple man, born and raised in the fields in one of those old States, hair as golden as the wheat his family grew. When he loves, he loves fiercely, with resolve and unyielding fidelity. All or nothing. He fucks the same.

He sneaks a hand between your body, finding the top of your folds, so he can press and rub, making you gasp against his mouth. He has worked you open just fine, and when he ducks his head, he can see his whole length glistening before it disappears entirely in you. It makes him go crazy, and he allows himself to up his pace a little, hiding his face in your neck, mumbling praises while his fingers stay stuck to your clit.

It grows and crashes into you unexpectedly fast, this new orgasm taking you by surprise. The way you clench on his cock, it feels like you want to push him out, but he fights it, snapping his hips with all his strength to stay inside you, because he needs it more than anything right now. He has dreamed about you, unravelling on his dick, thought about it more often than he will admit - for weeks now. He needed to make you feel good, to make you feel loved, to make you feel safe against him, and finally he has that now. He can’t mess it up. He won’t.

***

When it’s over, the sunlight has taken this amber hue you love so much. The peaceful end of the day, when for a few minutes, everything seems soft and right out of a happy childhood memory. Your mind drifts a bit and you barely register Will carrying you to your room. You must have dozed off for a while because you’re awakened by Benny’s laugh from somewhere in the house, and there is barely enough sunlight left. There is a glass full of water on your bedside table - probably Will’s idea - that you gratefully gulp down before putting on some pj. You need something to eat, you’re starving.

But first you tip toe barefoot to the bathroom. A splash of water on your face helps you wake up for good. You cross your own eyes in the mirror above the sink. You look tired, and your skincare routine hasn’t really been your priority recently. But you can’t help but smile at yourself. The girl in front of you, she looks tough, street-smart. Yeah, maybe she has a fucked-up shoulder. Maybe she looks a little vulgar, with those fresh hickies on her neck and her unkempt hair and her unapologetic smile. But she looks like a warrior nonetheless. In more ways than one.

The girl in front of you - she doesn’t look weak anymore.

PART 2

#Triple Frontier #triple frontier imagine #triple frontier boys #triple frontier fanfiction #will miller x reader #Benny Miller #Frankie Morales #frankie morales x reader #santiago garcia x reader #santiago pope garcia #benny miller x reader #triple frontier boys x reader #tf poly vibes #will miller x you #charlie hunman imagine

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boxofbonesfic · 3 years

Note

hi !!! i just wanted to say that i LOVE body talk so much. you wrote feelings that i experienced when i first started going to the gym in such a beautiful way that made me feel so seen and understood— i loved it so much. and like, can’t thank you enough for creating something so beautiful

i was wondering if you would ever write more of that story? maybe one shots or drabbles or anything? or, what you think the story would be like with the roles reversed and with personal trainer!reader and plus size!bucky?

omg anon??? i love this????? okay, i *am* going to write more of Personal Trainer!Bucky, it will just be a while because i have some other projects that have to take precedence, but trust me when I say Bucky and Toots are living rent free in my head lol. i also have another drabble about them here!!

ALSO i LOVE that idea so much i had to drabble it out 🥺

Role Reversal: Chubby!Bucky x Personal Trainer!Reader

It’s pretty easy for Bucky to pinpoint the exact moment he knew you were it. That he was going to spend the rest of his life trying to be worthy of you. It’s when you walked into the weight room, your hands on your hips, and an accusing finger pointed angrily at the tittering group of fitness-bullies in the corner.

He’d had headphones in, and as he pulled them out, the music faded, only to be replaced with your voice instead.

“—to yourself! You want to be assholes, you can do it at a different gym.”

“We’re members! You can’t kick us out—” Bucky watches a smug smile cross your lips before you reach up to tap your name-tag, underneath which is a gold pin with the word “manager” embossed on it. “Can’t I?” you say, before huffing. “We don’t tolerate that shit here.” He’s used to the comments, they’ve followed him to every single gym he’s tried since he got home. They’re easy enough to ignore; after all, they don’t hurt worse than finding his ex in bed with someone else just three months after he’d returned from duty.

They don’t hurt worse than her standing behind him in the mirror, asking why he’d let himself go so thoroughly, how he could think she would want him when he looked like that. Steve’s elbow in his side makes him wince, shooting a glare at his best friend as he leans over to whisper in his ear.

“Cute, right?”

He watches you make sure they leave, standing in the doorway to the weight-room before you deflate a little, peering over your shoulder at him. “I’m so sorry,” you rub the back of your neck sheepishly. “They never should have said any of that to you.”

“ S’okay,” Bucky shrugs, his cheeks heating. “I’m used to it.”

“You shouldn’t be.” you glare venomously at the door, like you’re waiting for them to come back. “If they give you any more trouble, ask for me, okay?” You point to your name-tag again.

“Sure thing. Does that, um, extend to outside of here? I got a few asses that need kicking,” He jokes, and you giggle.

You hold your hand like a gun, and lift them to your lips, blowing away the imaginary smoke from your finger-barrel. “Just give me the names,” you laugh. Bucky laughs too, a real laugh, one that makes him double over just a little.

“Take it easy, killer.” He says a little wistfully to your retreating back as you head for the door. Steve glances between you once, twice, before he scrambles to catch up, putting himself between you and the exit.

“Hey, wait, uh, you do personal training right? Maybe you could help us out. I’m just a meathead, but you probably really know what you’re doing.” Steve pointedly ignores Bucky gesturing for him to butt out, to shut up, his cheeks pink and burning. “And do you only do sessions here?” he asks sweetly, waggling his eyebrows at Bucky over your shoulder as you look down at your phone to check your schedule.

“No! I do lots of outdoor stuff, like at the park. I know it gets stuffy in here,” you gesture around. “How’s next Thursday?” you look back at Bucky, flashing him a million megawatt smile that makes his chest ache.

“Th-that’s good. That works.” You point your finger gun at him again, before firing.

“It’s a date,” you reply, grinning at him. “See you then.”

“S-see you. Killer,” he jokes again, and you laugh, waving at him over your shoulder. Steve elbows him again, but Bucky can only swallow thickly as he watches you walk away.

It’s a date.

#bones drabbles #boxofbones drabbles #boxofbones hc #bones hc #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader #chubby!Bucky barnes #hey nonny nonny ho ho

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ravenclaw-daydreams · 3 years

Text

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐝𝐨 | 𝐉𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐑𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐧𝐞𝐫

Warnings: mention of assassination, graphic smut, adult content, mentions of murder, pervy men in the workplace, falling for a villain, guns, mentions of pregnancy, unprotected sex, alcohol.

Masterlist

Summary: Jackson just wants a normal life but thanks to his business, his chances were slim. but after meeting you, his chances it doesn't seem like such a long shot anymore.

A/N: Reading Jack's Villian wiki gave me the idea, and the personality section is what really set it in motion. He's more human than we thought, folks. I felt VERY inclined to write this. :)

Jack wasn't proud of his work. He never was. But he knew that once he got into the business, he could never get out. And as fate would have it, you met him on the job.

Your boss was a ruthless, lying, manipulative son of a bitch, and you just so happened to be his receptionist. You hated your job and the way your pig of a boss would always make it sickeningly obvious he was starring at your breasts when asking you to make a call. You hated him. Sometimes you would imagine ways to kill the bastard and get away with it too.

Apparently, someone else had the same idea, but actually took the initiative of hiring an assassin. That's where you came in.

It was a late Friday night, and after a long grueling day of putting up with your boss's demands, you were so happy to see the front door of your home. You couldn't wait to collapse on the couch with a glass of red wine and have a leisurely weekend.

You fiddled with your keys as you tried to find the right one. 'Why the hell did I have all those keys anyways?' you thought to yourself bitterly as you shuffled them around.

But the sound of a gun cocking from behind you made you freeze. Air caught in your throat as you tried to convince yourself you didn't just hear what you thought you heard.

"Don't let me stop you," a smooth masculine voice from behind you sneered, pressing what you presumed to be the barrel of the gun point-blank onto your back, "Unlock the door, step inside. Scream and you die."

You gave a small nod, your search for the right key more frantic now, and once you found it, your shaking hand fumbled with it before finally slipping it into the keyhole, your trembling hand opening the door, and you felt yourself get pushed inside.

The door slammed behind you, and that's when you whipped around, now face to face with your captor. The gun was still pointed at you, but the man who was holding it was what stopped you in your tracks.

If someone told you that morning that you were going to be held at gunpoint by one of the most attractive men you had ever seen in your life, you would have laughed in their face. But you weren't laughing now.

"What do you want?" you managed to squeak out, his piercing blue eyes bore into yours.

"Well, I have a job to do, to put it plainly, and you're one of the only people that can help me complete it," he began to explain, "And you don't have a choice."

"What are you wanting from me?"

"Your boss. I want you to call him and tell him that there's something going on and he needs to swing by the office. Once he obliges, my guys who are waiting outside the building as we speak will take it from there."

"You're going to kill him?" you gasped. Sure, you considered doing it yourself, but you never thought anyone would actually try to do it.

"You don't need to worry about that. What you need to worry about is the gun that's pointed at you right now," he concluded, reaching for your home phone, politely holding it out for you to take.

You paused, and he raised a brow. Out of instinct, you tried to bolt past him to the front door, but when you realized it wasn't going to work, it was too late. He grabbed you violently as you thrashed in his grasp before he collapsed the two of you on the couch. He held you in one position until he felt your breathing calm, your neck in a headlock as you faced away from him, panting like an angry dog.

"Stop getting cute," he hissed next to your ear, and even though you couldn't see his face, you knew his teeth were gritting.

He finally trusted you wouldn't pull anything else after he gave a harsh squeeze to your trapped throat, and he let you go, and you immediately scooted to the other side of the couch.

You felt his eyes on you, and with a sudden jerked movement, he held out what you thought was the gun, making you flinch. But with a double-take, you realized it was just the phone.

You reached out, taking it, his eyes never leaving yours. You felt as if you could see something in his gaze. Something longing. Something not quite there. Reluctance.

Shaken fingers press the numbers as you click 'dial', but before you could hold it up to your ear, your captor stopped you.

"Nuh-uh. Speaker."

You nodded, pressing the speaker button before the dial tone echoed through your home. After three times, the line was suddenly picked up.

"What the hell are you doing calling at this hour?" your boss's harsh voice hissed through the phone.

"Yeah, Mr. Snider, there seems to be something happening at the office. Someone from the administration is here and demanding to see you," you tried your best to sound convincing.

"What do they fucking want?" he scorned, his tone making you flinch.

"I wish I knew, sir. They won't tell me anything," you tried to force a smile in your voice.

"Fucking useless," he grunted, making you shift uncomfortably.

"Should I tell them you're on your way?" you proposed.

"Fuck. Fine. I'll be there in 15. And hey, don't get bitchy with me, yeah? Don't forget, you work for me."

"Yes sir," you muttered, loud enough for him to hear.

All the while Jack was watching your reactions. He saw how you flinched at strong tones and saddened at the insults.

The sound of the line going dead was what snapped him back to reality, your still shaking hand setting it down on the coffee table.

"Is that all you needed?" you finally spoke.

"I wish I could say yes," his words made your gaze shift to the floor in disappointment, "I need to stay here until the deed is done."

"How long will that be?"

"After I make this phone call to let the guys know the target is on his merry way, we'll wait until I get a call back. Then we can part ways and you'll never speak of it to anyone. Or else I will have no other choice but to come back and kill you."

You curled in on yourself, resting your chin on your knees as you didn't answer, the sounds of a number being dialed making you cringe.

The sudden movement of him standing up made you flinch, and for a second you thought you almost saw a look of sympathy flash through his eyes before he held the phone to his ear, waiting for the other line to pick up.

"Stu? Yeah. Yeah, she called. He's on his way. He'll be there in 10. Make it look believable, yeah? Clients aren't paying us for anything that looks tacky."

Jack continued his conversation on the phone as he made his way to your kitchen, still in clear view of you. A few moments later he came back, the phone now hung up, a glass of water in his hand.

"Drink," he commanded.

"I'm not thirsty,"

He suddenly set the phone down, taking one of your hands and wrapping it around the cup, "I don't want you passing out on me. Drink," he commanded again.

Now it felt as if you had no choice. You lifted the cups to your lips, gently sipping as he watched you like a hawk until all the water was down your throat.

"Good girl," he praised jokingly, setting the glass on the table.

He then sat down with you on the couch. There was a prolonged silence.

"What's your name?" you finally asked.

He turned to you and cocked a brow.

"Sorry... just trying to make conversation," with an assassin you added bitterly in your head.

He scoffed, the room going back to silence, the two of you waiting... listening.

"Jackson."

"What?" you questioned, looking at him.

"My name. It's Jackson."

"Oh," you replied, "Well, I'm (name)."

"I know," he smirked.

You mentally facepalmed. Of course he did. He was an or assassin for fuck's sake.

"Can I call you Jack?" you asked meekly.

"Seeing as you won't ever see me again, sure. I haven't been called Jack since I was a kid though."

You could tell he was trying to open up. Just a little. Besides, he was right. It wasn't like he was ever going to see you again.

"Why?"

"Rippner. It's my last name," he explained.

"Oh shit," you said in spite of it not being lady-like, "That was a dick move on your parent's part."

"Tell me about it."

The conversation unfolded. You spoke about names, childhood experiences, hell, even what your favorite ice cream flavor was. It was a careless conversation with the mentality of getting everything out there.

You almost forgot that your boss was being killed right as you spoke. You felt the man in front of you open up. He was okay with being vulnerable with you.

That was until the phone rang, Jack rushing to pick it up.

"Yeah?"

His facial expression was unreadable as you watched him. Finally, he hung up the phone, his face returning to the same cold and distant look it had the moment you two had met.

"Well, (name), this is where we part ways," he began, but before he could walk to the front entryway, you grabbed his hand.

He looked startled as he turned around, his eyes searching your face for an answer. Your move was bold. Risky. But you were willing to take it.

"Don't go." your mouth moved before you could stop it.

He narrowed his eyes, almost as if he didn't believe it was you talking. Yet his hand was still being held tightly in yours.

"Please don't go."

☆○o。　　。o○☆☆○o。　　。o○☆☆○o。　　。o○☆

1 Year Later

☆○o。　　。o○☆☆○o。　　。o○☆☆○o。　　。o○☆

You flipped in your sleep, half awake when you realized the spot next to you was bare, the indent of the once sleepless man in his place. You sighed as you flipped back over, looking at the clock.

2:15 am.

You pulled yourself away from your kingdom of soft pillows and blankets and slipped out of bed, your feet pressing against the hardwood of your home. You left the bedroom, crept down the hallway, and when you were finally met with the living area of your home, you were met with the form of your lover.

He was hunched over on the couch, hovering over a glass of red wine that rested in his hand. He seemed to be lost in thought, his blue eyes no longer piercing but distant.

The creak of the floorboards under you gave your position away, the man glancing up at you, spooked.

An instant look of regret graced his beautiful features, "Honey, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you."

"Hush," you sighed, "It's warmer out here anyway," you concluded.

"Even without your mountain of blankets?" he smirked, thinking of how adorable you looked cuddled up under the mound of linen.

"The bed is always cold when you're not in it," you whined, stilling next to him as he continued to nurse his glass of red liquid.

"Sorry love," he sighed, setting down the glass before wrapping his arms around you, your head resting on his chest as you listened in on his heartbeat. It was soft and lulling as you felt your eyes begin to droop.

That was, until you felt his hard-on press up against your back. A smirk crossed your lips.

"Is this why you couldn't sleep?" you questioned, subtly rubbing up against his bulge as you heard his breath catch in his throat.

"As I said," he muttered, "Didn't want to wake you."

"You could have just said so," you sat up, giving him a passionate kiss, one hand going in his hair, the other going down to his crotch, where he let out a primal groan at the feeling of your touch.

"I'm gonna be honest, I'm not really in the mood for foreplay," he stated, his hand reaching your lace panties and ripping them off, pulling you on his lap so you straddled him.

He pulled his boxers down to his knees, his cock springing up. The tip was flushed and angry, pre-cum leaking from the tip, the ridges of his veins pumping.

You bit your lip as you hovered over his gorgeous cock before sinking down slowly, the both of you moaning as you become one. Not long after you began to bounce up and down on his cock.

Jack growled as he grabbed a hold of your hips, helping you as he lifted you on and off his cock, searching for solace in orgasm. His eyes locked with yours as you rode him, and in his eyes, you found nothing but love and admiration, every part of him screaming in appreciation for you.

To put it plainly, he loved the way you loved.

You felt yourself tighten, yet to your disdain, your lover found his release first, a loud groan escaping his lips as he poured himself into you, the warmth in your belly growing as you felt him let go.

By the time he was finished, he was completely blissed out, but you weren't done yet. You wanted to cum. You pulled him out of you, and he watched as his spend dripped out of your swollen mound.

Before he could ask if you were okay, you were already back on him, your thighs now straddling one of his.

"What are you doing?" he asked darkly, raising a brow.

"Shut up," you hissed, rubbing your clit on the meat of his thigh, not wanting to lose any fraction that was already built up.

He caught the hint, his hands finding your hips once again as he helped you drag your throbbing cunt against the skin of his leg. All the while, he whispered filthy things in your ear, knowing it would get you there faster.

"Look at you go. Bet you're not so tired now, eh? Humping my leg like a little bunny. Such a good girl, huh?" he coaxed in your ear, and you nodded desperately, immediately agreeing with whatever he was saying. You just wanted to cum.

Finally, you felt yourself come right up to the edge. Jack knew all your body language perfectly, smirking at you as he began to speak.

"Come on, cum for me, baby. Let me watch you cum,"

And you did. Oh, you did. Your ears rang as your eyes shut tight, feeling your body tense and shake as you let your orgasm sweep you away.

Jack helped you ride through it, his words of praise now seeping into your brain.

"Good girl, there you go," he crooned as you began to catch your breath.

You panted as you slumped against him, hearing his heartbeat once more, matching your breathing with his. You felt him press a small kiss to the crown of your head.

"Thank you," he whispered, and all you could do was nod.

Then he began to stand, "Now come on. Let's go take a shower."

"Can I bring the wine?" you asked intently.

"Fuck it," he laughed.

☆○o。　　。o○☆☆○o。　　。o○☆☆○o。　　。o○☆

3 Months Later

☆○o。　　。o○☆☆○o。　　。o○☆☆○o。　　。o○☆

"You're doing it again,"

Jack looked up at you at the sound of your voice. He was sitting there, his hands folded and his jaw clenched, his leg bouncing up and down in anxiety as he went back to staring at the developing pregnancy test on the table.

"What?" he finally said.

"You're overthinking. I can see it in your face."

He rolled his eyes, seeming harsher than he intended. But he was nervous. In complete honesty, you were the first thing Jack had that had any semblance of normal. and after the things he's done and after the things he'd seen, normal was everything he wanted. And that's what this baby meant.

He craved normal. Life as an assassin didn't really scream domestic. But with you, everything he had ever wanted was wherever you were.

"Whatever the test reads, we'll be okay," you ensured, walking behind him and wrapping your arms around the anxious man, doing your best to calm his rapturing nerves.

"Yeah," he agreed, taking a deep breath, "We'll be okay."

The timer suddenly went off, the both of you perking up, chomping at the bit to get to the test, your fingers clutching it as you looked at it.

You gasped.

Jack froze.

You bolted into his arms, test in hand, bawling like a baby.

"You're gonna be a dad, Jack! You're gonna be a dad!!" you squealed, your arms wrapped tightly around him as he held you tight.

He began to tear up, "Really?"

You pulled back and nodded, showing him the test that read positive. He took it in his hands as a means to do a double-take, looking at the two little blue lines.

Without a word, he embraced you again, holding you tighter. His voice was muffled against your shoulder. From him came a small:

"Thank you."

#cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy fanfiction #cillian x reader #cillian murphy #cillian x y/n #tommy shelby fluff #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby smut #red eye #jack rippner #jack rippner x reader #jack rippner smut #cillian murphy x reader smut #cillian murphy characters #cillian #murphy

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salty-rey · 3 years

Text

Come Back | Bad Batch Fan Fic

Pairing: Crosshair x Reader

Words: 1748 words

Warnings: Angst. Reader gets hurt, mention of blood

A/N: I gave you romance with Fives last time. Now, time for some PAIN!!! I told yall I wanted to make a Bad Batch fan fic, I just didn’t expect my first one to be like this.

Pretty short, I wanted to write it down before I lose any inspiration, and I have to get back to my finals.

Hope you guys like!

(gif courtesy of @clxnewxrs )

- - - - - - -

This plan has gone to crap!

It was supposed to be simple. Get into the command center, retrieve the necessary intel, and get out. Something you’ve done many times before. Piece of cake!

But last time you remembered, you did not have a child following you around. Omega insists on coming along, even going against Hunter’s orders. Because of her disregard of orders, she had tripped an alarm, alerting the guards to your position. But you couldn’t blame her. Even if she didn’t came along, something wasn’t going to go according to plan. She’s not a soldier and wasn’t trained like you and the rest of the Bad Batch. There were some tasks or missions that were fine for the young clone to come along, but this mission was more dangerous.

One good reason why; Crosshair had finally tracked you down.

The Batch had split up during the mission, aiming to complete your objectives. Before you can all regroup, that is when Crosshair and his Elite Squad Trooper caught up to the group. And you had the unfortunate case of protecting Omega from the sniper, who was now standing in front of you. With the only exit blocked by your former comrade, the only way to escape was to shoot your way out or leap out an 80 storied building.

“Crosshair, please! Don’t do this,” you pleaded, body shielding Omega as the young girl cowered behind you.

“I can bring you back alive,” The grey-haired clone spoke, raising his handheld blaster to your chest without hesitation. “Or in a body bag. Your choice, Freckles.”

You tense, staring down the barrel of the blaster, wondering for a second if it was put on lethal or stun mode. You felt Omega gripping your arm, sparing a glance at the child before looking back at Crosshair. His eyes held no remorse. There was no more warmth in those honey-brown eyes. Your heart shattered at the sight of him, your fists clenching to keep yourself composed.

“This isn’t you, Crosshair. That damn chip is manipulating you!” You snapped, keeping your stance and hoping to buy some time for Hunter and the others to assist you.

“You would have never shot Wrecker before, no matter how much he annoyed you. And you would never point a gun at me. Come back to us. We can find a way to free you from that chip. We know it’s not your fault, and we don’t blame you for your actions. Please,” you begged, your voice breaking a little as you reached your hand towards him.

The clone stared hard at your hand, his shoulders tensed before locking eyes with yours. He can see the desperation in them, unshed tears causing your eyes to glisten. This was a familiar sight. Not too long ago, when all of you were imprisoned back on Kamino, you had the same expression.

Crosshair was being taken away from the rest of the group for unknown reasons. Hunter, in his attempt to keep everyone together, received a harsh hit on his gut. The sergeant doubled over in pain, but no one dare moved to aid him as blasters were pointed at everyone. The clone shook his head at the sight of his sergeant before standing up. As he took one step forward, he felt a tug, keeping him in place. Looking back, he saw you gripping his hand with all the strength you have.

You were looking up at him, silently begging him not to go. The corner of your eyes shedding small tears, your hand squeezing his ever so tighter.

“Let’s go!” The clone guard exclaimed, his patience wearing thin.

Crosshair felt something foreign in him, telling him to obey. He knows that he should stay. He knows that he should fight against these mindless regs. He’s not like them. He belongs here with his brothers, and with you.

But, fighting the regs unarmed will just cause unnecessary casualties. And he can’t stand the idea of having his brothers’ blood on his hands. Especially a kid that is apparently a little sister. And you.

The thought of losing you caused him to shiver in fear. An emotion that he rarely felt, until you joined the team.

The sniper looked back at you once more, squeezing your hand in return. He gave you a reassuring look that was also apologetic and sorrowful.

You knew that there was no getting out of this. That there was no way in saving him. With a heavy sob, you let go of his hand, allowing him to be taken by the guards.

His hands were now trembling, causing the blaster to become unsteady. “Crosshair?” You said with uncertainty. The sniper’s eyes snapped back at you, having lost focus for a few seconds.

“So, you miss me? How sweet,” he sneered, but his hands continued to shake.

You relaxed your posture for a second, pulling your hand back before pressing it against your chest, right over your heart. “I have. So very much.”

Something must have snapped inside of the clone because his eyes became unfocused, and his hands were trembling harder. He was in pain, his free hand gripping the side of his head, eyes squeezing shut as the blaster fell from his hand. You watched as Crosshair internally fought against the inhibitor chip, hope slowly rising inside of you.

As you slowly approached him, you failed to hear the thundering sound of boots approaching you. The only indication that you got was hearing Omega gasping before shouting, “Look out!”

The moment you spotted the Elite Squad Trooper raising his blaster, you felt the searing hot pain piercing your side, and a blood-curling scream echoed throughout the room. You fell to your knees, clutching your left side, where the blaster shot hit you.

Luckily, you were wearing the specialized armor that the Bad Batch wear, so the blast wasn’t able to pierce the other side. But you can feel blood pooling out, and if you don’t get any aid soon, you’re going to die.

Before the trooper can shoot you again, he let out a shout of pain as Crosshair’s fist collided with his buckethead before punching his gut. “I told you to stun the woman and to shoot the men!” He snarled before kicking the hunched-over trooper.

As Crosshair’s attention was on the reg, Omega rushed to your side. Panting heavily, you grabbed a tool from your utility belt and wrapped an arm around the girl’s midsection. “Hold on...tight...and whatever...you do...don’t let go.”

“What are you---whoa!” Omega cried out as you picked her up and charged at the window. The girl screamed when your shoulder crashed into the window, both of you plummeting over the edge. Neither Crosshair nor the troopers reacted quick enough to catch you, watching the both of you fall to what appears to be your death.

You reached out your arm, pointing your modified grappling gun, and pulled the trigger. The claw-like end soar shot through the air, piercing the closes building, secured in place. The pair of you swing through the cold night air, Omega’s arms and legs wrapped around your neck and waist.

Before you could crash into another building, you released the trigger, the grapple unhooking from your end. You rolled onto the rooftop of a building, shielding Omega in the progress. Wincing, you got back on your feet, still holding onto the child, and continued to run away, troopers now shooting at you.

“Tech! I need a pickup, NOW!” You exclaimed into your communicator.

“We’re reaching your location!” His voice came through, and without another second to waste, you heard the engines of the Havoc Marauder. The ramp was open and both Hunter and Wrecker were there.

Despite the searing pain, your adrenaline forced you to pick up the pace. Blaster shots were flying past you, and if you move any slower, you were going to get hit again. But you weren’t scared of being hit by the Elite Squad trooper again. No. You were afraid of a certain sniper. Deep down though, you had hope that he wasn’t going to pull the trigger on you. He had several chances to do so, but he didn’t.

“Jump!” Hunter shouted as you reached the edge of the building. Mustering whatever strength you had left, you leaped from the edge, Omega’s arms reaching towards the Sergeant and larger clone. You collapsed into their arms, letting them pull you both inside as blasters were now hitting your ship.

“She’s been shot!” Omega cried. Hunter and Wrecker saw your bleeding side, and with a nod from their leader, Wrecker picked you up as carefully as possible and carried you to your cot. “Echo, get over here now!” Hunter shouted before grabbing whatever medical items that they need.

Your armor was removed and Wrecker ripped the fabric of your blacks to expose your wound, allowing the boys to stop the bleeding. You cried out in pain, legs kicking and your hand gripping the first thing that came into contact, which was Hunter’s hand.

“You’re gonna be okay,” Echo reassured as they pierced a needle into your wound before spraying it with bacta. Omega stood at the doorway, hands covering her mouth, silently crying as the boys managed to stop the bleeding. Despite being their combat medic, the Bad Batch knew a good amount of medical aid before you arrived, but learned more when you became part of their team.

“I can’t believe Crosshair shot her!” Wrecker growled as Echo placed a bacta patch to help quicken the healing progress.

“I don’t want to believe either. But he shot you, didn’t he?” Echo countered.

“He...he didn’t shot me,” you groaned, your hand squeezing Hunter’s.

“Whoa whoa whoa, no more talking. You need your rest, Freckles,” the Sergeant said, using his free hand to gently wipe off any sweat forming on your forehead.

You ignored Hunter’s order and took in a deep breath before continuing. “It was a...trooper. Crosshair said...only to stun me and Omega...” You then looked back at Hunter, body feeling weak and vision getting blurry. “He’s still in there...fighting to come back....we can’t lose hope.” You managed to say that last bit before darkness consumed you. You slumped against the pillow, a familiar scent comforting you as you slept.

The group watched you sleep, ensuring that you were okay before relaxing. Hunter slowly slipping his hand from your grasp before covering you with a blanket, Crosshair’s scent continued to engulf you.

“We will bring him home. I promise.”

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