#deacon x mads

[fluentmoviequoter]

Self-Sacrificial

Requested Here!

Pairing: Jim Street x fem!SWAT!reader

Summary: You like Street as more than a friend, but think he will never feel the same. When you nearly lose him, you accuse him of not caring about you or anyone else because you can't see the truth.

Warnings: quick joke about being dead, angst to fluff, arguments, Street gets hit by a car, fluffy comfort

Word Count: 2.7k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Jim Street Masterlist | Request Info\Fandom List

“What are you doing?” Street asks from above you. He taps your leg with his foot as he continues, “You dead or something? You’ll be hard to replace.”

“I’ve been waiting for you,” you answer. “You’re late.”

As you open your eyes, Street shakes his head and offers a hand. You accept his help and allow him to pull you from the concrete beside the S.W.A.T. HQ entrance. Street leads you inside, but before you can greet the rest of your team, Lynch calls you into her office.

“If I get fired for waiting for you, I’ll be very mad,” you mumble as you pass Street.

“I need to talk to you as a woman, not as a lieutenant,” Lynch explains as you close her office door.

“Okay,” you murmur slowly. “As long as I’m not in trouble.”

“No,” she assures with a smile. “It’s about your relationship with Street.”

“Relationship?” you repeat. “We’re not-“

Lynch raises her hand to stop you. “I know, I’ve heard it. You’re friends, that’s all. If that’s what you’re sticking with, fine. But… you and Street are special.”

“You’re still talking as my accidental mother figure, right?”

Lynch rolls her eyes but doesn’t argue with your terminology. From the moment you began working with her, she took an unexpected role in your career and in your life.

“Just be careful, okay. Lie to yourself if you need to, but don’t let the blinders you keep on get in the way of everything else,” she concludes. “And if you decide to take those blinders off, let me know and we’ll get ahead of IA.”

“Blinders,” you whisper. “Sure thing. Thanks for the talk.”

Hondo knocks before he opens Lynch’s door. “We’re rolling.”

You nod at Lynch and then rush out after Hondo to join your team. Those blinders she mentioned are a topic you’d rather ignore. They’re important to you because the moment you look at Street the way you want to – as more than a teammate and friend – you’ll be exposed to the harsh truth that Street will never see you the same way. The only mirror image in this situation is the heartbreak you’ll see looking back at you.

As you climb into Black Betty, Tan and Luca are discussing a new restaurant opening this weekend. You should be used to their oddly timed topics by now, you think.

“I’d be happy to test it out for you,” Street offers. “Give me a few hours to get a date and then you can have a full review by tomorrow.”

Your jaw clenches. Street is your best friend, but that doesn’t make this any easier. Whenever he says or does something that reminds you of his ability and desire to date women who aren’t you, you take a step back. The teasing, the competition, and incredible bond you have with him strains when you do this, and he suffers because of your buried feelings, but losing him may be better than learning you can never have him.

“What do you think?” Street asks you.

You shrug and keep your attention on your helmet.

“C’mon,” he presses. “Everybody has an opinion on good restaurants.”

“You certainly do,” you mumble.

“What does that mean?”

Deacon and Hondo share a look that goes unnoticed by both you and Street. With your eyes down, and Street’s locked on you, it’s incredible to the rest of your team that you can’t actually see what is right in front of you.

“I’m sure it’s a great place for dates,” you agree.

“And?” Street questions.

“And what?”

“What is wrong with you?”

You shrug again and Hondo cuts Street off to explain the plan for the raid. He puts you and Street on opposite sides of the house, which is probably in your best interest.

“You can’t just ignore me,” Street whispers harshly as you exit Black Betty.

“We’re working,” you remind him.

“If you can keep working without getting exhausted from the back and forth of being my friend and ignoring me because you’re jealous about my date or something, I can do my job and ask a question.”

You take a deep breath, willing yourself not to respond to his low jab. “Let’s just finish the raid, Street, and if you want to make up more stupid ideas about why I don’t want to talk to you sometimes later, I’ll try my best to listen.”

Street reaches for your arm, but you step away quickly to join Deacon.

“You’re not just hurting him, you know?” Deacon murmurs.

You don’t answer, but as you follow Deacon to the west side of the house, you find yourself thinking about Street again. The feelings that stir within you every time you see Street hurt you far worse than they will ever hurt him. If you can survive his lack of feelings, he can deal with you getting some space.

“22-David, in position on 3 side,” Luca radios.

“30-David, ready on 4,” Deacon adds.

“26-David, go for 2,” Street says.

“20-David, breach on my mark,” Hondo commands. “3, 2, go, go, go.”

You follow Deacon into a side door and through a tight hallway. As you enter the kitchen in the back corner of the house, there’s no sign of the resident.

“Eyes on one suspect,” Street alerts. “He’s running east; 26-David in pursuit.”

“One in custody,” Luca calls.

Deacon gestures back toward the door you entered and tells your team that you’re assisting Street. As you run back into the yard, you navigate around the house and toward the road quickly.

“LAPD!” Street yells ahead of you. “Stop!”

The suspect turns off of the sidewalk suddenly and sprints across the road. You speed up as Street turns to follow him. A car engine rumbles around the curve, and you know they won’t be able to see anyone in the path until it’s too late.

“Street!” you yell.

The engine grows louder, and your lungs seem to constrict as you watch the driver round the corner. They appear to be going the speed limit, but that doesn’t make what happens next any less painful. As the suspect reaches the sidewalk on the other side, you only watch Street. The approaching car slides to a stop, but it’s not fast enough.

“Street!” you yell again.

The bumper knocks his legs out from under him, and his helmet dents the hood before he rolls back onto the asphalt. As you reach him, you rip your helmet off to see him better.

“Go get him,” Street implores, holding his stomach.

“No, Street,” you argue.

“Get him. I’m fine.”

Street groans and you know he isn’t fine, but you need that suspect in custody today. You leave your helmet beside Street and run faster than you ever have before. Without thinking, you tackle the suspect to the concrete and cuff him as he moans in pain.

“Hondo, Street’s down. Suspect in custody,” you radio.

“R/A’s en route,” Hondo replies.

Luca runs toward you as Deacon and Hondo approach Street. The driver is standing by his door and rubbing his hand over his face nervously. Everything in you wants to run back to Street and help him, tell him that he’s special to you and you need him, but that’s not your job right now. Maybe Lynch was right about those blinders, you think. Then, as you remember what Deacon said, you realize that the burning in your chest has nothing to do with how hard you ran, and everything to do with the fact that you may lose Street anyway, and he will never know that you see him as so much more than your best friend.

“Let’s go,” Luca says as he pulls the suspect to his feet. “You alright?” he asks you.

You swallow quickly and nod. The ambulance arrives as you and Luca meet the responding patrol officers, and you miss your chance to go with Street.

“He’s going to St. Stephen’s,” Deacon tells you after everything silences. “He was still conscious, so that’s a good sign.”

“Deacon,” you begin. “I can’t- I can’t lose him.”

“He needs you,” Deacon adds. “Luca’s gonna drop you off on the way back to HQ.”

You nod. Everything numbs as you follow Deacon to Black Betty. There’s nothing you can think of or say that will make this go away, not without telling Street everything. As Luca drives to the hospital and your team talks – it’s nothing more than muffled background noise as you stare at the empty seat before you – your emotions shift. You almost lost Street because he didn’t listen, because he got caught up in the chase and didn’t think about how his decision would affect him or anyone else.

“Thanks, Luca,” you mumble as you exit the double doors.

The rest of your team pulls away as you walk into the hospital. With your uniform still on, you don’t even have to ask anyone for help before you’re led to Street’s side.

“Hey!” he calls when he sees you. “Oh, ow,” he mumbles as he lays back.

Your plan to tell him the truth disappears when you see the smile on his face. He still doesn’t realize just how stupid he was.

“Glad you’re okay,” you say. “Though I’m sure that’s just luck. You- Street, that was so reckless. If you want to throw away your safety, do it on your time!”

“I-“

“No; whatever excuse you’re coming up with, just save it. You’re self-sacrificial and today proved why. You don’t care about anyone else, and you don’t seem to realize or care that I- that people care about you! When you pull that hero act, you’re showing how blind and how stupid you are.”

You release a breath as you finish. Part of you whispers that you’re being a hypocrite; Street isn’t the only blind and stupid one in this hospital room. He’s not the only one sacrificing parts of himself because he thinks being selfish and secretive is the only way to stay happy and avoid rejection. So, you decide to listen to the part that is mad at Street for risking his life and not caring how it affected you. And the rest of your team, of course.

Street’s brows furrow as you rant. After you fall silent, he asks, “Are you done?”

“Yeah,” you answer.

“I’m fine,” Street argues. “You seem very upset, and I’m sorry about that, but it’s a minor injury, and I-“

You weren’t expecting Street to argue with you, to find a way to make you seem wrong for caring about him. And when he says minor injury as if he wasn’t hit by a car, you know you can’t stay. Without a word, you turn and exit his room as you ignore his calls for you.

“Hey,” Hicks calls.

You look up and see him walking through the hall, likely to see Street.

“Is he okay?”

“He’s… he’s still Street,” you say.

“And you?”

You shrug and answer, “I didn’t get hit by a car. I’m heading back to HQ.”

Hicks nods and taps your shoulder kindly as you leave. You need to blow off some steam and get Street off your mind for a while, and HQ is the perfect place to do that.

As you call Deacon to come get you, Hicks enters Street’s room and closes the door.

“How you managed to not break your leg is a mystery for the ages,” Hicks says.

“Well, apparently I’m just lucky,” Street murmurs. “And blind, and stupid.”

Hicks nods as he takes a seat. “What’d you do to make her so angry?”

“Nothing! She’s mad because I’m ‘self-sacrificial’ and it was a misguided ‘hero act.’ Her words.”

“You think she’s wrong? No self-sacrificial motivations?”

Street looks away from Hicks as he considers why he ran after that suspect without looking and why he ignored you when you yelled his name.

“We got into an argument before we got there,” Street admits.

“I didn’t realize you two were already together.”

“We’re not. She, uh, she’d never.”

“Right,” Hicks agrees sarcastically. “Because that woman who just came in here and yelled at you for getting hurt doesn’t feel anything for you. Surely you can see, despite your track record, that she cares that you got hurt. She’s mad because she could have lost you.”

“She can’t lose something she doesn’t want.”

“Street, open your eyes. No one yells at someone they’re indifferent to. But someone you’re scared to lose? They’re worth getting mad about.”

Street replays your words in his mind. You don’t care about anyone else, and you don’t seem to realize or care that I- that people care about you! You almost said it, Street realizes. You almost admitted the very thing Street has thought for longer than he remembers.

“When can I leave?” Street asks.

“Easy,” Hicks answers. “They’ve got to observe you for a while and make sure you don’t have any internal damage.”

“Is the driver okay?”

Hicks stands and buttons his jacket as he says, “You’re not that strong, kid.”

As Street gets advice from Hicks, you try to avoid Lynch. It doesn’t go well, however, because the moment your fist makes impact with the punching bag, she appears.

“We need to talk,” she says.

“Can it wait?” you ask between a jab and a cross.

“No. I know you’re worried about Street, where that anger is coming from. But the question I have is, do you know why you’re so upset?”

“Because he could’ve gotten himself killed and he doesn’t care!” you exclaim.

“He doesn’t care that he could have died, or he doesn’t care that he would’ve been taken away from you?” Lynch challenges.

You drop your hands and exhale. “What does that mean?”

“You tell me. Is the anger because you care about him and need him or because he went against protocol? For me, I would be mad about the paperwork I had to do, but you…”

“So, what you’re telling me is that I got angry with him because I don’t want to lose him. The one man in the world that I have absolutely no chance of ever having. That doesn’t make sense.”

“Maybe not. Or it could be that the idea you can’t have him is just that – your idea. If you never give him the chance to answer, you’ll never know.”

“But I could lose him anyway,” you say softly.

“Or you could lose the chance to have him. Just… think about it, figure out why it bothers you so much, and then do something about it. Whether that’s telling him the truth or just being a supportive team member.”

You watch Lynch leave, then turn away from the bag.

“Ready?” Deacon asks.

“What?” you reply.

“I’ve been waiting for you to ask for a ride back to Street.”

“You don’t have to rub it in, Mr. I-know-my-teammates-well-and-have-scary-good-intuition.”

“It’s a wonder I even have a license to drive you with a last name like that,” Deacon teases as he leads you to the parking area.

Outside Street’s room, you stop and take a deep breath. After you knock, you step through the open door and stop at the foot of his bed.

“I’m sorry,” you begin. “I thought-“

“I care about you,” Street interrupts. “I like you. I’ve liked you for so long that I don’t remember life without you.”

Your eyes widen with Street’s confession. Even if he’s exaggerating, hearing that you’ve had an effect like that on Jim Street gives you hope. He’s everything you want and more, but you never expected to hear anything like this from him.

“I like you, too,” you confess. “That’s why I got so mad. I didn’t want to lose you, but I shouldn’t have said all of that about you. I’m sorry.”

“I was self-sacrificial. I couldn’t see that you cared, so I didn’t think it would matter.”

“Of course it matters, Street. You matter,” you insist as you walk to his side.

You take Street’s hand, and he smiles at you. There’s still a pain in you, a sympathetic, emotional hurt for Street and what you both went through.

“I guess it’s a good thing I was stupid and blind enough to get run over by an innocent bystander,” Street jokes.

“You’re insufferable,” you respond.

Your smile betrays you, and Street knows you don’t mean that. You meant everything before. Though you think it’s too early for him to be joking about his accident and the injuries he’ll certainly feel tomorrow, you appreciate his sense of humor and the way he holds your hand. He can be insufferable, but now that you’re finally accepting the truth that Jim Street likes you too, it’s different and it always will be.

[unreliablesnake]

Cheaters (David "Deacon" Kay x reader)

Note: Deacon's a cheater, reader's a cheater, his marriage is failing... Yeah, you've been warned. It's short, just a snippet, really. MDNI.

Warnings: afab!reader, fingering

You hated yourself for doing this to your fiancé, to his wife, and even to the team. If your affair ever came to light, there would be a scandal that neither of you wanted. So you took precautions and tried to stay under the radar, meeting every other week in a hotel room you paid for in cash. In the meantime you communicated through a password protected emailing app he suggested.

Because Deacon kept everything under control for the both of you, doing something you would have never assumed he would. A previously loyal and faithful Catholic man was cheating on his wife, and to make things worse, he clearly enjoyed every second of it, sometimes acting like some stupid hormone-driven teenager. It's not like you didn't love the thrill of this. Hell, you sometimes felt like breaking up your engagement for him.

Because every time he looked at you as if you were the only person in his universe, your heart melted, and every time his hands or lips began to roam your body, your brain stopped working. He had you under his spell, making you do things you normally wouldn’t do. After all, you would never look at anyone other than your fiancé, especially not when the other man was married. 

Yet here you were, struggling to bite back a moan in the backseat of his car as his fingers curled to touch that sweet spot inside you. Sometimes he played with fire, like right now in the almost empty parking lot of the station after your shift. Anyone could have walked up to the car to talk to him, but he didn’t seem to mind and you were way too lost in him to care.

He kissed you fiercely to silence you when your body told him you were close to another orgasm, and you could tell he was trying hard not to grin and laugh at the way you struggled to stay quiet. “I love the pretty noises you make,” he had once told you with a smirk before placing a soft kiss on your temple. But times like this he needed you to keep it down, so you did your best to be a good girl for him.

“Let’s get out of LA this weekend. Just you and me,” he suddenly said with his face buried in the crook of your neck, his fingers not stopping as you came for the second time that night. It took your brain a minute or two to clear up, and since you never responded, he repeated the suggestion, this time while looking you in the eye. “What do you say?”

“I wish I could go,” you began with a sigh, “but my future brother-in-law will stay with us for the weekend. And I have no idea how I would explain being away for this long anyway. How could you explain it to Annie?”

Deacon let out a groan, then leaned back against the seat. “We spend most of our time fighting lately anyway, one more thing to yell about wouldn’t really matter.” Your eyes narrowed as you watched him, having absolutely no idea how this man could be this nonchalant about something this important. “She wants me to retire. When I told her I don’t want to do that, she got mad at me. But let’s not talk about that now. How about just one night at the usual place? I need you, baby, I really do,” he tried to convince you with a sweet tone, even flashing a tired smile at you.

It was hard to decide what to think about all this. His marriage was going through a rough phase, yet instead of trying to fix it, he seemed more interested in spending more time with you to get away from his problems. You wanted to say no. You knew you were supposed to say no. But then you looked into his big brown eyes and logic seemed to flee your brain. “Fine, I’ll say I’m staying at Chris’ place,” you gave in. 

[melanated-writersblock]

Confessional - A Yunho Series: Prologue

Seminarian!Yunho x Black!Female!Reader

~ You and your childhood friend Yunho promised to do everything together. But as you got older, things shifted, and you began to feel differently towards each other. Now, Yunho’s joining the church and any emotions you meant to share with him will have to be disregarded. Or will they?

A/N: I'm genuinely struggling because I have so many routes I can take this story and there are so many things that I've thought about including but idk. I don't want it to be all over the place, I want to make sure the story makes sense and reads well. If there's anything you'd like to see happen, I'm always open to suggestions, my asks are open and you can always post a comment! Written with a Black Fem reader in mind but anyone can read!

Content Warning?: Nothing going on this chapter, angst if you squint? A bit of humor, a bit of wholesomeness, BUT you do have a potty mouth🤭

(Disclaimer: I do know how the hierarchy of the Catholic church works irl and this fic DOES NOT reflect that. And if you’re a devout Christian reading this and you’re mad: 1. I’m also Christian (I kinda suck at it though unfortunately) and 2. What are YOU doing reading this? That’s not very Proverbs 31 woman of you🤫)

ANYWAYYYYY LIKES ARE COOL, BUT COMMENTS AND REBLOGS ARE BETTER! PLEASE LEMME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK! ALSO DON’T COPY MY SHIT. I WILL KNOW.

TAGLIST!!!: @starboyyoongi @woosmaid @atinytinycat @kyeos4ng LET ME KNOW IF YOU’D LIKE TO BE ADDED TO THE TAGLIST!

How does a little boy who would spend literal hours laying in the grass stargazing, sharing dreams of traveling the world, living life unapologetically, meeting new faces and doing any and everything all at once, turn into a man who’s shut himself off from it all?

With your head bowed, you steal a glance at a praying Yunho in the adjacent pew as your Pastor leads the church congregation in a closing prayer. Your lips curve upward at Yunho’s form. His hands clasped against his chest, body hunched over, forehead resting against the back of the pew in front of him. The same way he’d always pray when you both were little. A creature of habit.

With Sunday Service concluded (finally) you make a b-line for the door as subtle and polite as you possibly can, but the endearing nature of church family wanting to see how you’re doing and what you’ve been up to stops you dead in your tracks, much to your dismay. You rush through your interactions, finding yourself more invested in how natural Yunho looks as he speaks with the Pastor, both laughing at a funny remark one of the Deacons say in passing. Damn him for being so good at this shit. You hug your last inquiring church sister and slip out before someone decides to start asking about your dating life.

The drastic change of temperature from the inside of the warmed church to the frigid December afternoon seizes your body for a second as your common sense and critical thinking comes flooding back to you in an instant…You left your coat on the fucking pew. “You’re shitting me.” your annoyed words of condensation visible in the cold air. You stare blankly between the ground, and up at the overcasted sky, your internal battle deciding if walking back inside to face the music is even worth it.

“Fuck no.”

You straighten yourself up with what little defense you have against the cold, folding your arms across your chest and nuzzling your face deeper into your thick slouched turtleneck as you make your way towards you car near the end of the parking lot. The faint sound of fast approaching footsteps get louder as someone gains up on you from behind. You feel the welcoming weight of your coat cover your back, slipping your arms in to get acclimated to the warmth of the garment as quick as possible.

“Now, you and I both know that wasn’t a good idea.” Yunho now joins you, walking in step but still a little winded from the run. “I wasn’t trying to go back in there to get bombarded by them.” You both continue towards your car, “Come on, it can’t be that bad.” “Yeah it kind of is.”, “How so?” “Really?” “Well, I know but I was just wonderi-“ “Look babe, my relationship with God isn’t as tight as yours, and I’m sorry that I don’t get as much of a kick from being in church as you do” you fish your keys out of your bag to unlock your car, “not like I used to, at least.” Yunho opens the driver’s door waiting for you to get in, his eyes downcast in thought. “Then, why do you come every Sunday?” you sigh, defeated, “Not every Sunday, I only go when you’re back in town.”

You don’t know what inspired him to do it, but there was some sort of paradigm shift when you both hit puberty that made Yunho change the trajectory of his life. One minute you’re up all night watching tv and playing video games, doing each other’s class work, planning to go to the same university, get matching tattoos, share an apartment together, get careers in similar fields so your jobs can line up that way you probably end up at the same workplace, use your paid time off and sick days at the same time so you can travel and go on vacations together…he even bought you a fucking bracelet.

He bought matching fucking bracelets.

He said gold compliments the warm glow of your skin.

He got his in silver.

He never told you how much it cost, anytime you asked, he was always avoidant.

Feeling a familiar sting in the brim of your eyes, you steal yourself for a moment.

One minute it’s all this, the next, he’s going off states away to some Christian University bible college. Then when you think the war is over, he turns right back around and goes to fuckin’ seminary school to become an ordained priest. You didn’t quite understand it, but whatever makes him happy you guess.

“Whenever you tell me you’ll be back in town I come to church to see you.” “But we still hang out even outside of church? I don’t get it.” “Oh my God Yunho, just don’t worry about it.” somehow, he got you to laugh at the situation. You put your keys in the ignition as the car hums to a start. Yunho finally closes your car door, leaning on your newly rolled down window. “Do you still want me to come by later?” He earns another laugh from you, “Why do you keep asking questions that you know the answer to?” “You’re acting like plans can’t change, what if you actually had to do something!” “You know I’m not doing anything later though!” “Okay but what if you-“ “Don’t piss me off.” “Alright,” he smirks, backing away from the vehicle as you reverse out of the parking space. “Text me when you make it home safe.” He calls out as you pull out of the church parking lot, the rest of the congregation finally starting to file out of the sanctuary. Yunho smiles to himself, heading to his vehicle to leave for the day.

To be continued…

YALL OMFG the way I STRUGGLED just to get this out!?!?! Anyway I’ve decided the interactions will happen in time jumps and the tag I use for Yunho and what he’s been ordained as will reflect that.

Also, please be active. If you like the story (and you would like the other chapters to see the light of day) please let me know. Share your thoughts and stuff, you can comment and my asks are always open! And reblogs do a whole lot more than likes!

- Lai✨

[s7ieben]

Cat on a curtain

aquarelle on paper – painting – 21 x 30 cm

S7IEBEN.art RedBubble

Queen: Delilah https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yEYRoXWmWYU

Delilah, Delilah

Oh my, oh my, oh my You're irresistible, ooh, ooh, ooh You make me smile when I'm just about to cry You bring me hope, you make me laugh, and I like it

You get away with murder so innocent But when you throw a moody You're all claws and you bite That's alright

Delilah, Delilah Oh my, oh my, oh my You're unpredictable, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh You make me so very happy When you cuddle up and go to sleep beside me And then you make me slightly mad When you pee all over my Chippendale suite

Ooh, ooh (Delilah) Ooh, ooh (Delilah) Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh

You take over my house and home You even try to answer my telephone Delilah, you're the apple of my eye

Meow, meow, meow Delilah, I love you, Delilah, oh Ooh, you make me so very happy You give me kisses and I go out of my mind, ooh You're irresistible, I love you, Delilah Delilah, I love you Ha, ha You make me very happy, ooh, oh, yeah I love your kisses I love your kisses I love your kisses I love your kisses I love your, your, your kisses I love your kisses

Songwriters: Brian May, Freddie Mercury, John Deacon, Roger Taylor

[ksiondzkanexkiii]

LIST OF WORKS

Part of the story is on the wattpad (I originally put it there but I open to new pages), I put a link to every page where you can find the story. Choose where you like to read best No which history is not inserted yet on other pages such as Noebook or Tumblr

ONE-SHOT

OPEN/CLOSE

You can place orders for One-shot, I'll take anything. I'll write when I have time. Orders can be written on my profile or in pv messages (on any platform) If I didn't notice your message please don't be mad at me! I may have missed your message, or it was spammed.

List of characters on one-shot at the bottom

HISTORY IN PROGESS

GOD OF WAR

Heimdall x OC

,,Until Odin Separates us"

WATTPAD

NEOBOOK

One-shot coming soon

CALL OF DUTY

Captain John Price x oc

,,Maybe you're not a bad person"

TUMBLR VERSION

WATTPAD

NEOBOOK

John ,,Soap" MacTavish x oc

,,A piece of child"

WATTPAD

One-shot coming soon

TROLL HUNTERS TALES OF ARCADIA

ANGOR ROT

,,I will never leave you again"

TUMBLR

WATTPAD

NEOBOOK

One-shot coming soon

Plan for the next fanfics

☁️The Witcher universe (Game)

Vernone Roche, Iorweth, Eskel, Ge'els, Avallach, Eredin, Vesemir

☁️ Call of Duty universe

Alex Keller, Rudolfo Parra

☁️ Tales of Arcadia

Vendel, Angor Rot,

ONE SHOT

In the order put for whom is the one-shot (which character from the game/series/movie) briefly described what is to be included in the one-shot

You can ask for anything. I'll do my best to fulfill your requests.

ONE SHOT ORDERS FOR:

Heimdall - God of war Ragnarok Captain John Price - Call of duty Johnny "Soap" MacTavish - Call of duty

Avallach - The Witcher

Eskel - The Witcher

Vernon Roche - The Witcher

Eredin - Witcher

Ge'els - Witcher

Angor Rot - Troll Hunters Tales Of Arcadia

Gunmar - Troll Hunters Tales Of Arcadia

Bular butcher - Tales of Arcadia

Iorweth - Witcher

Alex Keller - Call of duty

Rudolfo Parra - Call of duty

Vendel - Troll Hunters Tales Of Arcadia

Vesemir - Witcher

Negan Smith - The walking dead

Captain Robert ,,Bobby" Nash - 911

Captain Owen Strand - 911 TEKSAS

Philip Graves - Call of duty

Doctor Greg House - Dr. House

Tim Bradford - The Rookie

John Nolan - The Rookie

David ,,Deacon" Kay - S.W.A.T

I will not write one-shot/stories about actors, I do not feel comfortable with it, I prefer to describe fictional characters who play/voice. Give me time to write one-shot/stories, I'm human and I get busy because I have school and other private things…

WILL NOT WRITE

Age differences (Too much age difference above <7 is no longer an option) Stories with Actors (Fictional Characters Only)

About me:

I come from Poland so English is not my first language, sorry for typos or incorrect grammatically sentences. I'm trying my best but I'm a man I've made mistakes

A head of great imagination and infinite. Keeping you in suspense and leading the reader into the good clouds of carefree life I have been writing since I was 10 years old, only now I gather my courage and insert my works Who knows? Maybe someday I will release my book on paper.

If you have questions find me here

Found me on instagram _kane_kii_ Tumblr: @ksiondzkanexkiii Neobook: https://neobook.org/ksiondzkanexkii/

or ask a question here (as you prefer)

[imagine-silk]

Fallout 4 companions reaction to sole having 4 arms?

I LOVE characters with multiple arms! They always look so cool design-wise. Imagine wielding a pistol and a rifle.

[Cait] When she realizes she's not seeing double she wonders if you can punch four people at the same time or if it hurts more.

[Curie] She is going to ask to study your muscles and ligaments. If she has access to x-ray equipment in you go.

[Danse] He originally thought the waste had mutated you but after he learns your origin he is even more confused. Did people before the war have four arms?

[Deacon] All things considered he thinks it's funny. You are a scary person through and through so this is just goofy to him.

[Hancock] He also needs to make sure he's not seeing double. He doesn't treat it any differently. Just another weirdo to join his town.

[MacCready] He'd shoot you if his gun wasn't out of his reach. Honestly you scared the shit out of him but after a while it really just becomes normal.

[Nick] Honestly he thinks this is not even in the top ten strange things he's seen. The only indication he notices it is him glance at the even once and a while.

[Piper] She so mad at being locked out of the city she doesn't notice until you do the interview with her. After she screams she starts making jokes about it.

[Preston] He was terrified until you said you were there to help. After that he doesn't cross his mind unless someone says something.

[X6-88] Does not give a shit. He's not a scientist so it only matters in the case of survival.

[natromanxoff]

News Of The World - 1985

(x)

[Photo caption: “No one ever loves the real me — everyone falls in love with my stardom”]

[Photo caption: Queen to Freddie is ex-lover Mary Austin — she’s the one constant person in his life and in line for his fortune]

[Photo caption: Mad or macho, Freddie always loves to shock]

[Photo caption: Performing is Freddie’s life. “I’m driven by my work,” he admits. “And I’ll go on as long as my system allows — until I go insane”

ROCK ON FREDDIE

As thousands of adoring fans flock to buy his first solo album this week, Freddie Mercury tells of the one thing that all his success and all his millions can’t ever buy… Sharon Feinstein reports

Freddie Mercury, the outrageous front-man of superband Queen, is addicted to his phenomenal success, but his fame and fortune have also been the source of his deepest misery.

Freddie loves creating bizarre stage images and thrives on the roar of his audiences and the beat of his music. But when the lights go down at the end of a show, he is left feeling lost and lonely.

"You can have everything in the world and still be the loneliest man, and that is the most bitter type of loneliness," says Freddie. "Success has brought me world idolisation and millions of pounds, but it's prevented me from having the one thing we all need — a loving, on-going relationship.

"It's like the old Hollywood stories where all those wonderful actresses just couldn't carry on a relationship because their careers came first.

"That's the way it is with me. I can't stop the wheel for a while and devote myself to a love affair because all sorts of business problems would pile up. The wheel has to keep turning and that makes it very hard for anyone to live with me and be happy.

"I'm driven by my work and will go on for as long as my system allows me — until I go insane. There's a voice inside me saying, "Slow down Freddie, you're going to burn yourself out”, but I just can't stop.

"You can't revel in the success and then, 13 years down the line, wake up one morning and say, ‘No, I don't want to be a superstar today. I want to go out in the streets on my own, or pour my heart into a relationship.’ It's impossible. Because this is it.”

"It" is being the extrovert lead-singer with probably the most successful rock band ever. In their 13-year reign, Queen have rocked the world in a way that no other group has before or since… not even the Beatles.

Today, Freddie and the boys — Brian May, Roger Taylor and John Deacon — each earn over £1 million a year and need never make another record or undertake another tour. But they have no intention of stopping. Last year, Queen toured Europe and had yet another hit with Thank God It's Christmas, and Freddie released his first solo single, Love Kills — which made the top 10 — and began work on his new single and first solo album. Earlier this year, he and the band were the star attraction for the 250.000 fans at the rock festival in Rio, Brazil.

"It was awe-inspiring and mind-boggling to be up there, with all those people in the palm of your hand," says Freddie. "But the other side of the coin is that, though I was surrounded by masses of people who love me, I must have been the loneliest person there. Can you imagine how temble it is when you've got everything and you're still desperately lonely? That is awful beyond words.

"I don't want people to think, poor old Freddie, because I can deal with it. But I'm so powerful on stage that I seem to have created a monster. When I'm performing, I'm an extrovert, yet inside I'm a completely different man.

Of course, the stagey streak in me, where I love to jump around […]

"My love affairs never last. I seem to eat people up and destroy them"

[…] and be volatile, is real, but people don't realise there's more. They expect me to be the same in my personal life as well. They say, "Come on, Freddie, perform, give us some excitement."

The hunky, dark-haired singer, who takes pride in his rippling muscles and ever-changing appearance, once joked that he'd had more lovers than any Hollywood star.

"But they never last," says 38-year-old Freddie. "I seem to eat people up and destroy them. There must be a destructive element in me because I do try very hard to build up relationships, but somehow I drive people away.

"They always blame the end of the love affair on me because I'm the successful one. Whoever I'm with seems to get into a battle of trying to match up to me, so all the time I'm feeling guilty and over-compensating… Then they end up treading all over me.

"I can't win. Love is Russian roulette for me. No one loves the real me inside, they're all in love with my fame, my stardom.

"I fall in love far too quickly and end up getting hurt all the time. I've got scars all over. But I can't help myself because basically I'm a softie — I have this hard, macho shell which I project on stage but there's a much softer side, too, which melts like butter.

"I try to hold back when I'm attracted to someone but I just can't control love. It runs riot. All my one-night-stands are just me playing my part. What I really like is a lot of loving. And I spoil my lovers terribly. I like to make them happy and I get so much pleasure out of giving them really wonderful, expensive presents."

Freddie has admitted that he is bisexual, but says: "I couldn't fall in love with a man the way I could with a girl". The one love of his life and the only person he really trusts is 31-year-old Mary Austin, a quiet fair-haired woman. Freddie and Mary had a seven-year romance.

"Our love affair ended in tears but a deep bond grew out of it, and that's something nobody can take away from us. It's unreachable,” he says. "All my lovers ask me why they can't replace her, but it's simply impossible.

"I don't feel jealous of her lovers because, of course, she has a life to lead, and so do I. Basically, I try to make sure she's happy with whoever she's with and she tries to do the same for me.

“We look after each other and that's a wonderful form of love. I might have all the problems in the world, but I have Mary and that gets me through."

The seal of Freddie's commitment to Mary is his decision to leave her his millions.

"What better person to leave my fortune to when I go ?" he smiles. "Of course my parents are in my will and so are my cats, but the vast bulk of it will go to Mary.

"If I dropped down dead tomorrow, Mary's the one person I know who could cope with my vast wealth. She works in my organisation and looks after my money side and all my possessions. She's in charge of the chauffeurs, maids, gardeners, accountants and lawyers. All I have to do is throw my carcass around on stage."

Freddie is one of the world's richest rock stars but he never has a […]

"You can have everything in the world and still be the loneliest man'

[…] penny in his pocket and has no idea of how many millions he owns.

"I love having so much money," he admits, "but I don't believe in counting it. And because I have far more than I need, I give a lot of it away to people I like.

"I try to enjoy life and if there was no money I wouldn't let it stop me having a good time. In the early days, when I hardly had anything I'd save for two weeks and then blow it all in a day so that I could have a blast of fun."

Certainly, money hasn't always been so free for Freddie. Born Freddie Bulsara on September 5, 1946, his father was a government accountant, which meant Freddie spent some of his childhood in Zanzibar and India. After school, he did a graphics course at Ealing College of Art in London (he designed the band's logo, using the four members' birth signs as inspiration). It was in late 1971 that he joined May, Taylor and Deacon and the Queen phenomenon began.

The biggest visible mark of Freddie's success (and millions) must be his magnificent 28-room mansion in London's Kensington, for which he paid over £1/2 million… in cash!

When Freddie bought the house four years ago, he had three of the eight bedrooms knocked into one for himself, and filled the mansion with handmade furniture from Harrods and priceless Japanese carvings and paintings from Toyko. Outside, an army of gardeners carved out a country retreat in the grounds.

But the king of the castle still hasn't moved in. For the first time Freddie explains why: "Every person who makes a lot of money has a dream he wants to carry out, and I achieved that dream with this wonderful house.

“Whenever I watched Hollywood movies set in plush homes with lavish decor, I wanted that for myself and now I've got it. But to me it was much more important to get the damn thing than to actually go and live in it. Maybe the challenge has worn off now. I'm very much like that — once I get something I'm not that keen on it any more. I still love the house but the real enjoyment is that I've achieved it.

"Sometimes, when I'm alone at night, I imagine that when I'm 50 I'll creep into that house as my refuge and then I'll start making it a home. Anyway, as it is, I can only spend 60 days a year in England for tax reasons."

Freddie has spent the last few months in Munich putting the finishing touches to his first solo album, Mr Bad Guy, which he has dedicated to his dead cat, Jerry.

The album, which is out this week, is packed with new material taking […]

[Photo caption: In 13 years with Queen, Freddie may have changed outwardly, but inside the heartache is the same]

[…] Freddie in an exciting new and different direction.

"I've put my heart and soul into this album,” he says. "It's much more beat orientated than Queen's music and it also has some very moving ballads."

In between hard work he also found time to begin a new friendship with a German actress — 42-year-old Barbara Valentin.

"Barbara and I have formed a bond that is stronger than anything I've had with a lover for the last six years," he says. “I can really talk to her and be myself in a way that's very rare."

Among his existing close friends, Freddie counts Rod Stewart, Elton John and Michael Jackson.

“Rod, Elton and I were going to form a band called Hair, Nose and Teeth after the three of us," he laughs. "But it hasn't happened because none of our egos can agree on the order of the words! Naturally I want it to be called Teeth, Nose and Hair.

“I'm very fond of Rod and Elton. They both came to my last birthday party and sang happy birthday when the cake was wheeled in. I shouted out, ‘This is probably the first time the two of you have sung without being paid for it!' and they laughed like mad.

“Michael Jackson and | have grown apart a bit since his massive success with Thriller. He's simply retreated into a world of his own.

“Two years ago we used to have great fun going to clubs together but now he won't come out of his fortress. It's very sad. He's so worried that someone will do him in that he's paranoid about absolutely everything.

“I get worried about that myself but I'll never let it take over my life like that.”

Freddie has said that if he wasn't a rock star with Queen, he'd have liked to have been a ballet dancer.

He once appeared with the Royal Ballet dancing to a selection of Queen hits, and it was at a glittering Royal Ballet party that Freddie met Prince Andrew.

“I was wearing a white scarf and holding a glass of wine when I was introduced to Prince Andrew. But I was so nervous I didn't realise my scarf was dangling in the drink,” Freddie recalls.

"There I was trying to be really cool and suddenly the Prince said, “Freddie, I don't think you really want this getting wet. He squeezed out the scarf and that broke the ice between us.

"I said, 'Thank goodness you've put me at ease. Now I can use the odd bit of dirty language.’ Then we both burst out laughing.

"He really got into the spirit of things and even had a dance. He's really quite hip in those sort of situations.

“I have a lot of respect for royalty. I'm a tremendous patriot."

Yet another unexpected side to the king of Queen. But then there's much more to Freddie Mercury than most of us ever see. Underneath the bizarre clothes and images that have become his trademark, there is the other Freddie. He sums it up simply… "Sometimes, I just long to be perfectly ordinary as well."

[solesommerso]

“you scare people”

Tan x Street but Fem Street

thinking team “finding out” bout fem street and being completely confused because tough guy Street who scared people wears skirts?

-🏡

“You scare people” | Victor Tan x Jim Street

❦ a/n: you’re feeding my babygirl-ifying street problem so well bestie

❦ warnings: street being feminine, swearing, mentions of non-accepting people (it’s not tan hes too whipped for that)

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⋆ ☆ ⋆ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

-

The last thing Victor was expecting to see after a particularly grueling shift was Street shrugging a skirt over his hips. It’s black, simple, a skater style that hits his upper thigh and covers his ass enough to be considered acceptable for public, paired with a tight black t shirt and Streets signature leather jacket.

The rest of the team have also noticed the clothing item, all pausing with wide eyes and slack jaws. Streets only been around for a month by now and this is definitely something none of them would ever think to be something he does.

“Uh- uh- where you going Street?” There’s a disbelieving scoff after Lucas words, making Street peer up from where he zips his backpack up.

“Just coffee with my brother.” It’s early enough in the day for that to be acceptable, how he’s not going home to sleep like the rest of the team is a different story, considering that they haven’t been home in over twelve hours.

“In a skirt?” “You have a brother?” The questions overlap from Chris and Hondo, a light chuckle from Street following them.

“Yeah in a skirt, and yeah I have a brother, Nate, not biological but foster.” The team hum along, questions being unspoken and looks exchanged as they watch Street adjust his backpack to his back without a single care.

“You scare people.” Tan blurts suddenly, regretting it instantly when Streets brow quirks up.

“What?” He has a smile which eases Victor slightly, at least he’s not actually mad.

“You- you intimidate people and you’re in a skirt. Like- like casually in a skirt.” He kinda stumbles over his words but Street seems to get the point as he pauses in place to nod small.

“Yeah, I guess so. I’ve always dressed how I wanted, it’s not like clothing actually has a gender, so why not. I think I started wearing skirts when I was like fifteen, I was a bit more goth back then though.” Street shrugs and waves a hand as he talks.

“You were goth?”

“Mm, throughout like all of high school I was goth-ish, lots of eyeliner and intricate outfits that were a hassle half the time.” Tan can only nod, he really doesn’t know what to say, he can’t imagine Street in makeup and let alone goth makeup but then again, he never assumed Street would wear a skirt either.

“Even as a cop? You never um- encountered mean people?” A bark of a laugh is the response Street gives to Deacon, shaking his head back and forth.

“I’ve dealt with my fair share of assholes, if they want to say something they are more than welcome to say it to my face. There’s no rules dictating what anyone wears outside of shift so there’s really nothing they can do to stop me.”

Street hauls his bag more onto his shoulder, Tan only notices it because it shifts the skirt fabric a small amount, flowing slightly and it just looks so-, there’s not a word that comes to mind aside from pretty, but Street doesn’t seem like the type to want to be called pretty, he’s far too rough for that-

“Whatcha staring at Tan?” His thoughts are abruptly interrupted by a teasing tone across Streets words.

“Sorry, sorry. You just- uh. Look pretty.” God he needs to work on his impulse control around Street.

“Thanks, I think so too. Wanna come get coffee with me, I can introduce you to Nate?” A blush runs furiously over Tans cheeks as he nods quickly, stumbling a bit to get his shoes on, ignoring Lucas chuckling in the background, and trying his best to not freak over what implications this coffee might have or how damn good Street looks in that skirt.

[fluentmoviequoter]

Hot or Cold

Requested Here!

Pairing: David 'Deacon' Kay x fem!reader

Summary: You work in a coffee shop, and when you are trapped in the fridge during a robbery, you can only hope that your boyfriend Deacon will find you.

Warnings: armed robbery, violence against reader, angst to fluff & hurt/comfort.

Word Count: 2.7k+ words

Picture from Pinterest

“How’s the handsome boyfriend?” your coworker asks as you wipe down the front counter. “Still dreamy and treating you right?”

You chuckle at the thought of Deacon not being dreamy or treating you right, an impossibility. “Yes, he is.”

The bell over the door of the coffee shop rings, and you abandon the conversation about Deacon to do your job.

“You know, I’ve been meaning to ask… does Deacon have any single cop friends?”

Reading the name on the latte you just prepared, you shake your head. If you were in her place, and she had a boyfriend like Deacon, you’d want to know where to find one.

“Thanks,” the man says as he takes the cup.

“Have a nice day!” You turn toward your coworker to answer, “Honestly, I don’t know. Street’s still in his ‘will-they-won’t-they’ thing with Chris, Tan is, well he’s Tan… the new guy might be single.”

“I don’t know who any of those people are.”

“You shouldn’t. I can check for you though; if I’m right, you’d be cute together.”

“Is he as easy on the eyes as Deacon?”

“Nope,” you answer with a smile.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Man, I would kill for an espresso after that,” Rocker groans.

Luca waves his hands in a ‘stop talking’ motion before Deacon hears any reference to coffee. Luca loves you, but Deacon has difficulty stopping once you’re mentioned.

“Too bad you don’t have time,” Deacon answers instead. “We got another call. Up, buddy.”

Rocker rolls his eyes before standing.

“What now?”

“Another bank robbery. You should’ve gotten a coffee when you had the chance; it’s going to be a long day,” Hondo answers.

Deacon nods at the idea of coffee, a picture of you making him feel a little more awake.

✯✯✯✯✯

“What is going on today?” someone asks, sitting back after a mad rush.

“Are you referring to the caffeine addiction of Los Angeles or the continuous sirens? Because I have no answer for either,” you answer, leaning on the counter.

“All these sirens and no single cops or firefighters to accept my number,” another voice sighs, joining your small huddle.

“Why don’t you guys head out early? I can close up, I know it’s been a long day,” you offer.

“Are you serious?”

“Sure. You can just cover for me when I don’t want the early shift next weekend.”

They weigh their options before you get a group hug and overlapping expressions of gratitude.

“Yeah, yeah, get out of here,” you mutter, shoving them toward the small locker room-like area at the back.

“You’re the best!”

“I know.”

As the door closes, their voices fading into the alley, you take a deep breath. You feel like you’ve been on the move all day, with people in and out without a break. Your phone shows no messages or calls from Deacon, but you hope to see him tonight.

“Okay,” you whisper to yourself, pushing off the counter as you prepare to close.

You lay your phone on the counter and turn on some quiet music, focusing on getting finished and home to Deacon’s house as soon as possible. The counters are cleaned, and the dirty dishes are loaded into the industrial-sized dishwasher, so you're nearly done. As you begin sweeping the floor, someone opens the door.

“Sorry, we’re closing,” you say, moving toward the door to lock it. “The Starbucks down the street is open all night.”

“They have better security,” the man replies, keeping his foot pressed against the door so you can’t close it.

You drop the broom and step back, reaching for your cell phone on the counter to call for help. The man barges in, locking the door behind him as he points a gun at you.

“Don’t move,” he demands.

Deacon is in your favorites list, so it would only take two taps on the screen to call him. You raise your hands before stepping toward the counter. You don’t get to your phone before the man hits the back of your head, knocking you into a nearby table. Holding your ribs, you try to stand but kick a chair on accident and fall to the floor.

“Are you going to keep being a problem or can you sit there and be quiet?” the man asks with his gun at his side.

“I’ll be quiet,” you answer lowly.

He cocks his head, looking around. Stepping back, he slides your phone behind the counter so you can’t reach it easily.

“You’ll forgive me if I don’t believe you,” he says, pushing you back on the floor.

“No,” you mumble, trying to fight him off of you.

“And you said you wouldn’t be trouble,” he almost growls, bringing the butt of his gun and the hard side of his hand down on your temple.

The impact disorients you; all you can do is grab his hand as he hauls you toward the walk-in fridge. When he pushes you inside and winks before closing the door, the severity of the situation finally reaches you. 

“Don’t do this! Take whatever you want but let me out,” you scream, banging on the large metal door.

Your head pounds with each movement, and when you graze your hairline with your fingers, you hiss when you reach the broken skin. Stepping further into the fridge, you shiver under the vent and sink to the floor, fighting dizziness and nausea as your head aches. With no way to call for help, you should try to stay warm, but the pain in your head and fear that no one will find you until morning influence you to close your eyes.

Outside the fridge, the thief sings along to the song playing from your phone as he empties the cash register into his small bag. Nodding at his earnings, he steps toward the door before taking the last muffin out of the display case.

✯✯✯✯✯

Deacon glances down at his watch. You have a habit of offering to close after long days, but even if you stayed, you should be getting home about now. Deacon smiles at the thought of you doing what you usually do: passing your driveway to pull into his own. You’ve been neighbors almost as long as you’ve been dating, though his house seems to be a landing place for both of you.

“20-David to command,” Hondo radios from inside the bank. “We’re Code 4.”

Deacon sighs, lowering his weapon and standing from his hidden position. He pulls his phone from his pocket, surprised to see no notifications from you. Maybe you had a day like he did.

Rushing home to hold you after a long day, Deacon slows beside your driveway, nodding when he sees it empty. But, when he sees your car isn’t in his driveway either, his brows furrow as he wavers between surprise and concern.

Shifting his car into park, he presses your contact, waiting until he gets your voicemail. He texts you to call him ASAP, and after a minute with no acknowledgment, he calls you again. Taking a deep breath in his attempt to stay calm, he dials the number for the coffee shop and prays to hear your voice. The line beeps before your recorded voice greets him.

“Answer,” Deacon begs as the dial tone begins again. “Hey, Luca, I need your help with something. You got a minute?”

“Yeah, of course, anything for you, man,” Luca replies.

Deacon says your name before running a hand across his mouth. “She’s not home and she’s not answering her cell phone or the coffee shop line.”

“Anywhere else she’d be?” Luca asks, shuffling on the other side of the line.

“Not this late. I’m going to drive over to the coffee shop,” Deacon adds.

“We’ll meet you there. Street and I are only a couple blocks away. We’ll find her, Deac.”

Deacon thanks him as he backs out of his driveway. The coffee shop is a ten-minute drive that feels like an eternity.

✯✯✯✯✯

Street and Luca are coming out of the alley when Deacon rushes onto the sidewalk.

“Hey,” Street greets. “The lights were off when we got here. Back door is locked, and her car is still here.”

“Did you try the door?” Deacon asks. 

“Not this one; we just got here,” Luca replies.

“Thank you for coming so late.”

“Of course. We’re here for you and her, Deacon.”

Deacon nods, taking a deep breath as he pushes the door open. He glances at Luca, who tilts his head in concern. Luca and Street enter behind Deacon, their hands at their sides and ready to pull their weapons if needed. There’s quiet music playing from somewhere in the building, and Street nods to Luca as he breaks off to find the source.

“Deacon,” Street calls quietly. He stands from behind the counter and holds up your phone.

Deacon swallows harshly, looking toward the back.

“Let’s clear the building and we’ll go from there,” Deacon instructs quietly.

Street and Luca nod, moving slowly and silently until they’re sure the building is empty. Deacon turns on a light in the back, frowning when he sees your bag in its regular storage spot.

“The cash register is empty,” Luca calls, his voice raised after concluding there is no immediate threat.

✯✯✯✯✯

You hear a voice outside and blink rapidly, forcing yourself to focus. With your arms wrapped tightly around you, your shivers are growing in strength as you grow weak and disoriented.

“Where- go- night?” someone asks, their voice breaking as you strain to listen through the thick metal of the fridge.

The voice sounds familiar, and you summon what little strength you have left to bang on the door. It’s quiet, and as your hand slides down the cold metal, your blinks slow.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Wait,” Deacon demands, raising a hand to quiet Luca and Street. “Did you hear that? Something made a knocking noise.”

He walks toward the fridge, the only place they didn’t check during their initial sweep. Luca nods, standing behind Deacon as Street unlocks and opens the door. Deacon sees you slumped on the floor and rushes in. 

“Dea- David?” you mumble, your eyes lidded as you look up at him.

“Hey, yeah, I’m here. I got you, sweetheart,” he soothes, laying his hands on your shoulders.

“I’ll call it in,” Street says before reporting the robbery and requesting an ambulance.

“We need to get you out of here,” Deacon says quietly, pulling you against his chest.

He stands slowly, cradling your shivering form to his chest. Once Luca closes the fridge, Deacon sits on the floor, taking his jacket off and wrapping it around your shoulders. He moves you gently to make sure all of your clothes are dry. Sliding his fingers onto your pulse point, he calculates your heart rate with a frown.

“Hypothermia?” Luca asks quietly, passing Deacon a nearby jacket.

Deacon nods, laying it over your hips as he lets you lean against him.

“Ambulance is here, Deac,” Street alerts. “Is she okay?”

“She has to be,” Deacon and Luca answer together.

✯✯✯✯✯

Deacon and Luca follow the ambulance in Deacon’s car while Street returns home, telling the team what happened. They sit together in the waiting room, sharing their concern and sympathies without speaking.

A nurse exits and says your name, smiling as Deacon and Luca rush to her side.

“The doctor wants to talk to you. Relatives?” she asks.

“He is,” Luca answers. “I’m just a friend.”

“Then I’m going to ask you to wait here.”

“No problem. We’re here for you, Deac.”

Deacon nods, whispering, “Thank you,” as he follows the nurse into the hospital.

“You found her in plenty of time, sir,” the doctor says with a kind smile. “She’s suffering from hypothermia and some surface-level injuries. Despite that nasty bump on her head, we don’t see any indications of a concussion.”

“Thanks, doc. How bad is the hypothermia?” Deacon asks.

“We caught it very early. She’s warming up; temperature was right around 94, so it isn't too severe.”

“Can I see her?”

“Of course. Let me know if you have any other questions, and I’ll be back by soon.”

Deacon steps into your room quietly, looking at you with a sad smile. Dressed in the thin hospital gown with heated blankets and heat packs on your chest and neck.

“’S not as warm as you,” you mumble with your eyes closed.

Deacon smiles, pulling a chair up beside your bed. “Working better though,” he says quietly.

You turn your head toward him and smile as you open your eyes. “Thanks for finding me. It wouldn’t be as much fun to get in trouble without you around to save me.”

“Well no more trouble for a while, okay? Because that was terrifying.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. Robbery is working on catching the guy.”

“He stole my muffin.”

Deacon chuckles before offering, “I’ll make you a whole batch to make up.”

“You should’ve been a baker, not a cop.”

“I’m not sure I’m the house-husband type.”

“Trophy husband for sure,” you correct with a nod. “I love you.”

“I love you.”

✯✯✯✯✯

When you get discharged, Deacon takes you back to his house, and you notice that someone has moved your car back to your driveway. After getting you comfortable on the couch, Deacon begins rushing back and forth, doing everything the doctor recommended and then some.

“Deac,” you call when he rushes by again.

He stops and backpedals into the living room. “Do you need something?”

“Yes. I need you to sit with me. You’ve done more than enough, and I just need your company right now.”

Deacon smiles and whispers an apology as he sits beside you, holding you close. You cuddle into his side, focusing on your favorite movie. When you kick the blankets off, barely moving as you struggle, Deacon stops himself from acting again.

“Need help?” he asks, running a hand down your spine.

You nod slowly against his chest, and he reaches across you to remove the blanket.

“Want to you want for dinner?”

“Not hungry.”

Deacon looks at his watch, furrowing his brows when he notices it’s been nearly twelve hours since you ate at the hospital, and who knows how long before that.

“You really need to eat something,” he urges kindly.

Your weight increases on him as you shake your head and close your eyes. When your forehead hits Deacon’s arm, he’s surprised to feel how warm you are. He retrieves a thermometer from the small care kit he assembled in his concern-filled frenzy.

“You have a fever,” Deacon tells you. “It’s pretty high, so I’m going to call the doctor.”

“Stay here,” you mumble, grasping at Deacon’s shirt.

He wraps his arm around you, tugging you closer as he raises his phone to his ear.

“Hello, this is Deacon Kay… Yes, ma’am… She has a fever of 103.2, she’s not wanting to eat, and she’s very weak... I will. Thank you.”

“What’d they say?” you ask as he sets his phone down.

“They think it’s probably just the stress of what you went through, or maybe an upper respiratory infection from the cold. I’m supposed to keep you hydrated, medicated, and happy, and call if anything changes.”

You nod, nuzzling closer to him as he chuckles. It doesn’t take much coaxing from him to convince you to take some medicine, drink lots of water, and take a few bites of your favorite food, especially when he promises to hold your hand through it all.

✯✯✯✯✯

When you wake up the following morning, wrapped in Deacon’s arms, the fever is lower but not gone. 

“More water,” Deacon demands.

“You’re bossy.”

“Trophy boyfriends are allowed to be.”

“Trophy husband,” you correct.

“Are you proposing?” he teases.

You take a minute to consider before asking, “Would you say yes?”

“In a heartbeat.”

“Then you just wait until I feel better, Kay.”

He smiles, pulling a lightweight blanket over you as your fever finally breaks.

“You’re still worried,” you accuse, sitting up to look at him.

“Of course, I am. I came home and you weren’t here, and then weren’t answering your phone. It’s only because of Luca and Street that I was able to find you without panicking.”

“Then we should have them over for dinner to thank them. Although, I know you would’ve found me without them.”

“I’ll always find you,” he promises.

“Even when I can’t decide whether to be hot or cold?”

“I love you either way,” Deacon replies, matching your tone as he kisses your forehead.

[angellicmp3]

https://picrew.me/ja/image_maker/2310696

Intro post :3

Hello I’m Angellic.Mp3

He/him—19—MINORS ARE NOT WELCOME‼️

I will post sexually explicit & suggestive things.

I’m new to the f/o community, I’m a transguy with about a million and one f/os.

This is a side blog so i don’t follow or send likes from here :( —Not comfortable sharing my personal incase my mutuals find me.

more info :

I sincerely do not want to engage with proship discourse, it’s draining and exhausting.

I believe that self ship/general shipping an adult with a child, as well as incestual ships, are wrong. Even if it’s “just a fictional character”

I enjoy dark fiction and yandere, as well as horror themes. I have horror f/os, and f/os with sadistic themes.

Proship and Antis can interact with my blog— I do not care. I also don’t care about sharing f/os, just don’t f/o my ocs lmao.

[WORK IN PROGRESS!! UNDER CONSTRUCTION!! ALWAYS ADDING AND TAKING OFF!! :) ]

Fictional others (that i am comfortable being public about + ranked by how much I think about them [at this point in time]):

Vincent (oc) 🚭🖥️

Logan Howlett [The Wolverine] (The X-Men comics + movies)

Frank Castle [The Punisher] (The Punisher comics only, neither of the movies or the tv series)

Tim / Masky (Marble Hornets / Creepypasta)

Brian / Hoodie (Marble Hornets / Creepypasta)

Daniel ‘Oz’ Osbourne (Buffy The Vampire Slayer) 🐺🦇

Max Rockatansky (Mad Max) 🏍️🏜️

The Hylics crew (Wayne, Somsnosa, Dedusmuln, and Pongorma as a polycule)🌙💀🫗👹

Billy Lenz (Black Christmas [1974]) 🐈‍⬛🏚️

Leon Kennedy (Resident Evil)

Ricardo Irving (Resident Evil)

Pete White (The Venture Bros.)

Charles Foster Ofdensen (Metalocalypse)

Beetlejuice (Beetlejuice the movie + the cartoon Not the musical)

Data Soong (Star Trek)

Lore Soong (Star Trek)

Spamton G. Spamton (Deltarune)

Charlie Dompler (Smiling friends)

Norman Bates (Psycho)

Hiromi Higuruma (Jujutsu Kaisen)

Russia (Hetalia)

England (Hetalia)

Deacon Brucke (What We do in the Shadows)

Edward Nashton/Edward Nygma [The Riddler](Batman)

Simon Petrikov (Adventure Time)

Hanma Shuuji (Tokyo Revengers) [older timelines only]

Illumi Zoldyck (Hunter x Hunter)

Jack Walten (The Walten Files)

Alternate Gabriel (The Mandela Catalogue)

Jervis Tetch [The Mad Hatter] (Batman)

Doug Rattman (Portal)

Yuuta Okkotsu (Jujutsu Kaisen)

Cid Highwind (Final Fantasy 7)

Cait Sith (Final Fantasy 7)

Ban (Seven Deadly Sins)

Alexei Smirnoff (Stranger things)

BYE BYE !!! :)

[swannscroft]

I posted 527 times in 2022

68 posts created (13%)

459 posts reblogged (87%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@ famousflowermagazine

@ daniel-bruehl

@ captain-k-jones

@ drswannbond

@ structuredreality

I tagged 443 of my posts in 2022

Only 16% of my posts had no tags

#james bond - 54 posts

#nttd - 54 posts

#no time to die - 53 posts

#hfw - 53 posts

#horizon forbidden west - 53 posts

#lea seydoux - 48 posts

#aloy - 46 posts

#madeleine swann - 43 posts

#00swann - 38 posts

#007 - 37 posts

Longest Tag: 98 characters

#but sarah puts her position in the militia first and moved on from deacon and she's the bad guy???

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

our hopes ride with you- aloy x avad

Every moment waiting was agony.

Aloy had sat patiently during the feast in the palace. Every morsel in sight had been scarfed down. The guests had all been thrilled to feast and drink, as well as be in each other’s company. Droves of people had fought their way to shake her hand to thank the ‘Savior of Meridian’. And she hated every second of it. Aloy wasn’t used to praise of any kind, and definitely didn’t consider herself a hero.

60 notes - Posted March 2, 2022

#4

multiverse of madness spoilers

can't believe i got to watch peggy and wanda die in the same movie. sam raimi the is absolute goat

68 notes - Posted May 8, 2022

#3

See the full post

70 notes - Posted August 10, 2022

#2

See the full post

153 notes - Posted March 31, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

happy 1 year ani to the best ep of tfatws

443 notes - Posted April 2, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

tagging: @craiteys @clarkesyd 💖

[eeveevie]

distractions

Deacon wakes up injured and confused after the Institute attack on the Castle. Good thing Madelyn is there to care for him, in more ways than one.

A/N: @gingerbreton​ prompted from this list and I... got very, very carried away. Merged it with an idea I had for another lingering prompt/idea. Obviously there is sexual content here. Yay!

Deacon x Madelyn Hardy (Agent Charmer)

4150 words (Under a cut for length and naughty-naughty) | Ao3

Deacon was an idiot.

But he knew that already. Had known that for years, not like it was a startling revelation that needed to come to him upon first waking up. And yet, that was the first clear thought he had when he regained consciousness—that he was a bona fide idiot.

Okay brain, but why?

He figured the best, first thing to do was to open his eyes and move but curiously, his limbs felt heavy and there was a lingering, metallic taste on his tongue—had he been drugged? Wouldn’t be the first time. His chest tightened in fear momentarily, thinking of Charmer and her safety. If he was indisposed, where was she? He groaned, trying to shift against the dull ache that radiated through his body, keeping him frozen.

“Oh no you don’t,” Charmer’s exasperated voice echoed nearby, close enough that whatever imagined worry had begun to stir in his mind instantly dissipated.

He fluttered open his eyes, wincing at the overhanging light. It was dim, but still too damn bright, especially without his shades. Instead, he glanced to look at her as she sat down on the edge of the bed he occupied. He wasn’t sure what he was protesting, but he wanted to speak, so he did. “Hmm yes I do.”

Charmer gave him an uncharacteristically stern look, one that brought back his earlier panic, or at least some concern. “Do you even remember what happened?” she asked in a whisper, and his heart stilled at the misty look in her eyes—she had been crying.

He awkwardly cleared his throat, grimacing at the pain created from his movements. “No?”

“Right. Okay,” she sighed, shifting so she could occupy more of the mattress, be closer to him. She leaned over, fluffing up the pillows under his head and shoulders, helping so he could sit up just a little, the blanket falling just enough for him to notice the mass of bandages covering various parts of his naked torso. Well—that explained a lot.

Charmer’s touch lingered along his shoulders, frown persistent as she continued to speak. “We were in the area when the distress call came over the Minutemen radio, barely made it to the Castle in time when Coursers and Gen-1 synths started relaying in.”

Bits and pieces of Deacon’s memory started to fall back into place, but it all seemed so hazy, like a wayward dream. Maybe he had a concussion, or whatever pain meds he’d likely been pumped full of had dulled everything away. He briefly remembered taking pop-shots from the Castle walls with some Minutemen, all while keeping a careful eye on their General in the courtyard below. She had stuck close to Preston near the radio tower, a goddamned force of nature with her laser rifle, firing in all directions. But the Institute’s teleportation relay gave the synths a clear advantage in the field.

“You pushed me and Preston out of the way of a grenade blast, shielded me from a Courser’s shot,” she hushed, tears threatening to spill over once again. It took a considerable amount of effort for him to lift one of his hands to rest on her waist, gripping the fabric of her faded green dress. “God, Deacon, there was so much blood, we—I—thought you were going to die right there in the middle of the fort.”

He swallowed the lump in his throat, unsure of what to say, or if he should say anything at all. “That bad?”

“Yes,” her voice broke harshly, blue eyes wild as she gazed at him, one of her hands quick to wipe at the tears falling down her cheeks. Deacon cursed the fact he couldn’t lift his injured arm fast enough to perform the task himself. “Most of the blood came from a flesh wound on your thigh, probably shrapnel from the grenade. We had to stitch you up, so you’ll have a decent scar.”

“You have another shrapnel wound on your hip, but it’s mostly superficial, it’ll heal faster than everything else,” she continued in a sober tone. Her hand drifted to rest cautiously on his bandaged right side. “Energy blast from that Courser. Thank God for Ballistic Weave or you’d have a gaping wound straight to your ribcage and guts,” she recoiled, blanched at the very mention. “More likely a pile of goo in the cornfield.”

“Don’t let Tinker Tom know you compared him to God,” Deacon breathed a joke, trying to cut the tension, biting his tongue when it didn’t land. He thought maybe he should’ve gone with ‘goo being better fertilizer’ but decided he’d rather not ruin the moment with a crude joke about his near-death. Charmer flashed a sympathetic expression, her fingers ghosting across the thick padding of gauze wrapped around his right shoulder.

“Through and through from a stray bullet. Ricochet in all the gunfire maybe, most likely friendly fire,” she explained, devastated to admit it. “Your shooting arm.”

Deacon hardly cared—he was alive, he would heal in time. If he never shot a rifle or a gun again, so be it. He still had all his appendages (that he was aware of—he really needed to lift the blanket to double check), and if his sense of humor was already back on the clock, well then—he was sure to be fine. Charmer was there, also alive, with no major injuries save for a few scrapes and bruises. They had survived, the Minutemen had survived, and the Institute were knocked down another peg. For some reason, it hardly felt like a victory.

“I’m sorry,” he exhaled.

“What?” she questioned, clearly surprised by his apology. He wasn’t always one to admit fault, unless he had royally fucked up. “Why?”

Deacon nodded, squeezing at her hip, all he could do to show some kind of comforting touch. “If I stayed where I was supposed to, where you needed me, this wouldn’t’ve happened.”

“You’re an idiot,” she sighed after a long pause. There it was—at least she finally offered the slightest glimmer of a smile, letting him know she wasn’t truly admonishing him. “Brave and resilient in the face of danger, but still—an idiot.”

He managed the best grin he could. “Your idiot,” he paused, wiggling his fingers along her waistline. “Do brave and resilient idiots get rewarded with fancy Minutemen medals or can I negotiate for something…else?”

“Deacon.” Now she was scolding him, even if she was smiling at his antics. She pushed at his chest, distancing herself. “You nearly die and all you can think about is sex?”

“I didn’t necessarily ask for that,” he replied with a smirk. “But now that you mention it.”

Charmer leaned closer again, eying him carefully before placing a soft, chaste kiss to his lips. She lingered, kissing him a few more times—delicately—like he could break at any moment. When she broke away, she brushed her nose against his. “All you’ll be getting is some more pain meds and a good night’s sleep.”

Deacon, stubbornly, thought otherwise. Her kisses were another stark reminder of life—sweet and gentle—and he wanted more. Much more. Perhaps too urgently, he tugged her closer, kissing her with more fervor, resisting the urge to grin when she eased against him, returning his kisses eagerly. It was so very easy to get lost in her, so he did—just focused on her lips, on her tongue, on her soft hand resting against his chest. He felt lightheaded, unsure if it was from breathlessness or his injuries, but didn’t want to pull away, not when she tasted so damn wonderful.

And then, something sharp jabbed into his arm, causing him to flinch. “Ow, ow, ow—needle!”

Charmer breathed a laugh, despite his painful reaction and he watched as she finished injecting the Med-X syringe she had snuck by while he was distracted by her mouth. He was a sucker for sure, but almost immediately he could feel the medicine doing its intended job, alleviating the pain he hadn’t realized was pulsing through him. He sunk back into the pillows, staring up at her as she offered a guilty expression.

“No fair.”

“You can thank me in the morning,” she insisted, moving to adjust him so he was lying flat, tucking the blanket back into place.  

Before Deacon allowed himself to fully succumb to the darkness of sleep, he slowly blinked up at Charmer, and hoped his smile didn’t look too ridiculous. “Love you.”

She didn’t say anything in return, only smiled and brushed those soft fingers across his temple, down his cheek before sliding across to his nose in a gentle tap. He knew what it meant.

-x-x-x-

The next time Deacon woke up, the room was completely dark, save for the soft glow of Charmer’s Pip-Boy resting on the bedside table. Knowing his full catalogue of injuries, he felt considerably weirder—the aches and pain had subsided, but there was still a humming static in his bones that no amount of Med-X or Stimpaks could relieve. His lips and throat were also dry, but that was nothing a glass of water couldn’t fix. His brain still couldn’t digest what had occurred—maybe he had a concussion too, causing his denial. Some part of that squishy lobe in his skull wanted to believe that he’d wake up and none of this would’ve happened, that he and Charmer would still be surveying the coastline, cracking jokes about big boats.

Instead, he needed to face reality. He was at the Minutemen’s Castle, in the General’s private quarters, a little worse for wear, sure, but alive. Deacon stared up at the speckled ceiling, quietly thanking whatever guardian angel or saved up good karma had helped him out this time. In spite of his penchant for danger, he wasn’t quite ready to leave this retched Wasteland, not when he found a second chance with Charmer.

All he wanted was to desperately kiss her right then. Kiss her over and over until he couldn’t feel anything but her, drowning in her love and affection. Of course he wanted more—his dreams had brought some form of her to him in an attempt to satisfy the need, but it wasn’t the same, and only left him craving the real thing. Oh, and with a morning stiff. At least things below the waist were in a working order. Deacon awkwardly reached to adjust himself, softly groaning at his own sensitivity. Briefly, he considered continuing with his own ministrations when he realized he wasn’t alone.

He turned his head, further adjusting his eyes find Charmer asleep, curled up on her side and facing him on what little space remained in the bed. At first he didn’t dare to move, not wanting to wake her so easily, knowing it was a real possibility. With her it was always hard to tell just how far away in dreamland she was. A voice in his head finally encouraged him to turn, slowly (and somewhat struggling) rolling onto his less-injured side so he could face her.

She looked so different in the low light—face clean of her usual makeup, soft blonde hair tousled but clearly recently cleaned from whatever blood and debris she had collected from the firefight on the Castle grounds. She had a small, healing cut on her temple, another below her chin. Deacon frowned, hating that her beautiful face had even been scratched in the slightest way. Hesitantly he reached out, resting his hand along her waist and the soft cotton of her dress. Charmer didn’t wake up, instead she seemed to lean into his touch, encouraging him to inch closer. He ran his hand up and down her side in slow swipes, curling around to run softer patterns along her spine before passing over her hip for a gentle squeeze.

Charmer let out a soft sigh, her hand reflexively reaching out for his chest. Only then did her eyes flutter open, but she didn’t seem overly surprised to find him so close. “Hmm…Dee,” she greeted, suppressing a yawn. “Are you okay?”

A loaded question, all things considered. Deacon didn’t respond at first, needing to quash the overwhelming sensation at the forefront of his mind and captured her lips in a needy kiss, gripping his hand along her side to pull her even closer to his body. Thankfully, she didn’t move away, but did tilt her chin for a sharp inhale of breath, breaking the kiss. He took the opportunity to nuzzle her brow, inhaling the sweet scent of whatever she had used to bathe.

“Clearly I’m feeling a little better,” he finally responded.

Charmer’s thigh shifted, and he couldn’t tell if it was deliberate or not until she spoke, the warmth of her leg pressing against his growing erection. “That’s not little,” she breathed, still unable to tell if she was teasing, or fully responsive to his state.

They’d been there before—not necessarily in that exact scenario—but they’d gotten each other worked up only for nothing to happen on more than one occasion. Deacon was silently hoping this wasn’t one of them. Instead of cracking a joke, he zeroed in on her lips again, relishing in the quiet little noises he coaxed from her as his hands continued to roam. It was all too slow for what his brain was demanding, and foolishly, he tried to roll his body atop hers, underestimating the effort it would take to support his weakened limbs. Charmer shifted at the last moment to avoid being crushed as he practically collapsed back onto the mattress with a defeated groan, closing his eyes tight in a lame attempt to block out the pain.

“Maybe we should stick to sleeping until you’ve healed,” she softly laughed, leaning up on her elbow to peer down at him.

Deacon huffed, glancing at her. “If you’re going to mock me, please just take me out back and end my suffering.”

Charmer regarded him with a tiny smile, her hand resting along the side of his face, thumb gently caressing his cheek. To his surprise, she closed the distance between them, her lips gentle when she placed them over his. “Lay still,” she instructed in a soft whisper, barely braking away.

Deacon didn’t dare to disobey once he noted the mischievous hint in her eyes. Her lips trailed across his chin and jawline, the softest giggles fanning across his skin as she mumbled something about his ticklish stubble. Her kisses continued along the line of his throat, up and down before focusing on a spot below his ear, causing him to groan when she gave the tiniest of bites.

“Frisky,” he breathed, gripping her waist a little tighter, encouraging her to shift to straddle his uninjured thigh. Charmer chuckled against his ear but must’ve decided her actions spoke louder than any witty response she could respond with, trailing her tongue and teeth down to his collarbone—now he’d just have more markings in the morning. Good. He’d wear and show them off proudly.  

Meanwhile, Deacon had continued running his hands along her sides and back, finding the task more and more difficult as she shifted lower down his body. Every time her leg brushed against his aching groin, he bit back a hiss, a moan—frustrated he couldn’t just flip her beneath him and rut like his mind was screaming out for. Then again, there was something agonizingly wonderful about this slow, calculated torture. Not everything between them had to be rushed, especially if she was taking the lead.

Charmer’s fingers were soft and warm against his chest as she explored his skin, wary of his bandages but firm against the lean muscles he knew she loved. Wherever her hands touched, her mouth followed, smooth and whispered kisses that zigzagged left-to-right, never lingering in one spot for too long. Soon enough she had adjusted so she was at his waistline, trailing along the hemline of his underwear.

She breathed a laugh as she pressed a series of kisses from his bellybutton to his bruised hipbone. “Are you sure you don’t want a medal?”

“How shiny is it?”

Deacon lifted his head, as painful as it was to crane his neck, to watch her movements as she removed his only item of clothing, careful not to disturb his bandaged thigh as she shimmied them down his legs. Charmer settled back down across his uninjured side, and she glanced up at him through her long lashes, eyes shining even in the darkness. The moan that left him when she gripped him was loud, even if her touch was feather-soft at first.

She resumed her kisses along his skin as she pumped him—slowly at first, as if she knew that any faster and he wouldn’t last long. Something about the setting, or the pain meds in his system, or maybe the adrenaline of surviving an Institute raid—who knew? He was already on edge. Deacon shut his eyes and slammed his head against the pillows, resisting the urge not to jerk up into her hand.

“Nuh-uh,” she argued, her free hand sliding up across his chest. “You should enjoy the show.”

Jesus fucking Christ—Deacon snapped open his eyes, tilting his chin so he could look at her just as she maneuvered to run her tongue along the base of his cock, fierce blue eyes meeting his as she licked up to the tip, only pausing to smile before wrapping her sweet lips around him completely. If he had been loud before, he was sure he had just woken up the entire Castle with his sounds of pleasure, unable to hold back as Charmer took him further into the heat of her mouth. Her warm tongue swirled around his crown while her fingers gripped tightly onto the base where her lips couldn’t reach—just unbelievably delightful.

Deacon strained to reach though the aches in his body down to her, combing his fingers through her hair as her head slowly bobbed, lips gradually tightening to tease him closer towards orgasm. Though, he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted that—all of this was fucking spectacular, but what he really, truly wanted was to chase that end with her. With his other hand he gripped her fingers splayed across his chest, lacing them and pressing them against his rapidly beating heart.

“Charm—”

Her mouth fell from him with a resounding pop. “After all that bedside care, you’d think I’d at least get a Mads.” She spoke her other nickname in a throaty sigh, teasing him. All the while her hand never stopped pumping, slow and deliberate as she nipped the skin of his inner thigh.

Deacon swallowed the hard lump in his throat—if he wasn’t already buck fucking naked with his lover’s hand around his cock, he would’ve blushed. Give it up to Charmer to call him out in the middle of a stellar blowjob for not using her given name. The rational part of his brain tried to remind himself that he liked to use it only under special circumstances, but what was more special than making love?

God he loved this woman. “Come here.”

Charmer hesitated to move, but he silently encouraged her, moving his hands along her body so she was perfectly situated, straddling his waist—right where he wanted her. She lowered herself across his chest, giving herself a little space so she could study his face, eyes dancing across his features. One hand rested across his cheek, thumb brushing across the tip of his nose and lips.

“Deacon?”

“Madelyn,” he answered in a whisper against her skin, watching the sparkle in her eyes ignite into a flame. He shifted her down his body so she was resting along his hips, gripping her waistline tightly so he could roll upwards once, twice—show that he was still very much aroused. “I want you.”

“Oh?” She always liked to play coy.

Charmer circled her hips, allowing the length of him to drag along the clothed crux of her thighs. He lifted his head up so he could kiss her in earnest, swallowing her groans as he brought her even closer to him, driving the friction between them even higher. Finally he began lifting up her dress, breaking away from their kiss for the quick moment it took to toss it to the side to wherever she had discarded his underwear. She wasn’t wearing a bra, but Deacon was more focused on getting her panties off—Charmer was already one step ahead of him, carefully moving without breaking their kiss or bumping into one of his injuries so she could wiggle them down her legs. Within seconds she was back on top of him, arched across his chest as they panted between heated kisses.

He whispered her name again—her real name—as he trailed his hand from her waist to her core, teasing his fingers against her entrance, shuddering at the wetness he felt. She trembled at his touch, whining incoherently as she writhed atop him. Still, he probed a few fingers, grinning into their kiss as she broke away in a heady moan. Soon enough she was reaching down to bat his hand away, stroking at his length and aligning it where his fingers had just been. When she sank down, she kissed him hard, almost taking the breath from him. Charmer stayed close in those initial moments, steady drags of her hips against his in-between fevered kisses and heated touches.

Her breath was beautifully ragged. “You doin’ okay?”

Deacon laughed. Even if he was in pain, he wasn’t going to admit it now. “God yes.”

Charmer seemed heartened, gradually leaning back on her heels, resting her hands along his chest as she steadily picked up speed. He gripped her thigh, one hand trailing up along her waist to palm at a breast. Beneath her, he found that he was already losing rhythm with every thrust, clenching his teeth in a desperate attempt to focus—he wanted to last just a little bit longer, for her sake. This didn’t have to be perfect, but damnit, he wasn’t about to come early and leave her hanging, not when he was too injured to make love properly, the way he wanted to.

With a determined focus he met her every move, sliding his hand down to where they were joined to circle his thumb against her clit. That certainly seemed to do the trick, Charmer arching back in a symphony of sounds, movements interrupted as a wave of ecstasy washed over her. Her thighs tightened against his torso, quivering as she cried out, practically begging him to not stop. He wasn’t planning on it, not until she was an unmade puddle in his arms. Her hands clutched at his chest and shoulder and under her breath she muttered little curses between God and Deacon.

He could only grin.

Deacon pulled her tight against his chest as he noted her strength waning, kissing along the side of her face and neck as he pushed up from the mattress, holding her hips to his with every uneven movement.  She clenched around him and he knew even without her hushing his name, a silent trigger for him to let go. Even so, he continued thrusting until his orgasm hit him like a derailed train, blinding him and seizing his limbs in a way that had him clutching Charmer to his body as he came, barely giving her enough space to move so that he could spill across his stomach rather than inside of her.

No need for any baby Deacons walking around, he thought. Not yet, anyways. A flittering thought made him wonder if Charmer—Madelyn—would even want to have a kid with someone like him. But that was a thought for later. Much later. Breathless, mind swirling, he blinked hard and glanced down at his lover. She was flashing him this sideways, satisfied smirk—a good sign, chest still heaving as she caught her breath. A moment passed and she reached behind them for a few washcloths, passing one off to him so he could clean himself of their coital activities.

“That was fun,” she commented with a smile. Deacon could feel a but coming. “You know, you really need to rest now. Heal up.”

He sighed, nodding as he relaxed against the bed and pillows. “Lucky for me, I have an excellent nurse,” he flashed her a wink. “Grade A bedside service. Can’t wait to see what the sponge baths are like.”

Charmer chuckled, bringing the previously discarded blanket with her as she settled against his side. He tucked her closer for a snuggle. “With care like that, we’ll split open your stitches.”

He shrugged. This time, he could feel sleep calling to him naturally, without the need of a medical syringe. “Worth it.”

😎 leave a kudos

[debdarkpetal]

[solesommerso]

๑ A being multilingual & having a habit of swapping languages often around their partners, leaving B & C trying to remember/pick up the phrases A uses most

A = Street

B&C = Tan & Luca

-🏡

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ “what’s he saying?”⋆ﾟ⊹

|| Jim Street x Victor Tan x Dominque Luca

a/n: Italian Street hc coming into play big time rn and I’m so here for it (ik I could’ve made it that tan was speaking mandarin but I can’t understand a lick of it so I went the route more comfortable, and y’know the ask wants multilingual street too)

-

Tan and Luca sit helplessly on the couch with confused looks on their faces, Streets pacing in front of them, spews of annoyed Italian running from his mouth while he rubs his hands through his hair excessively.

“Cosa stavi pensando?!” Tan and Lucas mouth opens to reply, though nothing comes out. They recognize the phrase briefly, hearing it a few times over the months they’ve spent dating, but it still isn’t enough to have a genuine come back.

“Baby, why don’t you sit down? Take a breath.” Luca tries for about the fifteenth time since Street started his pacing.

It’s all over Luca and Tan pulling a stunt during shift, the only shift they’ve had without Street there since their relationship started, and while Streets normally the one to be reckless at work— Tan and Luca fall into competition with each other pretty quickly without their third partner around to cut them short.

“He’s really mad.” Tan murmurs to Luca when it seems Street doesn’t hear the ask, he keeps his stream of Italian ranting going and adds to his partners confusion.

“What’s he saying?” A shrug is the only answer Victor can give up.

“I just- ugh. You two idiots worry me all the time and- and I don’t like not being on shift with you anyways but I don’t need Deacon calling me saying you’re staying late to get talked to by Hondo because you did something stupid.” Street finally huffs out with sagging shoulders and a crease of stress in his brow.

“We’re sorry.” Tan and Luca sync the words, earning a small chuckle from Street before he flops onto the couch beside them.

“I know, sei fortunate che ti amo però.” He leans to press a kiss to each partners cheeks, them pressing into the touch as much as they can with the knowledge of maybe knowing he just said he loves them, maybe.

[fluentmoviequoter]

A New Kind of Fear

Pairing: David 'Deacon' Kay x fem!wife!reader

Summary: When 20 David completes a raid with narcotics, they stumble upon a stalker. The unknown suspect has been watching you, and now Deacon must find him while dealing with the fear you've grown used to.

Warnings: canon typical action/danger, reader has a stalker but doesn't know, angst, fluff

Word Count: 2.1k+ words

A/N: This premise is kind of similar to the one in Worried for You but hopefully this is okay! I really liked the stalker idea and approaching the story with a focus on Deacon and his emotions!

Requested Here!

Picture from Pinterest

Everyone told you that marrying a SWAT officer would not be easy. Deacon himself told you the same thing. But he has watched you take every bump, bruise, and bullet in stride. Of course, you worry about him, but you support him, which makes you perfect for him. He lives a dangerous life at work, so when he comes home to you, he gets a chance to relax, breathe, and be with someone who loves him no matter how many scars he has or gives. When things get tough in the field, Deacon imagines you safe at home, ready to pull him into your arms and hold him together.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Narcotics will be ready to come in after we clear the house,” Hondo explains. “The house has two entrances, one front and one back, so we’ll have two breach teams. Front entry has a security gate, so we’ll pull it off with Black Betty then make entry at the same time. Get the house empty so narc can do their thing. Any questions?”

“When do we leave?” Luca jokes.

The breach goes well, and there’s only one suspect in the house. Street disarms the suspect and gets him outside as the entry teams finish clearing the house.

“Left side clear,” Tan calls.

“Kitchen clear,” Luca adds.

Hondo prepares to open the last door, examining the room quickly before lowering his gun. “Deacon,” he says, far too intense for anyone’s liking.

Deacon can tell by his stiff posture and the tone of his voice that something is wrong. He’s expecting drug mules or a false wall, but those would have been far better.

With wide eyes, Deacon steps into the room with Hondo close behind him.

“Narcotics is coming in,” Luca says as he approaches the door. “Whoa.”

The room is covered in pictures. All different places, different times, different days, different angles, some close, some far, but each features the same subject. You, Deacon Kay’s wife. Thousands of pictures of you are taped to the walls of the small bedroom. What bothers Deacon the most is that he isn’t in a single picture, which means whoever held the camera knew to avoid him.

“Was he in here?” Deacon asks Street.

 “No, our guy was in the living room,” Street answers nervously.

“I’m going to kill him,” Deacon seethes.

“Deacon,” Hondo begins.

“Don’t you dare tell me to calm down, Hondo,” he snaps. “That is my wife all over this lunatic’s wall. He’s been within feet of her, and I didn’t know!”

Deacon’s shoulders heave as he breathes, looking around the room with his hand on his gun.

“Deacon, we’ll find this guy. But narcotics needs to get in here,” Hondo says gently.

Deacon nods, pushing between Luca and Tan to return to Black Betty. His anger dissipates with each step. Now, he’s scared. Deacon Kay is a man who has grown unfamiliar with the sensation of fear. He desperately wants to go home, to stay glued to your side while someone else hunts this guy down and puts him in a hole where he’ll never see the light of day again. But the anger flares, and he wants to be the one to lead him to the darkness. As his emotions wage war within him, Deacon has to decide to tell you or to let you keep living until it’s over.

“He’s not okay,” Street points out.

“Imagine if it was your wife,” Luca replies. “He’s mad at himself is my guess.”

“Why?” Tan asks.

“Because he didn’t know,” Hondo answers as he walks by. “But we have to find this guy before Deacon decides to go after him alone."

✯✯✯✯✯

Deacon makes the hard decision not to tell you. He tries to convince himself it’s so that you don’t get scared, but he is dealing with enough fear for both of you. Sitting in the locker room for privacy, Deacon dials your number and waits to hear your voice. He has to force the idea of someone watching you out of his mind.

“Hey,” you answer. “I was starting to think you’d be at work all night.”

“Uh, yeah, about that. I actually do have to stay and probably won’t be home until tomorrow. I’m sorry.”

You hum before asking, “Is everything okay?”

He wants to tell you, but he’s terrified that if you know and it makes you act different, the stalker may find out that Deacon knows and go for you.

“Everything’s fine, just working with narcotics on a difficult case.” It’s not entirely a lie, at least.

“Alright, stay safe. I love you.”

Deacon closes his eyes and pictures your face, smile, hugs, and everything he can remember about you. “I love you. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I’m holding you to that, Kay.”

The line beeps, and Deacon sees the room of pictures again. His anger swells, and he has to do something, or the emotions will eat him alive. He changes into gym clothes and walks to one of the punching bags. His knuckles are pink and beginning to crack after a few minutes of intense anger management. Something in him wants to cry, but he forces it down, preferring to stick with the emotion that makes revenge seem so appealing.

“Deac,” Hondo calls. “We need to talk.”

Deacon begins punching again. “Then talk,” he says between an uppercut and a cross.

“You need to go home.”

“Not happening. Not tonight.”

“She can help.”

Deacon freezes, his hands in the guarding position as he turns to face Hondo. His hands drop to his sides as he cocks his head to the right.

“What?”

“She can help,” Hondo repeats slowly.

“How? You think she knows she’s being stalked and didn’t tell me?”

 “Not like that, Deac. You need help in something that she’s an expert in.”

“Which is?” Deacon presses, his patience already worn thin.

“Dealing with fear and worry. Being scared and desperate for answers that aren’t available to you right now. She’s a cop’s wife, Deac, she understands what you’re going through more than anyone else ever could.”

“It’s not the same, Hondo.”

“She sits at home, worried that you’re never coming home, so she calls the station. And you know what they tell her? Nothing; they say they don’t have information right now. Which is exactly the situation you’re in.”

“Someone has been watching my wife and I didn’t know, Hondo. I want to kill him, but I also want to see him rot in jail. He’s been within feet of my wife, and we don’t even know what he looks like. I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but it won’t work.”

“I get it, you’re scared, you’re-“

“Pissed?”

Hondo raises a hand to stop Deacon. “The emotions don’t help us if you take them out here, Deac. So, if you want to do something, find something for us to do. Don’t sit here in your own anger until something worse happens.”

Deacon looks down at his bruising knuckles and nods. “You’re right. I’ll see what I can find.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“The entire house is barricaded. Doors, windows, vents. This was meant to be in impenetrable fortress,” Deacon says. “But it’s not. There’s a weak spot. Right here, this red spot on the blueprint is a corner that hasn’t been reinforced. As far as we know, at least.”

“So, a single pull?” someone asks.

“Technically yes. But we’re going to try to distract him and do a triple pull. If we get lucky and one of the other pulls gets us in, we’ll make entry. But the plan is to send alpha team into this pull and get our guy.”

“Weapons?”

“None confirmed, no registered guns, but we don’t know, so operate under the assumption of yes.”

As the room clears and officers prepare to complete the breach operation and bring in a suspect, Hondo stops Deacon.

“Are you up for this?”

Deacon nods as he answers, “I won’t lie, I’m still angry and I’m a little scared about what we’ll find, but I need to be there Hondo.”

“That’s what I was hoping you’d say. If you want to rough him up a little, I won’t see anything.”

“If I could get away with it,” Deacon says, trailing off.

✯✯✯✯✯

Deacon is scared, angry, anxious, and confused, but also merciful and a good SWAT officer. When the window is pulled from the wall, bringing several stud posts down, Deacon leads the team into the house, clearing each room until they reach the living room. The man kneels in the middle of the room, his hands up in surrender.

“LAPD SWAT,” Deacon announces.

“I surrender.”

An officer reads him his rights as he’s handcuffed, staring directly ahead.

“Do you know who this woman is?” Hondo asks, showing him a picture.

The man glances at Deacon, which is all the answer he needs. Deacon hoists him to his feet, pushing him into the hallway and toward the front door. He pulls to the side slightly, steering the man into a corner.

“Oh, sorry ‘bout that, let’s watch those corners on the way through,” he says.

Deacon pushes the man into the back of a cruiser, glad he’s off the street but disappointed in the lack of immediate answers.

“Leverage,” the man whispers. “He wanted leverage. We were never gonna hurt her or nothing.”

“Leverage for what?” Deacon asks, bending into the open door. “And who is we, who are you working with?”

“Working for. He’ll kill me if I tell.”

“We can protect you if you tell us what you know and tell a jury what you know.”

The man whispers a name, and Deacon nods once before closing the door.

“We got one more,” he tells Hondo.

✯✯✯✯✯

“It’s political?” the DA clarifies.

“We all know that gentrification mumbo jumbo was a load of absolutely nothin’ meant to butter us up before the next election.”

“And what did the images have to do with this?”

“Oh, yeah, Mrs. Kay. Pretty lady. We needed her husband on our side or it would never work.”

“How long have you been stalking her?”

“’Bout nine months. Needed lots of leverage before a big voting year like this.”

“Why so many photos?”

“Like I said, lots of leverage.”

“Were you working with anyone else?”

“We’re a two-man show.”

“Last question for now. Did you ever intend to harm the woman in the photographs?”

“Not if everything went according to plan.”

Hondo lays a hand on Deacon’s shoulder as they watch through the two-way glass.

“I need to go home,” Deacon mutters.

“Good idea, man. Take a few days if you need to. But we got him so you can both rest easy tonight.”

“Should I tell her?”

“That, brother, is up to you.”

✯✯✯✯✯

You hear Deacon’s car and run to the front door, opening it with a big smile. Deacon pulls you against him, hugging you tightly as he closes the door.

“I’m sorry,” he says, pulling you impossibly closer as he sits with you in his arms.

“For what?”

“Worrying you all the time. Not realizing just how many emotions are involved with seeing someone you love in danger and not having answers,” Deacon lists off.

You pull back quickly, your wide eyes searching Deacon’s deep brown ones. “What happened? Is everyone okay?”

Deacon nods, his hands wandering around your waist and back. “Someone- uh, we raided a house with narcotics yesterday and found a room full of pictures.”

“A stalker?”

“Yeah, but the pictures were of you,” Deacon adds quietly.

“Oh,” you reply, pressing your hands gently against Deacon’s shoulders. “And what happened?”

“I got so mad and scared and anxious that I couldn’t think straight. I wanted to kill the guy but I also wanted to come home and never leave your side. It was confusing and there were no answers. Hondo talked to me last night and pointed out that’s exactly what you deal with all the time.”

You nod, encouraging Deacon to continue.

“We found the guy who took the pictures and the guy he was working for. It was a political scheme to get me to back their position.”

“And they were going to hurt me if you didn’t,” you deduce.

Deacon nods, pulling you closer again.

“Deac, I know how scary it can be to not know, and how easy it is to get angry when someone hurts or threatens to hurt the people closest to you. I’m not mad at you for not coming home, but I need you to talk to me about this stuff. I love you, Deac, and I’m here for you, stalker or not.”

“Too soon,” Deacon says, chuckling despite himself.

You push your fingers through his hair and lean your forehead against his. “Did you rough him up?”

“Pushed him into a corner.”

You smile knowingly and kiss him quickly. “Thank you, Deacon.”

“I love you,” he says, gripping your waist as he tips you back to kiss you.

“I love you,” you reply, meeting him halfway.

[sharklilly]

A bunch of notes on characters. The last two are from a webcomic I want to make in the future called Lovecraft x Baphomet