#delsin rowe oneshot

[pluto-parker]

Shatter *Delsin Rowe x Reader*

Summary: The one where you’re rescued by a fiery smoke conduit looking to acquire your deadly power.

Warnings: Violence and a teeeeeny bit of angst and a butt ton of flirty fluff!

Word Count: 1.7k

Masterlist

(A/N: I know I’m like SUUUPER late (Like three-four years late??) to writing this fanfic but I finally got and finished Infamous: Second Son and fell in love with Delsin. This’ll probably be the only imagine I write for him, unless someone out there wants a part two)

It was hard being a conduit.

At every turn, danger awaited you as you roamed the streets of Seattle.

An outcast, a threat, a target; that’s what you were in the eyes of the D.U.P..

They always shot first. 

The blood on your hands wasn’t your fault. If you had the choice you would never kill again, but they forced you to become the monster they thought you were with their guns and concrete bombs. And there was no way in hell you were going to go back to Curdun Cay. You were done being one of Augustine’s little lab rats. Done being poked and prodded for the powers you possessed. 

When Hank wrecked the D.U.P truck a couple weeks back, you ran like hell with Fetch and Eugene. You fought your way to freedom before tailing it away from them, too. The three of you may have fought together to survive, but none of their actions were done with any concern for anyone else but themselves. You couldn’t trust them.

And now, you stood alone in the middle of the street, surrounded by a swarm of D.U.P brain-dead soldiers as you took your last stand. You weren’t going back to Curdun Cay, you’d either survive, or die fighting.

Power coursed through your veins as you stared down the D.U.P.. 

They took the first shot. 

Then all hell broke loose.

Focusing your power into your hands, you sent a wave of sharp glass straight at a cluster of soldiers, tearing them to shreds. A bullet tore through the back of your shoulder and you turned toward the source, blasting a shard bomb straight at the man. His remains cascaded with the explosion. You tore up flesh, blew up cars, scaled buildings, and threw down men, but they kept on coming and coming and coming.

Eventually, you ran low on fuel, cornered by a swarm of soldiers in an alleyway with no way to escape. In a last ditch effort to survive, you pulled out your last trick. The exertion to pull it off could kill you, but it was all you had left: The Crystal Hellfire. Mustering every drop of energy in your battered and bruised body, you launched yourself into the air, floating like an angel as all of the windows on buildings and cars in a half-mile radius shattered instantaneously, the small fragments flying toward you, building on one another until large shards of glass circled around your glowing form. With a piercing cry, your arms spread open like wings as you spiraled violently in the air, reigning the spears down on the men, piercing straight through them from head to toe, and staking them to the ground with a sickening crunch.

Collapsing onto your knees, you gasped in haggard breaths as you stared at your surroundings. It was horrible, disastrous carnage. All of it.

It sickened you to your stomach as you glared at your handiwork, but the quiet that settled over the scene helped ease your upset heart.

“I see the target!”

Your blood ran cold. There were more.

Another wave of D.U.P. circled around you like hungry sharks.

Exhausted, completely drained, and stricken with grief, you closed your eyes and accepted death, waiting for the onslaught of bullets that would soon rip through your aching body.

But the shots never came.

Your eyes flashed open in confusion as the terrified yells of the soldiers reached your ears.

“It’s him, the smoke conduit!”

Your gaze scanned your surroundings, searching for Hank, but finding a mysterious man floating in ash as he took down the D.U.P.s with lethal blow after lethal blow instead.

The conduit took only minutes to take out the rest of the soldiers, and you could feel yourself slip in and out of consciousness as you watched his performance. Moments later, he landed a few feet in front of you, out of breath but unscathed with hands held up in resignation as he approached with slow and careful steps.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” he said, his irises filled with sincerity as he gazed into your eyes.

Exhausted, you struggled to get to your feet, only managing a few staggering steps before collapsing to the ground.

Instead of hitting hard concrete, your body landed in the gentle arms of your rescuer, and you just barely registered his quiet murmured assurances before blacking out.

~~~

You woke up on a mattress, groggy and head pounding, with a jean jacket splayed over your body. You kept your eyes closed as the events before you blacked out flashed through your mind.

The D.U.P.. The Crystal Hellfire. The carnage.

The smoke conduit.

Your eyes flashed open and you sat up stick straight, immediately regretting your fast movements as a wave of nausea churned your stomach and spun your head. Sucking in a few deep breaths to ground yourself, you scanned your surroundings. You were on a rooftop next to a small fire that had no visible source but was burning and warm all the same.

“Glad to see that you’re awake.”

The deep voice cut through the calm silence save the crackle of the fire and you sprung to your feet, ignoring your nausea and exhaustion as you focused your power into your hands and stared down the man standing in the shadows.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Let’s calm down, angel. I’m not going to hurt you,” the man said before stepping into the light with his hands up.

It was the smoke conduit that saved you.

You immediately relaxed against your better judgement. He did rescue you after all.

His eyes widened in shock at you standing down, “Oh, wow. You’re the first conduit I’ve met that I haven’t had to fight before we talk.”

You let out a soft chuckle at his words, sitting back on the mattress, finally letting your exhaustion shine through. You could just imagine Fetch and Eugene’s reactions when they met the guy. Not pretty.

“Yeah, well my heads screwed on a bit tighter than Eugene and Fetch’s.” You gazed at him curiously, admiring the way his eyes glistened with humor in the firelight. “Why did you save me?”

He seemed surprised by your words, “We’re conduits. We have to look out for each other.”

Your eyebrows shot up in disbelief, skeptical, “Bullshit. Everybody wants something in this world.”

He scratched the back of his neck, contemplating his next words before finally speaking, “Okay. You caught me. But, that still is part of the reason you know.”

“Uh huh, sure... so tell me what you---

“What’s your name?” he interrupted.

You were surprised once more, but decided to tell him without giving him a hard time. “(Y/N).”

He smiled, “I’m Delsin... Delsin Rowe.”

Another pause, then you spoke, “So, Delsin Rowe,” he smirked as you said his full name, making your cheeks go slightly pink. You had to admit, the guy was handsome. “What do you want?”

“If we weren’t wanted ‘criminals’? To take you out on a date, but seeing how difficult that would be with all the D.U.P.s around, we’ll have to wait until after you help me take down Augustine.”

Your face was bright red now, and you struggled to keep your composure as he began to walk closer to you, “And what makes you think I can help you take down Augustine?”

He sat next to you on the mattress, his knee brushing yours ever so slightly, sending waves of electricity through your body, “I saw your finishing move. It was crazy badass, angel. With that move, we could beat her for sure.”

There was that pet name again.

“Angel?” you gulped.

His eyes were piercing as he held your gaze, and you ran a hand nervously through your hair as you averted your eyes, embarrassed.

“Seeing you flying in the air like that? I thought you were one, kind of still do,” he quipped confidently.

You grew even more flustered, struggling to think of what to say when the image of the agents you killed earlier flashed through your mind.

You met his gaze once more, your eyes going dark, “Trust me. I’m no angel.”

“Hard to believe,” he scoffed, rolling his eyes before changing the subject, “What do you call your finisher?”

You hesitated for just moment,“The Crystal Hellfire.”

He let out a whistle that started high and ended low, “God damn. Now that’s a fucking name.”

Suddenly, he turned toward you, his hands inches from your own as he stared deep into your eyes, “(Y/N), my conduit ability isn’t smoke. I can... I can learn other conduits’ powers. I have neon and digital, too, from Fetch and Eugene. I won’t take away your power; you’ll still have glass, but I need you to let me have yours, too, to take down Augustine. So, I know it’s a lot to ask but, will you let me have your power?”

You stared down at your hands. The feeling of your power coursing through your veins was constant, and you knew that glass was one of the most, if not the most, deadly conduit power in the world. Did you really trust this man you just met enough with that sort of ability?

Sucking in deep a breath, you murmured just loud enough for him to hear, “Are you going to kill her? ...Are you going to kill Augustine?”

He didn’t even hesitate, “No. The things she has done are horrible but she doesn’t deserve to die. She needs to be tried for her crimes and locked up; she needs to experience the pain that she inflicted on so many innocent people.”

You smiled at his answer, satisfied, and the genuine look in his irises was all you needed to say yes.

“You can have my power, Delsin... on one condition.”

He waited for you to continue, curiosity in his features.

You grinned humorously, “No seafood.”

His eyebrows knit together in confusion, “What?”

“Our date. I don’t like seafood.”

“Oh,” he said stupidly before collecting himself, his signature smirk reappearing on his lips, “As you wish, angel.”

And then, in a flash, his hands were under yours, pulling them toward his lips to place a swift kiss on your knuckles, sending another shock wave through your body just before your past flashed before your eyes and white crystals of glass began to flow between your fingertips, glowing bright around the both of you before you succumbed to the darkness once more.

[starwrite-er]

D.U.P Helpline - Delsin Rowe x Reader

A/N: the snippets of convo with the DUP Helpline whenever Delsin graffitis a billboard are acc great lmao so here’s my spin on the situation lol. also shoutout to Zoe for helping me with a phone operator name lmao

 “Hi, you have reached the D.U.P helpline, do you have a Bio-Terrorist incident to report?” I answer the call, taking the place of my coworker. After around the seventh call about someone spray painting one of the DUP billboards littered across Seattle, she’d had enough and needed a break. Unsurprisingly, his most recent call had revealed him to be ‘Delsin Rowe’, the guy that had been wrecking havoc on the D.U.P across the city recently.

 “You’re not the lady that usually picks up.” The man on the other end of the line states.

 “She’s on a break,” I reply. “Too many billboards being defiled.”

 “Damn, and I was just about to get her to finally introduce herself.” The man laughs, making it clear that this is the guy that’s been pissing off my coworker the past couple days.

 “If I were to hazard a guess and say that another one of our billboards has been vandalised, would I be wrong?” I question.

 “Not at all.” The man taunts and hangs up. Hm, I can see why my coworker was so worked up about this guy.

 Maybe I’ll cover her shift again.

 And like clockwork, the next day another call is received. “Hi, you have reached the D.U.P helpline, do you have a Bio-Terrorist incident to report?” I ask, as per protocol.

 “Hey, it’s you again. You taking over the other lady’s job?” The guy from before is the one making the call.

 “Well, after she called you ‘infuriating’ amongst other things, I offered. Another billboard?” I answer.

 “You all make it so easy.” I can practically hear his grin. In the spur of the moment, I decide to humour this hobby of his.

 “I’m surprised you haven’t tagged the billboard in the Waterfront district,” I mention, knowing fully well I shouldn’t encourage him. “I mean, after all, it is the only sign our, ah, mutual friend has to walk by every day.”

 On the other end of the line, I can hear the man chuckle. “Oh, you aren’t what I expected.” With that, he hangs up.

 The following morning, Tina walks in, absolutely fuming. “That dirty bio-terrorist defiled the billboard by my apartment!” She rages, slamming the folder she’s carrying onto her desk. I bite my lip, repressing a grin as, right on cue, we get a call in. Tina glares as I pick up.

 “Hi, you have reached the D.U.P helpline, do you have a Bio-Terrorist incident to report?” I ask in the same manner as usual.

 “Yeah, hi, I was just wondering if you had any plans tonight? I know this great billboard that’s been recently painted over, it’s quite lovely.” The now-familiar voice of Delsin Rowe replies, and I let a small smile slip onto my face.

 “Well, Mr. Rowe, I’m not allowed to disclose that information, but, hey, my coworker was just talking about it!” I respond, eyes darting over to Tina. I lean back in my chair and give her a small wave, grinning. “I have her right here, wanna say hi?”

 “Y/N, what on Earth...” Tina watches me, eyes narrowed.

 “I’m afraid I see your friends coming my way, but send her my love!” Delsin Rowe continues the joke, hanging up as the D.U.P troops arrive at his location.

 “He sends you his love.” I smile innocently at my coworker, her eyes still trained on me as she shakes her head. She turns away, mumbling insults directed towards Bio-Terrorists under her breath.

 I take a moment, taking a deep breath as I question my choices. It was more than draining to work in a business built up around the fear and loathing of conduits, but at the time, I was in desperate need of a job, and the D.U.P was hiring.

 To be honest, it’s a miracle that their genetic testing only showed me as being gene-positive rather than activated.

 That evening, on the way home, I purposely took a detour to check out the billboard Delsin just graffitied over to piss off my coworker. I pause on the street, looking up at the painted bird. I duck into an alley and, glancing around to check no one is around, flick my wrist and send myself propelling upwards.

 I land on the metal mesh and take a seat, mulling it all over. I’m not sure what I’m expecting - it’s not as though I’m going to meet the conduit I’ve spoken to over the phone the past couple days.

 That being said, there’s nothing stopping me from leaving a note.

 Guilty, I check around once more, a marker in hand as I write a small message in the corner. ‘Sent your love to Tina the Helpline Operator - dunno if it’s requited though’. As subtly as I can, I manipulate the pigment around the message, arranging the paint into a little blue cartoon telephone that contrasts against the red background.

 “You aren’t painting over my work, are you?” I jump as a voice breaks the quiet of the rooftop. Taking a few rushed steps back, I see the man standing on the other end of the platform, leaning back against the billboard.

 “Uh, no,” I say, internally cringing at how suspicious I look and sound. He raises his brows at me in what seems like disbelief, when something clicks. “Wait, your work?”

 The guy smirks at me as I realise that this must be Delsin Rowe. He takes a couple steps towards me, looking down to see the message, mumbling the words under his breath as he scans over what I’d written.

 “So, you’re the girl that’s answered the helpline the past couple days?” He makes the connection and grins at me.

 “Yeah.” I shrug, unsure as to how to continue. He studies my face for a moment, the cogs in his head whirring.

 “For a D.U.P employee, you’re pretty relaxed around a conduit.” Delsin remarks, and I laugh dryly.

 “I’m only there because they paid well enough and their systems were faulty at my time of application.” I respond, to which I receive a look of mild confusion. I wiggle my fingers in the direction of the message I wrote, making the small painting of the telephone dance around the writing. Delsin watches, slack-jawed.

 “You’re a paint conduit?” He questions, casting his gaze back towards my face. I nod in answer, and a grin breaks out across his face. “Hey, I noticed an untagged D.U.P billboard on the way over. Wanna check it out?”

 “At this rate, you’re gonna run out soon,” I laugh. “That being said, I’d love to.”

 I take up his offer, and he takes my hand.

[moonlightangelprincess]

La idea para este mini oneshot lleva en la recámara lo menos tres años, desde que jugué por primera vez a InFAMOUS: Second Son. Me dio una solución muy buena al que siempre me pareció uno de los prompts más difíciles de abordar de los primeros cincuenta, esos en los que llevo atascada cinco años, pero el one en sí se me resistía porque a veces ahondar en ciertos temas emocionales me da un poco de respeto. Hoy, sin embargo, se me han cruzado los cables y me he dicho: voy a probar. Y aquí está.

Fandom: InFAMOUS: Second Son

Personaje: Delsin Rowe (CharacterCentric)

Trigger warning: Mención a la muerte de (varios) familiares.

16. Dying Sun

Nada me ataba realmente a la reserva tras la muerte de Reggie. Me seguía sintiendo Akomish, cierto, pero uno sólo puede cargar con un número determinado de etiquetas en su vida y me sentía más identificado con la de Conduit. El fin de la tiranía de Augustine sobre Seattle y sus Conduits había provocado una efervescencia pulsante. La ciudad era un nervio vivo, las facciones a favor y en contra de la integración de los Conduits en la sociedad estaban más en pie de guerra que nunca y yo había decidido asumir, aunque a regañadientes, mi nuevo rol de protector de Seattle con la ayuda de Fetch y Eugene.

En medio de todo el caos logré hallar quien me prestara una furgoneta para viajar a la reserva a recoger mis cosas y ver qué hacer con la casa. Reggie y yo habíamos estado viviendo en la pequeña vivienda de tres dormitorios que le correspondía como sheriff cuando habitar la casa en la que habíamos crecido se volvió insoportable. No nos habíamos visto capaces de venderla pero al quedarme solo y habiendo decidido dejar atrás mi vida en la reserva no tenía muchas opciones. Sabía que no sería fácil, por eso decliné la oferta de Fetch de acompañarme. Ella tenía suficiente con su propio bagaje emocional como para además ponerse a cargar con el mío. No estábamos en ese punto de nuestra relación, si es que lo que teníamos llegaba a merecer dicha denominación.

Al abrir la puerta me recibió un olor que era una una mezcla de sudor rancio y el ambientador barato con el que Reggie se esforzaba por ocultarlo después de que una chica a la que intentó ligarse le dijera que nuestra casa olía a madriguera de hombres. Se había sentido muy ofendido pero a fin de cuentas la chica en cuestión no se equivocaba. La cosa entre ellos no progresó y como resultado mi hermano empezó a poner más cuidado en hacer un poco más agradable nuestra vivienda a las posibles visitas femeninas. Yo, por mi parte, tenía un poco más de tino y proponía siempre ir a sus casas, pero esa es una historia para otro día.

Poner en orden la casa resultó una tarea más ardua de lo que había anticipado. Mi situación en Seattle seguía siendo precaria; de hecho antes de volver a la reserva había estado pasando las noches con Fetch y Eugene en función del humor de la primera, así que la mayor parte de nuestras cosas no iban a poder venirse conmigo. La parte más dura fue entrar en el dormitorio de Reggie y tocar sus cosas, algo con lo que me habría ganado una buena bronca apenas un mes y pico atrás, sabiendo que no iba a volver. Organicé un mercadillo con ayuda de Betty. Tuvo bastante éxito porque las proezas de Reggie en Seattle habían llegado a la reserva con una especie de halo de santidad y todo el mundo estaba dispuesto a comprar trastos de segunda mano que nos habían pertenecido. Su ropa demostró ser especialmente popular.

-De haberlo sabido, habría colgado en eBay sus calzoncillos –bromeé con Betty.

Ella hizo un mohín.

-Reggie sería capaz de volver del más allá para vengarse si hicieras algo así –replicó.

-No creo que consiguiera evitarlo de todas formas. He visto unas cuantas mierdas extrañas últimamente –fue mi respuesta-. No me impresiono fácilmente.

-Bueno –suspiró-, si el pobre no logró que le tomaras en serio en vida, dudo mucho que lo consiga ahora.

Me aclaré la garganta con discreción. Betty se equivocaba. Respetaba a Reggie más que nunca y mi mayor remordimiento era haber tenido que verle morir para hacerlo.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Tuve que vaciar la casa del sheriff a toda prisa para que el sustituto de Reggie pudiera instalarse, así que no tardé en verme con las llaves de la casa donde crecí en la mano y ninguna salida más que decidir qué hacer con todo lo que había dentro. Betty me ofreció su sofá-cama para que no tuviera que pasar las noches solo allí, pero me negué. La muerte de mis padres había sido una especie de asunto pendiente para Reggie y para mí desde el momento en que nos quedamos solos, cerramos la puerta de la casa y le dimos la espalda a lo que nos provocaba esa pérdida al estilo viril que se espera de los hombres. A partir de entonces habíamos usado sólo el sótano a modo de trastero porque se podía acceder de fuera y bueno, el garaje, vacío tras el accidente de tráfico en el que perdieron la vida mis padres y que yo empleaba como estudio para mis graffitis. De no haber sido por el dramático descenso de la temperatura en las últimas semanas quizá me habría aventurado a buscar la manera de dormir en el garaje pero no tuve más remedio que activar la electricidad y volver a ocupar la cama que no había tocado desde que tenía quince años.

Fue una experiencia extraña. Al mudarme con Reggie a la casa del sheriff había recogido gran parte de mis cosas, así que el dormitorio tenía un aspecto desangelado que sin embargo no lograba perder una familiaridad de la que pensaba que se habría desprendido a esas alturas. Fue buscando un juego de sábanas por toda la casa como me di cuenta de que muchos de los armarios estaban vacíos. Incluso después de haber dejado de vivir allí Reggie había seguido yendo a la casa para “darle una vuelta”, como lo llamaba él, y dentro todo estaba muy ordenado aunque polvoriento, así que descarté la idea de los ladrones. No tardé en atar cabos: mi hermano debía haber invertido esas visitas, que yo siempre había asumido que se limitaban a vaciar el correo y comprobar que no parecía una casa abandonada, en poner en orden todo lo que había dentro. Sin saberlo había aliviado la mayor parte de la carga que suponía para mí despedirme de una parte de mi pasado. Tan sólo el sótano se mantenía intacto, con las cajas amontonadas, llenas de cosas que habíamos descartado en los últimos años. Una mañana me puse a hurgar en las mismas, pensando en que organizar otro mercadillo iba a ser un coñazo, y con las mismas acabé dando con una de las primeras cajas que bajé. Mis padres habían muerto unos siete meses antes cuando lo hice. Subí la caja a mi antigua habitación para permitirme un garbeo por esa época.

Mi adolescencia era todo lo miserable que podía serlo hasta que murieron mis padres, cuando empezó a serlo de verdad. Mi madre trabajaba en la envasadora de pescado. Mi padre había intentado, sin éxito, entrar en el Cuerpo de Policía de la reserva, así que se sintió extremadamente orgulloso cuando Reggie lo logró. Quería que yo fuera a la Universidad, que fuera el primer Rowe con estudios. Quizá por eso mi hermano se cabreó tanto cuando dejé el instituto en la misma época en que bajé esa caja al sótano. Rebuscando en la misma di con los CDs de una banda de chicos Akomish de Fort Peck que eran apenas un par de años mayores que yo en ese momento. Sus canciones trataban sobre la angustia existencial y, por supuesto, yo tenía la sensación de que todas ellas me describían a la perfección. No llegaron muy lejos, como era de esperar, porque al fin y al cabo no contaban con el respaldo de una gran discográfica: sólo eran un puñado de chicos nativos americanos que no le interesaban a ningún gran sector del público. En la reserva, no obstante, causaron furor. Aparté sus dos discos para llevármelos antes de procesar el resto de los contenidos de la caja, en su mayoría basura. Cuando no tienes un sitio que llamar tuyo no queda más remedio que viajar ligero.

Llevaba casi una semana en la reserva cuando me di cuenta de que todo ese asunto me estaba tomando más tiempo del que había pensado. Fetch me acabó llamando:

-¿Pero qué pasa, D? ¿Has decidido emplear la excusa de la reserva para salir por pies?

Rodé los ojos hacia el techo.

-Esto está resultando más difícil de lo que esperaba. ¿Estáis teniendo problemas? –Me alarmé.

-No, no es eso –negó ella-. Sólo quería saber cómo iba todo.

Me cambié el móvil de oreja para rascarme justo detrás.

-Bueno, las vecinas me han llenado de tápers la nevera de mi casa fantasma.

-¿Casa fantasma? ¿Qué casa fantasma?

Eché un vistazo al techo.

-Te lo explicaré cuando vuelva.

Fetch resopló al otro lado de la línea.

-Deja de hacerte el misterioso, D. No te pega.

-¿Qué dices? ¿No era esa una de las tres cosas que te gustaban de mí? –La provoqué.

-¿Cuáles son las otras dos? ¿Me podrías refrescar la memoria? –Me siguió el juego con retintín.

Me había puesto de pie y me paseaba por las habitaciones de la casa. Al llegar al vestíbulo me miré al espejo con marco de madera que había justo al lado de la puerta e hice una mueca a mi reflejo:

-Mi sorprendente atractivo y mi… uh… ¿extraordinario talento artístico?

La oí reír. Casi pude visualizar la cara que debía haber puesto.

-Sí, bueno, veo que no reparas en adjetivos. –El tono de la voz le cambió cuando me confesó-. Estaba preocupada. Sabes que lo que estás pasando no me es ajeno.

Asentí gravemente con la cabeza.

-Lo sé –contesté-. Si necesitas espacio no tienes más que decírmelo, D, ¿de acuerdo?

Volví a mirarme en el espejo. Mi madre me había dicho, a medida que crecía, que iba a ser tan guapo como lo era mi padre. Lo cierto es que empezaba a verme el parecido con las pocas fotos que quedaban por casa.

-Lo que voy a necesitar cuando vuelva a Seattle es adrenalina –repuse-. Asegúrate de no cargarte a todos los narcotraficantes en mi ausencia, ¿vale?

Fetch volvió a reír.

-Haré lo que pueda –dijo, sonando muy poco seria-. Cuídate, Delsin.

-Nos vemos pronto, Fetch.

Colgué con la sensación de que esa conversación era algo que había necesitado a un nivel visceral que quizá no era lo bastante listo para distinguir por mí mismo. No en vano Fetch se había despedido utilizando mi nombre completo, algo que pocas veces hacía.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Me tomó una semana más acabar de decidir qué podía llevarme en el espacio medido de la furgoneta que me habían prestado y qué tenía que irse. Cuando finalmente me puse al volante tras despedirme de Betty y los demás tenía una foto de mi familia en el salpicadero, toda mi vida en la cabina de atrás y un CD de chicos Akomish que estaba deseando devolverme atrás en el tiempo. Lo introduje en el lector del coche y la primera canción, la que daba nombre al álbum, empezó a sonar: Dying Sun.

[starwrite-er]

Mobile Masterlist

Masterlist under the cut

Series:

Poster Boy: Poe Dameron x Reader [FINISHED]

Read it on AO3 // Playlist [ONE] [TWO]

Chapter: One // Two // Three // Four // Five // Six // Seven // Eight // Nine // Ten // Eleven // Twelve // Thirteen // Fourteen // Fifteen // Sixteen // Seventeen // Eighteen // Nineteen // Twenty // Twenty-One // Twenty-Two // Twenty-Three // Twenty-Four // Twenty-Five

Poster Girl: Poe Dameron x Reader (Poster Boy Companion Fic)

Read it on AO3

Chapter: One // Two //

El Libro De La Vida: Poe Dameron x Reader (x Kylo Ren)

Read it on AO3

Chapter: Prologue // One // Two //

Hats and Heels: Finn x Reader (Mobster!AU)

Read it on AO3 // Playlist

Chapter: One // Two //

Shoot To Kill: Rey x Reader (Mobster!AU)

Read it on AO3 // Playlist

Chapter: One //

Daring: Newt Scamander x Reader

Read it on AO3 // Playlist

Chapter: One // Two // Three // Four // Five //

Dreams: Nathan Drake x Reader (Soulmate!AU)

Playlist

Chapter: Prologue // One //

This Random Girl: Steve Harrington x Reader [FINISHED]

Read it on AO3 // Playlist

Chapter: One // Two // Three // Four // Epilogue

Virus: Connor x Reader (Zombie Apocalypse!AU)

Read it on AO3

Chapter: One // Two // Three //

Oneshots:

Nathan Drake

Tattoos - Nathan Drake x Reader

Location - Nathan Drake x Reader

Let’s Leave - Nathan Drake x Reader

Sam Drake

Never Have I Ever - Teen!Sam Drake x Reader

Cat Fight - Teen!Sam Drake x Reader

Evening Ball - Sam Drake x Reader

Delsin Rowe

D.U.P Helpline - Delsin Rowe x Reader

Newt Scamander

Brothers - Newt Scamander x Reader

Beautiful Goodbye - Newt Scamander x Reader

Peter Parker

I Know - Peter Parker x Reader

Cassian Andor

Mirror - Cassian Andor x Reader

Beauty - Cassian Andor x Reader

Blood In The Water - Cassian Andor x Reader

Jealous Reunion - Cassian Andor x Reader

Mechanic Reader - Cassian Andor x Reader

She’s Not You - Cassian Andor x Reader

Poe Dameron

Propaganda (Poster Boy first draft) - Poe Dameron x Reader

Fire Alarm - Poe Dameron x Reader (Modern!AU)

Together This Christmas - Poe Dameron x Reader

Crash, Just Don’t Burn - Poe Dameron x Reader

Surprise Party - Poe Dameron x Reader

A Slight Mistake - Poe Dameron x Reader

Time - Poe Dameron x Reader

Rey

Apocalypse - Rey x Reader (Apocalypse!AU)