#he’s even less up for doing the dirty work than sully is

[yestrday]

— BLUSH BLUSH ! anemo | hydro | geo

⤷ yan! hybrid! aether, venti, kaedahara kazuha, xiao, kunikuzushi/scaramouche, shikanoin heizou

summary ! a young heir like you probably needs a breath of fresh air every now and then, and who better than your beloved hybrids to give you a taste of what the outside world is like? bringing with them the scent of the wind and their coy yet laid-back personalities, you can barely notice the possessiveness gleaming in their eyes.

content ! reader collects these boys like Pokémon, manipulation, mentions of murder, once again venti is a pervert, obsession, toxic behavior, 

AETHER is your first partner. he's been with you ever since your dad dropped you off in one of his fancy but hauntingly lonely villas and never again bothered with you. it was your first day, it was lonely, and it just so happened that it had been raining.

you still remember scooping him up from the rain and declaring that you’d keep him, despite the protests of your servants. but you were rather spoiled and also obsessed with how beautiful this catboy looked. so now aether roamed the halls of your manor proudly ever since, cat bell around his neck as proof of your ownership. 

AETHER is always eager to help you. it doesn’t make sense for such a being as yourself to be scurrying around and making a mess of yourself! he’s no pushover but he covets your praise and regards it as the highest honor. so whenever irritation at being ordered around by the others starts to build up, he remembers your soft praises and approving looks and steadies himself to work his hardest! you, oblivious fool that you are, don’t know that he’s doing this for you. all you see is your good kitty being helpful and generous as he always is. 

your house is a treasure coven, full to the brim with riches the commoners wouldn’t even dare to touch, and among these are your dear catboy’s golden locks. you pride yourself in taking good care of them. a common sight is aether leaning against you as you stroke and brush his hair, humming a tune as you braid them. sometimes the others join in and place little trinkets (flowers, golden clips, pretty rocks they found by the lake) to further accentuate his beauty. he blushes at the attention, but after all that he’s done for the household, he deserves nothing less.

AETHER is one of the milder yanderes in your household, even holding back the more violent ones when needed. he’s content with your attention and presence. if you pat him lovingly and tell him that he’s a good boy, then he wants nothing more. if others hog you too much, he’ll get pouty, but other than he’s happy that everyone knows just how amazing you are. he feels more than blessed to be living here under your protection and around his newfound family.

still, you’re a young heir. in high society, there are bound to be those who will attempt to sully you for their own benefit. as the longest-staying boy, he knows more than anyone the hardships you face. plenty of nights he’s curled up beside you as you cry yourself to sleep, the victim of many cruel sneers and underestimating remarks. you’ve been framed and scandalized repeatedly, and he knows that you’ve grown stronger because of that. that doesn’t mean he wants to see you go through that again.

if perchance there might be a competitor strong enough to leave a permanent mark on your records, aether will finally bare his claws. he’s smart enough to not make the media connect the murder to you. there is no dirtying your name as long as he’s around. he makes sure that no one, not even you or the family, knows about the deed. once the news hits television, he looks just as clueless as all of you. 

RELATIONSHIPS : aether likes everyone and everyone likes aether! everyone has some sort of kinship with the boy and while he knows all their secrets and feelings, no one can say the same about him. when you were younger he’d mumble a name in his sleep, although that doesn’t happen quite often anymore. the longing and melancholy look still stay the same.

VENTI is the poor little thing you found hanging half-dead from one of your garden’s tree branches, still in his dove form. he was a quiet thing when you rushed him to your room and mended his broken wings. for a few days, there was no response from him, just subtle breathing and occasionally soft whimpers. sympathies and goodwill came from you and aether, and each day you both wished for his quick recovery. 

peace and quiet were soon disturbed when one of your maids screamed from the kitchen. hurriedly running to the scene, you and aether found a distressed maid on the ground while a young man lay sprawled on your island with a bottle in hand. laughing sheepishly with an apologetic smile, he raised an open wine case to you and grinned.

congratulations, you now have a doveboy added to the party! VENTI’s accident has now rendered his wings useless, much to his dismay. his regret and dejection are still obvious to you even as the years go by, shown to you by the sad flicker in his eyes as he stretches his wings. most of the time his wings lay tucked at his sides, useless and paralyzed, but you wish to appease his apparent melancholy by making sure his wings are in top form. the feathers are downy and soft in your hands as you prune them, while venti hums and chirps contentedly under your touch.

his beautiful voice still remains, and there is not a day when his beautiful singing echoes through the grand halls of your manor. as expected of a dove hybrid! his nimble fingers pluck the lyre you gifted him (meticulously and tastefully adorned with gems you personally picked), singing ballads of adventures that make you wish you had a world outside your chained position in society. many of your family members, although irked at his eccentric and shameless nature, appreciate and praise his talents.

VENTI is very non-violent, although he can pull his punches when he really needs to. his yandere tendencies tend to fall under obsession, viewing you not only as his savior but also as a poor and sheltered lamb. he pities you and your position in life because as someone who used to roam freely, who would ever want a life shackled to a destiny they cannot change? the fact that he cannot tear you away from this life due to so many eyes on you aches him to the core.

but again, isn’t that exactly what makes you so beautiful? locked away in a home, half-forgotten by an apathetic father, why you’re just ripe for the taking! you can only look at him, be happy with him, and spend the rest of eternity with him! VENTI loves freedom above all things… now he has the freedom to do whatever he wants to you! 

he feeds you with purposely false information, making your reality further and further detached from the world beyond the walls of your home. you are his master, no? you saved him from death so it makes sense how much he praises you, even if you feel that they’re too extreme. he runs his fingers up your delicious thighs, fondles and caresses your skin, and pecks loving kisses all over— all in the name of love and devotion. this is normal, after all. this is how people show their gratitude. you don’t want to argue with someone who actually has experienced the real world, so you nod hesitantly and go along with his whims and wishes. venti grows drunker and drunker with every squirm and whimper that comes from you.

RELATIONSHIPS : venti hangs out with zhongli most of the time, sometimes annoying him with pranks and other times joining him in his old man laments. diluc is one of his most prominent victims, venti pestering him for drinks and food or just simply annoying him. kaeya more often than not joins him, while aether stands by to make sure that diluc doesn’t end up clawing the dove’s eyes out.

KAZUHA first makes himself known when you spot a flying squirrel hanging upside down from your tree. it’s a fluffy little thing, white fur striped with an unnatural orange-red. it detects your presence even at a far distance, but as it blearily opens its eyes and lets out the cutest yawn, it doesn’t shy away from you. instead, it stares at you with its wide eyes before finally gliding out of the tree and right in front of your face.

pop! smoke appears out of nowhere, and a handsome boy takes the place of the cute flying squirrel! “hello to you, my liege,” warmly says the stranger. “i see that your home is a place of rest for beings such as i.” his hand grasps yours and he presses a gentle kiss on it. “hopefully it wouldn’t be rude to ask if i could seek shelter under you?” his pure and sincere eyes make you bashful, and so you nod.

everyone takes a liking to him, especially those who have a special connection to the wind. KAZUHA is after all very polite and helpful, and the poetry that he writes is very beautiful. he tells stories of his homeland, a land full of maple leaves and cherry blossoms far, far away. alas, he cannot go back anymore, and his loneliness and nostalgia pushes you to renovate your garden into a splitting image of his homeland. after being banned for so long from the garden (the scent of the wind told him what you were doing, but he’ll let you have your fun), his wide eyes as he sees the towering maple and cherry blossom trees make you grin in pride. 

KAZUHA, then and there, swears his utmost loyalty to you. kneeling in front of you and gingerly taking your hand in his, he looks up at you with those upturned eyes as if you’re his entire world. it’s not because you planted a couple of trees for him, but because your warmth is everything a lonely wanderer could dream of.

KAZUHA’s touch is gentle, and his words are cotton-soft, but don’t be fooled– he’s every bit as lethal as your other hybrids. he’s overprotective and intimidating when you’re not looking. some of your rowdier housemates have been at the edge of his sword after their antics have put you in danger. on the rare occasion that you do go out of the house, he tends to shadow you (with, like, five other hybrids) and incapacitate anyone who goes after you. which is many, seeing as you are the heir of a multimillion company.

sometimes KAZUHA runs his fingers over your sleeping face and sighs wistfully. if you weren’t chained to such a life, would you be free to roam the world with him? free to explore, free to witness what life is all about. he knows he could easily run off and go back to his old life, but he can’t imagine leaving you here all alone.

then again, maybe your father did the right thing. after all, the outside world is full of dangers a being as soft as you couldn’t stomach. he tenderly rubs your wrist and presses a kiss to it. his heart would hurt seeing shackle bruises on them, but it may be a necessity. or he could shackle you to him, like a red string of fate.

RELATIONSHIPS: it’s adorable seeing the flying squirrel perch itself on gorou’s puppy head as he runs around being chased by itto. despite the chaos, kazuha seems perfectly calm as he takes a nap on the brown fur. the only time he wakes up is when heizou pops into the frame and scurries off before the self-proclaimed detective can catch him again.

XIAO came to you after finding out that zhongli’s been mooching off you for quite some time. it comes as a shock when a brilliant vermillion bird barges into your home and pleads with his father figure about why in the world would he be idling his time away with a hybrid slaver. you’re a bit offended at that, especially since most of the time it’s the hybrids who come to you, not the opposite. he insists on staying after finding out that zhongli cannot be convinced to leave.

he regards you with suspicion at first. you’re the first human he’s met who has a house full of normal and mythical hybrids alike. time passes and he realizes… you don’t exactly have the guts to be a slaver. you’re naive about how things work and you foolishly give away your money to these hybrids without asking for anything in return. ruffling his hair, he sighs in exasperation and flicks your head. you need to stop being so selfless.

XIAO is part of the security team that the hybrids just happened to make. it’s not like they assembled themselves officially, it’s just a group of overprotective guys who think you’re too weak to defend yourself. you laugh nervously as xiao scolds you for going along with the others’ whims– for the love of morax, you are not as sturdy as the others. do you not know not a bull hybrid’s mere hug can snap you?

it’s embarrassing for him to admit, but he’s grown to be somewhat reliant on you. you can’t really do anything for him– he’s more than capable of doing things for himself. but your presence soothes him like no other remedy could. the puppet strings of the guilt he’s been carrying for centuries seem to snap whenever you run your hands through his feathers. you’ve become his balm, his only chance at being saved. you’re someone he cannot part with.

his all-seeing eyes darken when you sleep. sometimes, he suddenly appears on your windowsill in a cloud of black and green. aether, who is always by your side, doesn’t mind and shares the silence with him as they both watch you. paranoia itches at him, even if he can see the rise and dip of your chest. he’s had many comrades lie the same way you do now, albeit in the bloody aftermath of war and a spear in their chest. he reaches a hand out for you but shirks when he’s just an inch away. you’re… too fragile. too fragile for your own good.

he worships you differently from how he worshiped morax. morax was a stone pillar for the foundation of a country, and XIAO was his best general. you are a plum blossom, whose buds sway precariously in the wind. he tends to you, as gently as he tries to be, but instinct tells him to snap off a branch if to preserve the most beautiful parts of you forever.

RELATIONSHIPS: xiao is only ever seen around two hybrids: zhongli and aether. he tends to perceive the dragon’s smallest actions as wisdom beyond mortal comprehension, even though everyone around him seems to think he's exaggerating. he trusts aether with his life and yours, and is especially close to him. venti also seems to sense that a certain shadow lingers whenever he plays his tunes, but he smiles to himself and lets them listen without bother.

KUNIKUZUSHI wanders into your life… literally. on a day when the night sky is in its deepest shade of purple and thunderbolts strike and shake the earth, someone knocks on your door. the man wears a wide-eyed, friendly expression as he requests shelter for the night. eager to help and meet someone new, you do, but the moment he steps through the doorway, everyone’s hairs are on end. especially your partner, aether, isn’t his usual easygoing self.

he stays for several nights, and you think him a charming young man. the others aren’t fooled though, and the moment you’re gone, he’s going head-to-head with your protective hybrids. it’s your fault that you’re such a naive idiot, anyway. so what if he’s gonna take advantage of it? a fight breaks out in the middle of the night, and you wake up and rush down to see that aether has his claws out. with one slash, your guest stumbles back, and a cloud of smoke puffs…

… and it reveals a daurian redstart, a cute little bird that aether could easily squish between his sharp claws. with a gasp, you rush in to save the poor thing. aether is stunned and tries to convince you that he spells bad news, but you’re already cuddling him into your palm. kuni is mortified– the shame of showing his weaker form makes him lash out– but he is cowed by a dangerous look from everyone else in the house. fine, he’ll relent.

KUNIKUZUSHI is snippy at first, with everyone, especially you. he doesn’t trust anyone with his hybrid form, and the mere mention of it will have him biting at their ankles. everyone thinks that being a cat suits him better, which aether takes full offense at. you’re a bit disappointed because his jōbitaki form is soooo cute! nevertheless, you continue to take good care of him, feeding him his favorite foods and brushing his hair. one day he gets too comfortable that– pop! – his bird form appears and slowly flutters into your palm. it’s the day when he’s claimed you as his.

most of the time, he mocks and jeers at you. usually, you just smile and laugh– after all, this is kuni’s way of expressing his feelings! however, when things get too much you either blubber or glare or both, and he then falters. the sadistic side of him wants to keep bullying you forever, but the weaker, more detestable side of him, is up in a panic. he doesn’t know how to deal with whining brats, dangit, so he pops into his bird form and silently plops himself into your lap so you’ll shut up.

KUNIKUZUSHI is possessive and clingy– though he’ll never admit the latter. he can’t bear the thought of you leaving him alone. you have a chokehold on him already, and archons be damned you were gonna abandon him when he’s already a mess for you. spend time with him, play with him, look at him, worship him as he worships you. your gentle touch has him gasping for more, and archons does he hate himself for being so weak for a mere human.

KUNIKUZUSHI is crazed and deranged. he loves the fact that you’re trapped in this large, yet solitary manor. how easily he can dominate and break you in, to make sure that you’ll want nothing with your father’s business and stay with him, him, and him alone. you want that, don’t you? it’s a blessing to stay with your favorite little bird? why would you want to be the center of such a corrupt business, when he can chain the both of you together, just as like mortals and their marriage rites <3

RELATIONSHIPS: kuni is not someone that can easily get along with, so he’s usually hanging out around you or by himself. he and aether do fight a lot, but that has long mellowed down to playful and cheeky banter. other than that, kuni can be seen talking down to the others, even the mythical beasts. however, he gets eerily silent whenever kazuha is around.

HEIZOU is your beloved, cheeky owlboy who just flapped in through the window and never left! he was originally curious as to why so many hybrids stayed here, but he took one good look at you and quickly solved the mystery. you’re sooo cute and naive! a little fighting spirit you’re kindling there, but nothing the real world can immediately stamp down. he has the urge to stay by your side now, captivated by your beliefs and kindness when you know nothing about the sinister feelings of your own beloved hybrids.

some days he just disappears to who knows where, but then you find him in the middle of a crime scene within your home. whenever conflict arises (or someone’s been stealing from the cookie jar), HEIZOU is almost always on the case. it used to be challenging for you to determine which party was lying, but he quickly tears down all their clever-made lies. he puffs out his chest whenever he can feel your sparkling eyes on him as he humiliates the other hybrids with his wits and smarts.

if you haven’t guessed it yet, HEIZOU really, really loves to show off. he doesn’t admit it, but his feathers preen whenever you praise and compliment him. when he’s in his owl form, he makes cute little sounds whenever you’re eating, just to make you acknowledge him. once he does, he opens his beak and blinks at you expectantly. he usually does this when you’re holding fried food. you’re not sure if it actually affects him, but you still try not to give the owl too much fried food.

he doesn’t mean it, really, but the cruel yet nonchalant words just tend to… slip! things like ‘you stupid little thing,’ or ‘you wouldn’t last one moment outside’ may seem casual, but they hurt you in your weak spots. and he’s keenly aware of this, even anticipating with sparkling eyes as your face winces and your mouth hesitates to call him out on his behavior. he just loves, loves, loves seeing someone as stupid as you be in the same room as him and make you feel as insignificant as possible.

sin is rampant in this world, and HEIZOU knows that fact well. sometimes jealousy swells within him when he sees the glittering gold and sparkling food you always have at the ready. maybe it’s why he can be sometimes cruel to you. but this is a teacher teaching their student a lesson! a cute little thing dreaming of a life beyond the walls, not knowing that reality is where hopes get crushed to pieces… it’s enough to make him cry! he tells you it is not safe, and it’s really up to you whether or not you listen.

if enough curiosity fills your head, or your father has summoned you, you’ll have to go outside and live through cruel reality. what do you think of the world now, without your boys to guide you and warn you of all the potential dangers? don’t worry, HEIZOU will always be by your side… though the sparkling tears makes him smile in glee even as he hugs you tight to his chest.

RELATIONSHIPS: heizou sometimes teams up with aether to arrest any rowdy members, but only when he finds the case interesting enough. he likes to play pranks on kazuha, by swooping into the poor rodent with outstretched claws and pretending he’ll gobble him up with his beak. your bullboy guffaws, but the pup barks and yips at the sheepish owl endlessly.

[mulloey]

what you pay for • mingi

you know what he’s here for (aka is it too late for a bouncy au idk)

warnings: western au, cowboy!mingi, prostitution, reader calls him sir but it’s not a kink, fairly dom!mingi, gentle choking, some slaps, threats of punishment, unprotected sex, me wrapping it up way too early because im tired

—————

He catches your eye almost instantly. He’s a little taller and younger than most of the regulars here, scowl on his face as he surrenders his weapons at the door — “Shop policy,” drawls the old man with an outstretched hand. He curses under his breath, they all do, but doesn’t seem any less confident even without his protection. Though you’re certain he’s never been here before, he oozes the confidence not just of a regular, but something even bigger. Something untouchable.

You watch as he buys a drink, served by one of the other girls, and downs it like he’s been waiting for it for years. He mutters something to the bar maid and she blushes. You roll your eyes, imagining he’s trying to buy her a drink but she doesn’t flash the knowing look you all share as you accept the most expensive liquor he can buy, pour yourself some tea, and pocket the cash. So he must be saying something else. You don’t know why you’re wondering what that is — the nature of your job means strange, intriguing characters by the dozen — but there’s something to him you haven’t seen in a while. Endless mystery ends up cancelling itself out, but even as the unpredictable has become expected, he still has you wondering about him. You need to meet this man. Find out his deal.

You stay perched on your table, chewing on the candies your Madame made, trying to look uninterested and passive as you steal occasional glances at him. You take in his broad back and the dark hair hidden beneath his hat before he turns around and finally sees you. Finally, he gets up, thanking the girl for his drink before he approaches you, coming to a stop next to your table. He puts a large, rough hand down onto the wood, just inches from your leg. He shoots a one-sided smile as his eyes rake over you.

“Barmaid says you’re down to play,” he gruffs and wow, his voice is low, low and rough and electrifying. It has you blushing, and this time when you flutter your eyelashes just as Madame taught you, you really mean it.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you giggle. He cocks an eyebrow, amused, and leans in closer.

“That a yes?” He chuckles. You watch as his hand moves along the wood towards your bare leg, tantalisingly close. “If it's not, you can feel free to move your leg outta my way,” he says lowly. You smile, keeping eye contact as you ever so slightly move towards him. He’s toying with you — but this is your game.

When his hand finally reaches you, curling around your ankle, it’s not as dramatic a moment as you expected, as he probably wanted, but it does feel different. Good. Right. And watching his dirtied hand sullying your skin as he runs it up your leg is strangely thrilling. As a saloon girl you’re by no means pure, but the presence, the demeanour of this man has you wanting him to find the one last tiny piece of you that is yet untainted, and crush it in his hands.

His smirk says he knows what you’re thinking but, still respectful, his hand stills before it can go under your skirts and towards your heat, but his grip on your lower thigh is tight and wanting. “You work upstairs?” He asks and you grin.

“Yes, Sir,” you breathe. He helps you off the table and you nod at another bar maid, letting her know what you’re doing before you lead him upstairs and towards your private rooms.

When the door of your room slams shut his hands are already on you, up your skirt, across your face and every inch of you he can reach. His kiss is hungry and desperate but a hand on your neck puts him firmly in control. “Fuck, little girl,” he groans. “You want it?”

Your head falls back as his lips latch onto your neck. Your grip on his waist tightens. “Yeah,” you breathe. “Fuck.”

He smacks his hand scoldingly against your thigh, brows furrowed. “Don’t dirty that pretty mouth,” he breathes. “Terrible language for a lady.”

You laugh softly at that. “You’re the first— fu—” you catch yourself before the cuss leaves your mouth, instead going for a vague, strangled sort of groan and he snorts, but the pleased look on his face encourages you. “You’re the first in a while to call me a lady,” you finish.

“Well you ain’t a man,” he laughs. “Let’s just—” You gasp when his hand finally reaches your pussy, sliding into your panties and finding your clit instantly. He smiles. “Yeah, definitely a lady. Got the pretty little parts to match.”

A long finger penetrates you slowly, as gentle as if you were a still virgin, tight and unbroken. You push into it desperately, whining when he starts to rub slow circles on your clit. You’re more than experienced with men, but you enjoy this careful treatment. You feel almost… cherished.

The finger inside you finds your spot and you cry out, jolting against him until his other hand wraps easily around your neck, holding you still against the door. “Fuck, Sir—”

“Mingi,” he interrupts. “You can call me Mingi, I— fuck, I wanna hear you say my name.”

If you weren’t so wound up you’d smirk — names are not commonplace here, even regulars preferring to keep theirs private lest the sheriff come knocking, so for him to hand out his purely out of desperation to hear you say it must mean he wants you just as badly.

“Mingi,” you moan and he grunts, curling his finger inside you.

“Yeah, baby,” he whispers. “Sounds so good.”

“Then fuck me,” you say and he chuckles, shaking his head.

“Tellin’ me what to do now, doll?” He asks. “Don’t do that. You’re fuckin’ electric but I’ll spank you if you get cocky.”

You huff but nod your head. You strangely love the way he talks down to you, telling you what to do and scolding you like a little girl. It’s somehow different from the others, the endless men who traipse into your room and speak to you like a common whore. Perhaps the difference is how Mingi strokes your neck so gently as he humiliates you. Or maybe it’s the finger that fucks your cunt like no one has ever even tried to. But it doesn’t matter. This man is addictive and you already know you’ll do anything to get your fix.

His eyes are piercing as they stare you down, lips twitching as he observes your reaction to every movement. “I do think you deserve it, though,” he says. “To get fucked.”

You should be humiliated by the way you nod fervently, like you’ve been starved of this your whole life, but you’re not. Right now you’re capable of any emotion but unbridled desire and desperation. “Please,” you whisper. “Please, Mingi.”

“Get on the bed,” he orders, smiling sweetly as his hands leave you.

You whine pathetically at the loss of contact and he laughs, watching as you stumble towards the bed. You look back at him, waiting for instruction but he just smiles.

“You choose the position, angel,” he says. “Since you’re being so good.”

“From the back,” you say much quicker than you should have. “Want you to use me.”

The way he grins tells you he was thinking the same. “Ass up then, doll.”

You find the position easily, well-practised but your heart faces as though this were your first time. You feel Mingi’s presence behind you, towering over you as rough hands run up the backs of your thighs. He pulls up your skirts without a word, leaving you bare-assed and more vulnerable than ever. A sharp smack lands against one of your cheeks and it’s painfully delicious. You want him to hurt you, you realise. You want him to ruin you.

“Should I go slow?” He asks. “Or d’you reckon you’re wet enough for me to slide right in?”

You both know the answer. “Wet enough, Sir.”

He chuckles, sliding a finger in to check his grunt of approval is both gratifying and humiliating. “You’re right,” he says. “This cunt is fuckin’ dripping for me.”

Seconds later and his cock is penetrating you without warning, entering you easily but still stretching you. He’s big, you think. You knew he would be.

He doesn’t waste time easing you into it, thrusting into you fast and hard. Your chokes and gasps mix with the sound of skin slapping and his groans of pleasure. A drawn out ‘fuuuck’ fills you with pride. You’re tight even after all this time, like you were made for taking dick, a vessel for pleasure — his pleasure.

You cry his name over and over, chanting it like a prayer — apt, you think, because this is certainly the closest to heaven you’ll ever get. On the edge of bliss he pulls out only to slam back in again, pulling your hips against his to push himself deeper. His grip on you is bruising, as are the slaps he lands on your ass just to hear you scream. A single touch to your clit pushes you over the edge and you collapse into him, breathless and dazed but he keeps going, chasing his release. For once you pray he doesn’t pull out — you want him to come in you, pump you full of his seed, maybe even get you pregnant. You crave it like you’ve never craved anything and he delivers, unloading into you with a yell.

When you come to your bundled in his arms, held tight against his warm chest.

“How much do I owe you?” He asks and you sigh. You’d almost forgotten what this was, a simple exchange of services between two people. But it doesn’t have to be. Business may be business, but you know what you want, and you want it again.

“First time’s free, baby,” you lie.

He hums, not really believing you, but you know he’s just as addicted to you as you are. “Guess I’ll need to come back, huh?”

Yeah, you think with a smile. You guess he will.

—————

Heyy just dropping something small cus I haven’t posted in a while. Not proofread but please reblog and comment if u like this! Requests are still OPEN! Love🖤🖤

[strongheartneteyam]

[ all credits of the Neteyam pic go to the incredibly talented @cinetrix ♡]

Champagne Problems

Part 2

Pairing: Neteyam Sully x female!human!reader

CW: neteyam is a simp for reader, black cat gf/golden retriever bf "trope", a whole lot of angst, beach party, use of alcohol, some romantic comedy vibes, neteyam acting a bit cocky lol, reader is a tiny bit of a meanie towards neteyam, sexual language, sexual content, reader is a bit antisocial, flirting, emotionally unavailable bc of trauma reader, unrequited love (neteyam is the one having the unrequited feelings), sexual tension, commitment issues, exophilia, size kink, interspecies relationship, bad words. Hit me up to lemme know if I forgot something ahaha

Reader is slightly older than Neteyam, for only 2 years.

Neteyam and Reader (AI Art)

Do you guys remember the story inspired by Champagne Problems by Taylor Swift that I promised like ages ago? Well... The first part is here? 🤓 A lot of people seemed to be excited to read this when I posted that sneak peak. Hope you guys like it! kiss kiss 💗

Slightly proofread.

Part 1 : Say Yes to Heaven

𓇼

If you dance, I'll dance

And if you don't, I'll dance anyway

Give peace a chance

Let the fear you have fall away

I've got my eye on you

(...)

Say yes to Heaven, say yes to me

Say Yes To Heaven (Lana Del Rey)

𓇼

"It's not like you're not gonna break me in half if we try to get down and dirty." You laugh a bit too much, the alcohol invading your brain slowly, making you care less and less about behaving in a "socially acceptable" way. Though you wondered if your not-a-bit-elegant-honesty mattered at all to Neteyam Sully, the na'vi boy sitting in the maroon leather couch, by your side, his huge size making the couch look ridiculously small. He was na'vi, after all. Totally different culture. The na'vi were way more upfront about their real thoughts and feelings.

Neteyam had been talking loudly, almost yelling, at your ear for the past 40 minutes, trying to make his voice sound louder than the party's music, so you could hear him try to convince you to hook up with him. As if the loud uplifting songs that echoed in the salty air of that Metkayina beach were not enough to bug your tired head, now you had Neteyam helping your headache get worse.

"That doesn't mean you can't let me take you home. Or even let me make you my mate, eventually, if we end up falling in love while we fuck under the starry sky. You might like laying with me in my hammock and letting me pleasure you more than you think. Maybe you'll want to be my girl once you get a taste of this na'vi spice" He was joking around with you while flirting.

His thick, muscular but still fleshy thighs were spread on the sofa way too much to your liking. It was almost like he was trying to show you how masculine or desirable - some bullshit like that - he was. You know, that kind of thing a lot of guys usually do when trying to seduce you.

You knew Neteyam was aware he was handsome, that his body was attractive. He had always had girls - na'vi and human - all over him since he was a teen, drooling over his beauty.

But if he thought his loverboy flirting that must have worked so easily with just way too many girls before was gonna work that easily with you, he was mistaken.

Okay, you had to admit he was being pretty insistent, though. Neteyam had been there for almost an hour already. You did not understand what was making him insist that much on you if you had an armor as impenetrable as the one of a human warrior of the Middle Ages, back on Earth. And those armors were really hard to get under.

"Listen" you took a last big sip of your champagne and put the glass cup on the wooden table next to the sofa "When you gonna give up, honey? It's not gonna work. I'm not hooking up with you." You looked him in the eyes.

Goddamn, were his orbs big compared to the ones of a human. 

They were beautiful, though.

Damn, (y/n)! Focus, girl!

"I'm known among my people for being disciplined, focused and getting what I want because I fight hard for it. You're my focus now, tawtute." (human) I'm not giving up on you. You're like my Ikran. You're wild and hard to get but I'll conquer you, sevin tawtute." (pretty human) "On the first try."

"Cocky much?" You smirked and shook your head in disapproval "No, but, seriously, Neteyam, are you out of your mind? Have you forgotten about tsaheylu? I don't have a neurological queue, babe. I know I have many braids in my hair," You pointed out your hairstyle "but they're all regular human braids. None of them have little tendrils on its tip. Sorry, Neteyam. We're Romeo and Juliet. And Juliet doesn't even love Romeo in this story. You're deemed to heartbreak." You said, like you could not care less about his attempts to win you over, sipping on your sparkling champagne, that went down your throat comfortably, making you feel cozy and safe. It wasn't gonna work, anyway.

You liked champagne a bit too much... you had to admit it was very possible that you had a bit of a drinking problem. Alcohol made you feel warm inside. In an emotional way too. It felt like someone was hugging you, when you would not let many real people hug you because you just were not exactly enthusiastic about having physical contact with just anyone. You only let your closest friends and some family members, like your little sister, hug you. 

Some people would often call you "cold" and say that you acted "like a queen, above everyone else", behind your back, but that could not be further from the truth. You actually hated how low your actual self steem was.

"Why don't you look at Munì?" You mentioned the curvy, tall, blue eyed Metkayina girl who clearly had a mad crush on Neteyam. She was incredibly pretty. Nobody could deny that. "She has been drooling over you ever since you got here. Give the poor girl a chance. She's such a cutie. If I liked girls, I'd easily do her. Look at those beautiful, long, toned legs. Look at her wide hips. Damn, she's yummy!" you were drinking too much, your honesty getting way too out there.

"I don't want her. I want you." He spoke, like he really meant it. "My hammock will be hanged between those two big trees you like to collect fruits from. I'll be waiting for you, if you want to meet me."

With that last line being said, Neteyam got up from the sofa and walked away, swiftly finding his younger brother Lo'ak and tapping on his back, like men usually do. Both brothers started what looked like an interesting conversation.

You were left alone wondering how Neteyam could say those words and walk away so nonchalantly. 

"Phew! I thought he'd never leave, girlie." Adeline screamed, coming closer to you.

She was your best friend. You guys knew way too much about each other, but that only drove you closer and made you two have a beautiful bond that felt unbreakable. She was one of the few people in the world you trusted with many of your secrets. But not even she knew everything about you. Yes, talk about trust issues…

"God, I was about to call his sister to take him away! Kiri is much more chill and quiet compared to her siblings. She's a sweetheart." You said, finally letting your guard down and being able to relax your body language, laying back on the couch and resting your bare feet on the wooden dark brown table in front of you

𓇼

You cursed yourself while you walked towards Neteyam's big light brown hammock, hanged between two big beautiful trees that reminded you of the Palm Trees that used to exist on Planet Earth.

Why were you doing that, anyway?

"Tawtute! You came." Neteyam smiled, relief all over his face 

You sighed.

"Yeah, but I'm still wondering why I did."

"Ouch!" He put his huge four fingered hand on his chest and frowned, like he was in pain

You rolled your eyes at him.

"Stop that, silly." Crossing your arms, you walked towards the big tropical tree in front of his hammock but still a little far

"Hey! Where are you going?" Neteyam almost screamed as you were already further away from him than you should be if you were actually gonna have sex with him

It was like you were running away from and showing up to the "job" at the same time. Go figure out.

You rested your back against that large tree, feeling the rough edges of the wood harassing your skin.

Neteyam was already almost there where you were. His long na'vi legs helped him walk faster than you anticipated.

Neteyam got next to you. You felt a little fear but a bit of excitement, simultaneously, when you realized your head only reached his hip.

Fuck, he was a giant next to you… why the hell did that turn you on?

"Are you afraid of me, yawntutsyìp?" (little loved one) Neteyam said in a lewd, low voice as you looked at him, feeling like a pathetic little ant looking up at a human

Was that how ants felt?

"No, silly, I'm not." You looked away from him and tried to focus on the way the eclipse had beautiful violet and blue tones

That almost worked. If it wasn't for Neteyam using his huge alien hand to stroke your hair softly.

"You're so pretty, tawtute." You could feel his gaze directed at you, you could feel his heat burning your skin. The desire he felt for you was almost freaking tangible. 

You kept your eyes on the stars.

"You're not gonna look at me, yawntutsyìp? Lemme see those pretty eyes, hmm?" Fuck, he was turning you on so much, your pussy felt good already and there was a tight knot forming in your lower belly. How did he do that to you with so little effort?

You looked up at Neteyam's face, your neck hurting. You did not expect to see a big bulge under his navy blue loincloth, though. Neteyam was so huge you could not help staring and your face totally betrayed your surprise.

"C'mon, I wanna feel your tiny body on mine." He paused and his big blue hand traced your collarbone and your shoulders "You're so small, tawtute… Hmmm…" he let out something between a moan and a growl "So soft too." Neteyam squeezed your arm, feeling your soft human flesh against his slender fingers "I love how different from na'vi girls you are. I'm so lucky to have you all to myself tonight."

Your breath was now labored and your pussy was soaked. Your poor panties were all wet.

"I'm dying to squeeze those titties. They look incredibly soft. But I won't do anything that intimate before you say "yes" first, yawntutsyìp."

•

Taglist:

@yeosxxx (u asked to be tagged in all my writings so I'm tagging u here hehe)

Comments are very welcome. I love all of you who take time to read my writings ♡ Thank you all so much from the bottom of my heart. If you wanna be added to the taglist, just leave a comment down below <3

[anm3mi]

BAD HABIT ─ NETEYAM ⊹ ִֶָ

contents. fem!reader, hidden injury, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, confession

notes. this is crap, but i wanted to post something for my birthday as a gift to myself, also i didn't mean to do lo'ak so dirty in this, i'm sorry💀

the scene below rapidly evolved, full of fire, explosions, gun fire and loud war cries. harshly biting the inside of your cheek, you silently wish you could help your people in the fight, but you couldn't. you were ordered to only observe, not engage, and as a warrior, you had no other choice than to obey commands.

as the grip on your ikran tightened, you let out a shallow breath, soon interrupted from your thoughts by the duo on your side. "bro," lo'ak called out, his eyes switching between neteyam and you. the trio that was rarely seen apart. a few years ago, thanks to your own reckless behaviour, you quickly became friends with lo'ak, and soon neteyam came into the picture.

when the two of you were younger, you would often sneak out with lo'ak, messing around and causing trouble. but as you matured, you came to the realization that was not the way a warrior should behave. you realized you had people to protect, and with that, you begun to work on your behaviour, becoming less careless and more thoughtful about your actions. deep down, you were still a free-spirited child, curious to discover everything there was to, but you had people to depend on you and you couldn't disappoint them.

with your new mindset, you got into arguements with lo'ak more and more, as you became more like his brother, neteyam. always obeying the rules, being the perfect little warrior. you would no longer sneak out and mess around every night, instead, you would spend most of your time training.

neteyam took a notice of the obvious change between lo'ak and his friend. after witnessing one of your fights, neteyam carefully approached you, as you were more than glad to have somebody to rant to about the younger sully brother. from that moment, it didn't take long for the two of you to grew closer. it started with simple conversations about lo'ak, because even though he'll forever have a special place in your heart, he knew how to get on both your and neteyam's nerves.

after spending more time together, lo'ak was no longer the main topic of your conversations. you would talk about you interests, ideas, neteyam's duty as an older brother and your goal of becoming a warrior. and even though you were working on acting more mature, sometimes you needed at least a bit of freedom and to feel like a kid again, which lead you to talking neteyam into sneaking out. after reminding you countless times of how that was not a good idea, he gave in. but instead of running around the forest, causing trouble like neteyam expected, the two of you sat down on a patch of grass underneath a big tree and talked about the future.

after that night, you couldn't help but feel bad, as sneaking out to the woods in the middle of the night was your and lo'ak's thing, but you made sure to make it up for him. soon, the trio became less irritable when together. because even with all the heated arguments and disagreements, there were moments where the three of you would forget your differences. you adored those rare memories the most.

"we have to get down there!" lo'ak demanded. "no!" "no way, dad would skin us!" you and neteyam shouted over one another with clear disapprove written on your faces, as lo'ak glanced between the two of you once again, holding back a small smirk. you recognized the expression little too well. "lo'ak--" but before you could even finish your sentence, the younger brother was already descending towards the ground. without wasting a single second, the grip on your ikran tightened and you followed lo'ak, ignoring the now distant calls of your name coming from neteyam. even though you've tried to change - there were still moments where you wouldn't think before acting.

abandoning your ikran, you desperately looked around, clutching your bow close to your chest, after loosing sight of lo'ak. a lump formed inside your throat, but before you could let the uneasy feeling sink in, you gulped down and took a deep breath, letting out a war cry. you managed to catch the attention of a nearby human, who wasted no time, before pointing his weapon at you

but you were quicker.

within seconds, an arrow landed in the middle of the soldier's chest, causing him to drop on the ground with a thud. your chest was filled with pride, as you took out another arrow, scanning your surroundings. the sudden shout of your name caused you to snap your head around towards the source, your face lighting up at the sight of lo'ak, who had a huge grin on his face as he held a rifle and neteyam, who appeared almost relieved at the sight of you. running up to them, you let out a long breath you were holding, quickly throwing your arms around the two boys' head and bringing them closer.

your three heads butted against each other's. "we have to get out of here, before we get in more trouble." neteyam loudly announced over your loud surroundings, glaring at lo'ak. "we are already in trouble." shrugging your shoulders, you begun to back away, taking out one more of your arrows, grinning at the two brothers. the three of you were already disobeying the commands, so why not help your people while you were at it?

neteyam quickly followed, grabbing you by your forearm to stop you, almost sending you crashing into his chest, as you looked up to meet his eyes. before either of you could say anything, an explosion went off. your body harshly colliding with the ground was the last thing you felt, before everything went blank.

it didn't take long before you regained your senses. the first thing you noticed was the intense ringing in your ears, as you placed your hands on the hard earth, grounding yourself. harshly blinking your blurry vision away, you lifted yourself up from the ground way too quickly, causing you to stumble forward a bit, yet you managed to stay on your feet. a sudden way of pain coming from you lower abdomen caused you to let out a groan, but you choose to ignore it.

instead, you glanced around in a search of your weapon. you managed to find neteyam first. unconscious neteyam. with wide eyes, you let out a quick gasp, before stumbling to where his body laid. you fell down to your knees, ignoring your own pain, as you desperately scanned neteyam's entire body for any serious injuries. you let out a long shaky breath, when you didn't find any fatal ones.

gently placing your head on top of his chest in relief, you muttered his name, earning a low groan in response. your head shot up, noticing neteyam's eyes fluttering open. "hey, you're okay. you're okay..." you lifted your hands off his chest, muttering assuring words more to yourself than neteyam. opening your mouth to speak, you placed neteyam's arm over your shoulders as carefully as possible, but was soon interrupted.

"neteyam! y/n!" at the harsh loud call of your names, you looked towards the source of the sound, noticing jake quickly making his way towards the two of you. shit, you mentally cursed to yourself. "what the hell are you two doing here?!" kneeling down, jake eyed neteyam just like you did barely a minute ago, before taking him off you and throwing him over his shoulders. "i'm sorry- i'm sorry..." neteyam begun to mutter under his breath, yet got no response.

you quickly followed, but the burning sting on your stomach caused you to stop dead in your tracks. for the first time since you woke up, you decided to take a look at your injury. a hiss escaped your lips, when you noticed a long gash along your abdomen. placing your hand over the bleeding injury, hiding it, you bit your lower lip, almost drawing blood.

catching up with jake and neteyam, you were hit with a sudden realization. "where's lo'ak?!" you cried out, worry lacing your tone. "he's already on his way back." announcing, jake got on his ikran, still holding neteyam. you were able to swallow the lump forming in your throat, but what you weren't able to simply shake off was the uneasy feeling building up inside your stomach.

the last few minutes felt like a blur. there was fire everywhere, followed by constant war cries and shouting. you gulped down, as the adrenaline slowly, yet surely died down.

you called out for your ikran, one of your hands still on your stomach, while following behind jake and neteyam. you had no idea what to worry about first - lo'ak, neteyam or the fact all three of you were in huge trouble with jake, the toruk makto himself. the person that has been giving you orders for the past years and the person that took you under his wing, helping to raise you, when your parents weren't available, which happened quite often as they were busy with their own duties. to you the sully's were like your family you deeply cared for.

jumping off your ikran with a grunt, you patted the side of your ikran's head, before turning your attention towards the commotion. you awkwardly made your way towards jake, who was already scolding lo'ak and neteyam, with neytiri, kiri and tuk standing near them, ignoring how light-headed you felt. "you're supposed to be spotters!" angrily pointing his finger at neteyam, jake explained as lo'ak joined his brother's side, both of their eyes stuck on the ground.

"jesus, i let you three geniuses join a mission and you disobey direct orders!" you now stood beside lo'ak, your eyes switching between the ground, the brothers beside you and jake. eyes meeting neteyam's, you furrowed your brows - silently asking him if he was alright. in response, he sent a small nod your way, as you did the same to assure him. biting your tongue so hard you could taste metal inside your mouth, you were barely paying attention to what jake was saying, as you tried to stop your heavy eyelids from falling down. the pain started to become unbearable, as your knees were shaking.

"ma jake, your son is really bleeding." neytiri gave her mate a look. "mother, it's nothing--" shaking his head from side to side, neteyam stuttered. as he averted his gaze from his father, you managed to catch his eyes. his brows furrowed in confusion at the notice of your strange state, but before he could question it, jake begun to talk again.

"and you y/n," jake held back a sigh. "i expected this from lo'ak, but you? i'm disappointed." his words echoed inside your mind, as you looked at jake through your eyelashes. "i'm sorry, sir. i--" your words were slurred and before you could even finished your sentence, your head spun and you harshly fell to the ground.

the last thing you heard before blacking out was neteyam's call of your name. as you fell to the ground, your hand fell to the side, exposing the still bleeding injury. at the sight, jake's eyes widened. "get her inside!" he ordered, and neteyam wasted no time before picking you up as gently as possible, carrying you inside the healing hut, where his brother was already being healed.

"what happened?" with a worried expression, lo'ak called out. "she's loosing blood, she needs help. immediately. " jake explained, not taking his eyes off the your unconscious form. you were placed on the floor, as mo'at begun to take care of your wound. "is she going to be okay?" glancing at his grandma, neteyam demanded, but got no answer.

"bro," placing a hand on his shoulder, lo'ak murmured. neteyam glanced over his shoulder at lo'ak's unreadable expression. shaking his head from side to side, neteyam swiftly pushed his brother's hand away, "this is your fault." neteyam pointed his finger at lo'ak's chest, before storming off. "neteyam!" kiri shouted after him, but her calls fell on deaf ears. quickly picking up a few supplies, she hurried after her brother. after all, he was still injured and needed to be taken care of.

"she's going to be alright, i feel it." kiri softly announced, after finding her brother. he wasn't far from the hut, already feeling guilty for leaving your side. "she's strong." kiri added. "she followed him. she followed lo'ak down to the battlefield." trying to swallow the guilt, neteyam looked up at his younger sister. he only felt more guilty after realising she was hiding her injury from them. from him. "you know y/n, she doesn't want us to worry about her. always putting others first." kiri sat down next to her brother, nudging his side, thinking about your bad habit of putting needs of others first. "she's amazing, isn't she?" a smirk made its way onto kiri's face. "yeah," letting out a long breath, neteyam simply agreed. "she is."

"now let me help you." pulling her supplies closer, kiri announced, earning a quick nod from neteyam, as he turned his back to her. a hiss escaped his lips, when kiri harshly pressed on his wound. "sorry." she muttered, but neteyam knew she didn't really mean it. it was his sister's way of calling him stupid for obeying direct orders from their father.

"the first thing she did when we arrived was asking me, if i was okay. me." neteyam sharply inhaled at the burning sensation, as kiri smeared a paste along his injuries. "you should talk to her. i'm pretty sure y/n has something to say as well." shrugging her shoulders, kiri announced. silence fell over the two siblings, as kiri continued to mend his wound and neteyam sat in silence, confusion smeared across his face upon hearing kiri's words.

the day was long gone, as the stars now occupied the night sky. the village was quiet, everyone peacefully asleep in their homes - everyone except for neteyam. after kiri took care of his own wounds, he made a straight beeline towards the healing tent, as he was met with your unconscious body, your injury now stitched up and covered.

slowly, he sat down next to you, his grandmother's presence going unnoticed by him, until she decided to speak; "she needs to rest for two weeks. the cut was quite deep." mo'at suddenly explained, almost startling neteyam. he looked at her with widened eyes, as she continued to grind herbs together, before glancing back at you. "she won't like hearing that." neteyam admitted, earning a simple hum from his grandmother in response.

mo'at exited the tent in silence, leaving neteyam and you alone. carefully, neteyam took your hand and placed it in his lap, as his thumb caressed over your bruised knuckles. he was rarely seen like this - uneasy, lost deep in his own thoughts and neteyam was aware of the affect you had on him. the way his stomach would flutter with butterflies at your simple touch or the way his heart would beat hard against his ribcage when you were in danger. as much as neteyam preferred to be in denial about it, he knew he was head over heels for you.

and with how deeply he cared for you, he couldn't help, but be a bit angry. not only at lo'ak, but you as well. if you wouldn't have followed his brother into the battlefield, you wouldn't be injured - you wouldn't have to hide your injury, which was another thing that upset him. letting out a long shaky breath, neteyam gently placed his head on your thigh - the only part of your body that was uninjured, and with your hand still in his, he soon fell asleep.

the eclipse was near and his parents grew worried. they knew where their son was, but most importantly, they knew no matter the amount of pursuing, he wouldn't leave your side - not until you woke and the two of you could finally talk.

his slumber was interrupted by a murmur of his name, as he let out a small groan in response. "neteyam, i can't feel my leg." this time, you spoke more clearly, startling the boy awake. with wide eyes, neteyam looked down at you, before glancing towards your leg, where he managed to fall asleep. "y/n! i'm sorry--" "it's fine, just next time please don't use my legs as your personal pillow." your voice was hoarse, laced with sleepiness. leaning onto your elbows, you attempted to sit up, but neteyam's hands gently pushed you back down at the sound of a painful hiss coming from you. "you're on a bed rest. two weeks." he announced, earning a scoff in response from you. "yeah, no." you muttered, before rubbing your tired eyes. your whole body was sore and in pain, yet all you yearned to do was get up and properly stretch.

"neteyam?" raising a brow, you glanced to your side at the boy, who was staring at you with an unreadable expression. "neteyam, what is--" you opened your mouth to speak, but was interrupted: "you didn't tell me." he suddenly declared. "what?" you attempted to sit up once again, and this time there was no pair of hands stopping you, as neteyam held his hands back. "when we came back yesterday, you didn't tell me. you didn't tell any of us." neteyam continued to explain, while you carefully studied your bandaged injury. his was voice low, yet stern - almost emotionless.

"you could've died, y/n." upon hearing the sudden crack in his voice, you froze. finally, you peeled your eyes away from your body and met his eyes. tears were threatening to spill, yet neteyam used all his remaining strength to not let them. "you need to stop following lo'ak, because then it ends up with one of you being injured and me having to clean up the mess." neteyam blurted out, yet soon regret his words at the sight of your hurt expression.

"is this what this is about?" you insisted, fury lacing your tone. "i am not one of your responsibilities, neteyam." the way you said his name with such venom caused his stomach to tighten. "i didn't ask you to cover for me, i can take care of myself. as you can see - i am alive, so i don't see why you're still here--" ignoring the burning pain across your body, you continued to rant, irritated by your sore body, headache and the guilt you felt.

"because i care about you!" silence fell over the hut, as you could only hear the echo of his words. with glossy eyes, you stared into his, before biting your tongue. "yesterday, when you fell unconscious, for a second i thought you were going to die and-" neteyam begun to explain, his eyes switching between yours and the floor. you slowly realized this was the first time you saw neteyam almost nervous during a conversation, unable to keep eye contact and stammering. that was the affect you had on him - you made him nervous, in a good way, of course. but you also made him scared. scared of loosing you.

"-and i didn't know what to do. i felt so guilty for not trying harder to stop you from following lo'ak and i still do." your expression softened, as you felt your heart tug. "neteyam..." you softly whispered, as you reached to hesitantly cup his face with your hand. "i'm sorry for worrying you, i truly am." your eyes did not once leave his, as honesty laced each of your words. neteyam's eyes stared into yours, before bringing his hands up and placing it above yours that still caressed his face - his skin burning upon your comforting touch. "i care about you, too, you know?" you added, voice barely above a whisper.

without a word, neteyam slowly nodded in response. "never scare me like that again, please." pressing his forehead against yours, he whispered. biting the inside of your cheek, you mentally braced yourself, as your heart beated harshly against your ribcage - threating to escape any second. closing your eyes, you quickly pecked neteyam's lips. "i won't." opening your eyes, you were met with the sight of neteyam's flustered and shocked expression at what you couldn't help, but grin.

"do it again..." he whispered, slightly leaning closer, his hand sneaking towards the back of your neck. "what was that? i couldn't quite hear you, nete." you teased, your thumb caressing his cheek. "kiss me again, please." with determined, yet soft eyes - neteyam repeated his words. you let out a small chuckle, before leaning in once again. this time - it wasn't a simple peck. your shared kiss was filled with comforting warmth, as your stomach went crazy with butterflies, just as neteyam's.

as you pulled away, neteyam unconsciously chased after your lips, causing a heartfelt chuckle to rise from your throat. your geninue moment was interrupted by a sudden painful hiss. with wide eyes, neteyam's hands left your body with the worry of hurting you, before searching your body for any source of pain. using the palm of your hand, you covered your wound carefully, the harsh movement of your body disturbing in.

"i'm okay." eyes shot closed, you let out a shaky breath through gritted teeth, assuring neteyam, yet he didn't seem convinced. "you have to rest." neteyam announced, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. in response, you rolled your eyes and let out a small groan. "i don't know if i can just lay here for two weeks." you admitted, before laying down. neteyam followed, resting on his side next to you. "well, you have no choice." with a small smile, neteyam explained, as you suppressed another eye roll.

"promise you'll visit me?" looking at him through your eyelashes, you asked. "of course i will." neteyam assured, causing you to let out a small, relived breath. silence fell over the hut - but it wasn't uneasy, rather comforting, as you carefully studied neteyam's features up close, before you felt your eyelids become heavy. even with your eyes closed, you could sense neteyam's eyes glued to you and you could feel your face burning underneath his stare.

"i really like you, nete. you know that, right?" you muttered through a yawn. "i know, y/n, i like you too." shyly, neteyam admitted, softly caressing the top of your head. the corners of your lips tugged into small, as neteyam's expression mirrored yours. using one of his arms to support his head, his other one was lightly placed over you - the two of you asleep within minutes. you knew the next couple of weeks are going to be rough, you still had to scold lo'ak and apologize to the sully's for scaring them, but now, you could only savor the moment with neteyam you were in.

[puddle-nerd]

Golden Afternoon

Summary: Just two best friends enjoying the sunshine and a good book. (slight Lo’ak/Human Reader)

Prompt #1 for my submission for #𝐂𝐫𝐲𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐞𝐬𝟏𝟒𝐃𝐎𝐋𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒

Story Tags: No use of Y/N, Female Reader, Na'vi Language, Na'vi & Human Interactions, Friends, Secret Crush

Na’vi Translation: Iknimaya – (Na’vi for “Stairway to Heaven”) is a treacherous but fundamental rite of passage in which a young Na’vi hunter must select, capture, and successfully bond with one of the ikran who nest in the Hallelujah Mountains

Ikran – also called “Mountain Banshees”, they are large, dragon-like aerial predators often tamed by tribes of Na’vi for thousands of years for traveling long distances, for hunting from the air, or even during times of war

Uniltìranyu – translated to dream-walker in the Na’vi language, it is another term meaning for genetically engineered human/Na’vi-hybrid bodies, designed to serve as a remotely controlled vessel for a human mind

AO3 Link

“Hey, ready to go, Mamas?”

You looked away from your self-appointed art project of redecorating the walls of your private bunk within the human compound and grinned up at the younger son of Jake Sully who was – unfortunately for him – grounded once again for going out with Spider and doing something stupid and reckless. So, with no flying and no access to his best male friend for the next two weeks, that meant you more or less had him all to yourself. Not that you were complaining in the slightest. You had had a crush on him for the last three years since you turned eleven and it didn’t look to be going away any time soon. “Yeah,” you agreed, putting your paintbrush into the dirty cup of water so it wouldn’t solidify. Again. He squinted, stepping into your bedroom and peered closely at the scene you were painting on your metallic wall just for the hell of it. “Am I dressed okay?”

The Na’vi hybrid glanced over your outfit of light blue overall shorts and a white tee shirt and nodded. Then turned his gaze back onto what you had been working on. “You’re getting good,” he complimented and you beamed up at him, your cheeks turning rosy as you muttered back a shy ‘thank you’. You shuffled off your messy bed and located your boots and the socks you wanted to wear with them and slid them on – not in that order, though. “Oh, hey, bring the book.”

You grabbed the old novel that had been republished about some sixty years prior back on Earth and followed him out of your room and to the nearest exit of the compound, grabbing a mask in the airtight antechamber as he put his nitrogen mask back on the proper hook. Once it was secured in place upon your face, he opened the vestibule door and you stepped outside into the beautiful world of Pandora. You were always in awe of the world you had been born on and sometimes wished that you could breathe its air as easily as Lo’ak could. Alas, you were fully human and Norm had told you creating you an Avatar was out of the question until you were at least eighteen years of age. Hormones, he cited, which was bull shit but since you were just a kid, then there wasn’t really anything you could do about it until then. Besides, it was only another three years, seven months, and five days away. But who was counting?

The Na’vi hybrid rolled his golden eyes as he looked back over his shoulder and took in your expected look of awe. He reached down and scooped you up, laughing as you squeaked. Expertly, he moved you to sit on his shoulders while you carefully handled his neural queue so you didn’t accidentally sit on it.

“Careful, Mamas,” he cautioned you, as he did every time. “Sensitive, remember?”

You hummed your agreement, carefully draping the black braid over his shoulder to rest down his lean chest. With you now settled upon his shoulders, he took off, being able to move much faster than he would have if he had let you walk. You were nowhere near as fast as Spider was who was now reaching six feet tall at sixteen years of age so it made sense for Lo’ak to carry you. Plus, without you struggling to keep up, you could take in the scenery a lot better. Just like you liked to do.

Thinking of ages led you to consider upcoming birthdays.

“Hey, Lo,” you inquired, running your fingers idly through his braids as you continued to gaze at Eywa’s beautiful world. He grunted, letting go one of your calves briefly so he could get himself over a log that was surely your height. “Your birthday’s coming up, right? Have you thought about what you wanted? For your birthday?”

He paused and his ears twitched, tickling the insides of your knees as they did so. Then he shrugged, chuckling as you yelped as the movement threatened to topple you. His firm grip on your calves proved he had you steady, though. “I really just want to pass my Iknimaya,” he muttered, voice going flat. “It’s so embarrassing that I got thrown off the cliff. Neteyam did it his first try! Heck, even Dad did it his first try and he was a uniltìranyu at the time!” You shushed your best friend gently and laid your cheek atop his head, rubbing your face soothingly over his braids. He calmed, adding a quiet, “Sorry. It’s just… I’m not perfect like him and I swear Dad just constantly looks at me in disappointment.” He sighed and sniffed, going quiet for a while, just allowing you to continue petting him comfortingly. Then his ears twitched and he paused, asking, “Could you make those chocolate chip cookies again? A whole batch just for me?” You grinned, retorting, “As long as you don’t eat them all in one sitting and complain about a stomach ache later.” He huffed and nuzzled his temple into your knee, replying, “Yeah, yeah, whatever, nag.” “I nag because I care,” you countered. He squeezed your calves in a silent acknowledgement of your words and finally decided to stop next to a pond. Drawing you up and off his shoulders, he let you settle on the lush grass before he flopped onto his back and smiled up at you. Drawing out the ragged book, you settled yourself against his side and opened it to where the bookmark lay. Clearing your throat, you open my mouth and begin to read aloud as you have every day since Lo’ak’s most recent grounding, silently thinking to yourself that Lo’ak enjoyed the main character (despite her being a human female) because she was secretly just as much as an outcast as he felt most days, being “Divergent” and all. “Chapter twenty-one: the door to the Pit closes behind me, and I am alone. I have not walked this tunnel since the day of the Choosing Ceremony…” You continued to read through the chapter in the golden afternoon sunlight and was about to start the next one when Lo’ak suddenly let out a yawn behind you and you realized he was starting to fall asleep. You put the bookmark back into place and turned against Lo’ak’s stomach, leaning against him and just admiring his sleepy face. He mumbled, “I’m awake.” He immediately yawned widely, revealing his sharp canines. “Uh huh,” you teased. “Don’t fall asleep out here. You’ll be thanator chow in no time.” He snorted but pushed himself up and rubbed at his face. “Guess I should get you back,” he commented. “Can we do this again tomorrow?” You smiled and nodded, secretly hoping he was enjoying spending all the time he did with you as you did with him.

𖥸 · ─────── · 𖥸 · ─────── · 𖥸

Originally Posted: 03 February 2024 Word Count: 1,147

@crybabies-heart, @cryingwhilereading, @ikeyniofthetayrangi, @erenjaegerwifee, @bambithewriter, @lloreya

AO3 Link

[luchicm04]

Proof

Masterlist

Summary: What starts as a sensual reunion ends in an erotic scene.

Pairing: Jake Sully/Tonowari

Word count: 1.7k

Overall warnings: sexual content, dirty talk, mature language, alternate universe-modern au, daddy kink, choking kink, nipple play, breeding king, fluff, a/b/o dynamics, dom/sub, love bites, teasing, possessive behavior⚠️🔞

All characters belong to Avatar, and all rights are reserved to the original work whose author allowed me to translate it.

A/N: Au:Modern,Omegaverse,Jake is the shop's madam. Hope you like it <3

Request by @TOFUCHAN2003: Please, could you do a daddy fish and a bottom kitty. Tonojake but set in 'that' environment🥺✨🙏

posted on ao3

Once again, the paradise known as Pandora had been invaded. 

The scent of the establishment’s perfume was masked by pheromones reminiscent of a sandy beach. 

Tonowari's smell. 

The most influential person in those waters. 

The entire place almost panicked when he entered. Employees who knew their duties well were quick to prepare the welcome for him as best as possible before following him. 

They wondered in their hearts, but the young men never dared to ask anything. 

They knew that Tonowari and Jake knew each other from before. However, no one knew exactly what kind of relationship they had. There was only a rumor that that powerful man came to visit Pandora’s Omega every seven days. 

He sat on the best couch in the most private area. Furthermore, a delicious liquor was brought and placed in front of the tall figure less than five minutes after his entry. 

No need to say much- 

After a few sips of the amber-colored beverage, the curtain was lifted by the palm of the awaited figure. 

The body under the seductive outfit approached without haste. His long hair hung loose behind him. He curled up next to the exposed blue collar. The black dress had a slit on the side, showing off his slim legs with every step he took. It paired well with the high heels of the same color. 

“Ma’Jake,” he said in a deep voice. A hand reached out and he waited to take the beautiful man’s hand. He lifted it up to hold his smaller body towards him. 

Madame Pandora yielded to the touch. 

He lowered himself and sat on the big man, supporting his body against the strong torso. He lifted his legs and crossed them until his already short dress rose up even higher. 

“Daddy.” 

With one hand around the other’s neck, he used the tip of the finger in his other hand to run it along the collar of his shirt. Staying deceptively snuggling closer like a cat seeking warmth. 

Tonowari caressed Jake’s leg. He lifted his head slightly so that the lady of the place could more easily inhale his scent. 

Not many people knew it, but that kitten who was fierce in the eyes of others enjoyed the fresh scent of that sea man. 

Jake loved it. 

Tonowari’s smell was completely different from that of the Omaticaya in the forest, but it was one of the aromas that calmed him the most. It was a soft aroma that mixed with the turmoil, like ocean waves hitting the seashore. 

“We haven’t seen each other for a long time. Did you go there to be naughty?” 

The palms started to get shameless. He slipped them under the one-piece garment. 

Touching the thin panties that were Jake’s last line of defense. 

“I work every day. Where could I find the time to be naughty?” 

A loud moan came out from his throat. He moved his body slightly so that his large hands could roam more easily. His face was still rubbing against him like a cat drunk from the smell of catnip. 

“Really?” 

It was a possessive question, but the tone was the opposite. Jake liked the smell of him though. Nevertheless, Tonowari knew that he could not dominate the beauty before him. 

Jake was like a cat. 

He would beg whenever he wanted something and would retreat as soon as he crossed the line. 

How could he allow a cat slave like him to play with him like that? 

“Would you like to prove it to me?” 

──

Jake was restless. 

His arms were trembling and his legs were weak, almost completely numb. Amber eyes seemed to wander. They lost focus several times before being pulled back by a surge of emotion. 

If anyone saw, they wouldn’t believe that thas was the face of the madame who reigned over heaven. 

The hair was tucked behind his ear gently, unlike the force of the fingers below. His slender forearm could only hug the other person’s neck tightly, burying his face into the crook of his pale neck. Whispering loudly, not far from his ear. 

“Tono- wari...” his voice trailed off. His hips kept trying to retreat as the thrusts continued, grinding into the bottom of the person below. 

The big man responded, a strong hand moving down and firmly holding his waist. 

“What do you say, boy?” he responded, stabbing his fingers with a harder stroke than the ones before. 

Jake’s legs tried to shrink together. His back channel tightly entrapped the foreign object. The clear liquid that was released by the Omega mixed with the lubricant that was used at the beginning. It was dripping down and coating his thighs. 

“Slow- slow down... ah!” Jake begged; his prostate having been bullied for quite some time. Even if it was flickered, when he was almost at the limit, the person in front of him pretended to stop his fingers. 

Tonowari was a gentle person. But when it was just the two of them together, Jake felt how he completely threw away all that tenderness. 

Daddy liked to tease and be aggressive. 

His outfit was lifted high, but because of the smoothness of the fabric, it fell to his stomach. And the other person didn’t seem to like it very much. 

The taller figure helped Jake to stand up. The long fingers stopped as his emotions were soaring, causing his beautiful face to wrinkle with desire. 

“Why-” 

Before he could finish his sentence, a strong hand pulled up the fabric of his short dress and brought it up to his lips. 

“Hold it,” his stern voice said. Fingers pressed the fabric against his mouth. Light blue eyes looked up at Jake. Instead, they made him feel like he was being watched by a large predator. 

Like a giant shark. 

Even though he knew that they probably wouldn’t eat a whole live human being, his heart could not shake off the fear. 

The Alpha scent he liked had changed. There was no gentleness anymore. There was only a strong smell that made him want to obey everything he was ordered. 

His lips parted as he caught on, exposing his chest and narrow waist to the eyes of the older man. 

Tonowari stuck out his tongue and licked his dry lips. The kitten’s body was stil as smooth and beautiful as when they had met before. It was good evidence that Jake really hadn't gone anywhere. 

“I’m actually surprised. You haven't gone shaking your ass for anyone else yet? Are you addicted to Daddy?” Tonowari said chuckling while his tight chest plate moved up and down. The nipples on his breasts stood tall with the arousal, attracting his eyes more than anything. He leaned in. He flicked the tip of his tongue in greeting before beginning to cup his lips against the hard clit. 

“Still as sweet as before... I really want to find out what the taste will be like when you’re pregnant. Would you like to know?” 

Despite asking for his opinion, he didn’t want an answer. The hand that once held itself was not easily stopped. It began to move in and out rhythmically again. His other hand kept a tight grip on Jake’s waist, preventing the aroused person from moving away. 

Jake was aware of all those words, but he couldn’t gather himself enough to reply. 

A hot tongue swirled around his tip, using force to suck on it until a wet sound was heard throughout the area as he used his teeth to graze it gently, alternating on both sides. It was not just the prominent bulge that was bullied. He also took to biting and sucking, leaving rose-colored marks all over. 

Jake felt like he was hyperventilating. He was being invaded on both ends. Tonowari wasn't just thrusting his finger into his clit, but also doing it until it hit his deepest walls. He moved in and out without forgetting to emphasize on the prostate. At the front, it was even worse. He could hardly stay silent; he could only bend back to the force of the suction of those lips. The sea man’s tongue loved to caress his nipples, pretending to circle around and then biting them as if he wanted to pull them out and eat them. 

A load moan resonated as Jake tried to hold on tight to the black cloth. He wanted to stop the sounds that kept escaping his lips, but his last thought of whether someone would come and see him in this state drifted away bracuse of the words of the other man. 

“Oh, Jake. Do you know how hot you are?” 

What had happened? He couldn’t remember. All the fingers pulled out at once. A sudden rush descended on him. The love hole that had not closed properly squeezed the air rhythmically as if it was yearning for something more. 

His body was turned around. The back of his neck was grabbed and kissed. The breath that could not be filled into his lungs was stolen. Hot tongues entwined together. They exchanged drops of saliva until he couldn’t take it any longer. Sharp nails dug into the arms around his waist. His eyes were glassy from the lack of air. His slender legs flapped back and forth, trying to escape from the other’s embrace. 

Jake thought he had died- he really almost died. 

Tonowari parted his lips at the last moment to watch him deteriorate. His eyes were blurry and unfocused; they could only stare aimlessly ahead, with his lips spread wide and his hot tongue out. He struggled for air until his face was covered with drool. His whole body trembled. The legs that had been straddling him fell to the sofa. If he hadn’t got hold of his arms, he would have dropped on the ground. 

Jake didn’t even realize when his core stiffened and released the cloudy liquid. His back was still bent. Whether it was the lower part or the upper part, they were both limp. 

The forest Na’vi’s face was lifted. The fingers lightly traced across his lips, wiping away the saliva stains around him before inserting the index and middle into the warm cavity. 

“Come to your senses. Daddy hasn’t put it inside you yet. If you’re going to die, it'll be with Daddy’s juice in you, little one.” 

[honeysmokedham]

TIMING: June 17th, 2023 PARTIES: Nora @honeysmokedham & Wynne @ohwynne LOCATION: The apartment building everyone lives in SUMMARY: Wynne coming home from work runs into Nora leaving work. CONTENT WARNINGS: none

Coming home from an eight-hour shift that turned into a nine-and-a-half one, Wynne wanted nothing less but to get home, put their legs up and close their eyes for a moment. They wanted to reheat some of their leftovers and relish in that warm comfort food and just stare at the ceiling, maybe quip at one of their roommates and definitely pet one of the many cats in the place. What they didn’t want was to bump into the shit-stirrer who had recently transformed into an actual bear in the woods. 

But here she was, roaming the very halls of the apartment building Wynne lived in. They would be lying if they said they hadn’t been thinking about the other, wondering why she was hurt and how it could be that she was a bear. Why she had been stealing. If they really meant it, when they’d promised they would punch her in the face. They halted as the other moved to what seemed to be the entrance of the building, fingers wrapping a little tighter around their tote bag. It was from a local bookstore a few towns over. 

“Oh.” They wondered if she knew someone in this building or if this person was very set on scaring Wynne outside of working hours. Maybe that was a self-centered thought to have. “What are you doing here? Do you live here?”

“Bye Mimi!” Nora called into Axis, just to be loud and annoying. Something she knew the old man was missing in his life. He’d given up asking her not to call him Mimi, but she figured he still hated it somewhere deep inside of him. That was enough for her to hold on to the nickname. Nora shut the broken door after her, turning to find herself face to face with Wynne. A name that she had only picked off the internet after checking out their profile. 

“Oh hey.” It was the only greeting that came out of her. Slipping out of her monotone voice almost like she was surprised. “No. I would never live here.” That part came out too fast, a reaction from the constant bickering Emilio and Nora always got into about if her crypt or Axis better. Nora knew the answer was Axis, the running water was a good point he had, but she would never admit that. To anyone. Nora loved her crypt too much to admit it. It also meant that she didn’t consider why Wynne was there. 

“This place is a dump.” Nora stated. Nora, who lived in a crypt without running water. Who was dirty most days of the week. Who had to sneak into other peoples homes for laundry and showers. Then it dawned on her. “Oh. No offense if you live here.” Nora looked around. “Or do you live here?” 

Well, at the least the other didn’t live here. Wynne had gone over their last meeting a few times, running over the things they had seen. The bear, so close to them and the human clothes on the floor. It had given more questions than answers, at the end of the day, but Wynne wasn’t sure how to get them answered. The world was so large, so filled with inexplicable things … sometimes they wondered if they even wanted them all answers.

Their mouth opened and closed, a little surprised by the others forwardness. At least this meeting was going very good by their standards. There was no stealing or punching yet. “I guess it’s not perfect.” Wynne knew what other living spaces there were in town and understood that this wasn’t the best. But what other place had people like Zack, Arden and Sully as well as the semi-low rent? To them, this was perfect.

“But none taken. Yes. I live here, one floor up.” Maybe they shouldn’t have said that. They looked at the door the other had come from and then looked back at Nora. Their eyebrows creased a little. “Do you know Emilio?” 

“It’s fine.” Nora mumbled, covering her tracks. Axis was basically her second home with the amount of time she spent there. Her complaints were only due to her fast reaction to defend her crypt. Now she was trying to cover that mistake. “This building is fine, I mean.” Nora shoved her hands in her pocket, leaning against the door frame. The picture of the cool kid. The cool uncaring kid. The image she strived so hard to perfect. After their last encounter, where Nora had lost control of some of her emotions, it was going to be hard to regain that imagine. Especially since Wynne was so sure of themselves. 

The question about Emilio shouldn’t have shocked her. They lived in the same building, but the only person Emilio ever mentioned here was Jeff, the knife wielding neighbor. “Yeah, that’s my boss.” Nora answered, jerking her chin towards the door they stood in front of. “Obviously you know him.” A thought came across her mind. “You’re not one of those roommates upstairs trying to adopt him are you? He’s always getting food from them.” Tasty food. Food that he let Nora eat. Her mouth watered at the idea. It had been some very good home cooked meals. 

Wynne nodded. “Better than some of the places I’ve lived before.” It was a vague statement, alluding to periods spent in motels as well as without any roof above their head at all. That, too, was something they had thought about when it came to the other: why she had stolen. Out of need, they hoped, not just to be a dick. They stood very still, fingers still wrapped around the handle of their tote bag as the other leaned against the doorframe.

They creased their brows a little. Her boss? Did that mean if Wynne did end up asking Emilio for help with their family, that this not-quite-a-stranger would be in on it too? “Oh, I didn’t know he had employees. But that’s cool.” It was. Better than serving coffee, maybe. They looked a little confused then, thrown off by the word choice. “Adopt him? I mean, no, he’s so much older than me, you know. But I am one of them.” Was Zack or Arden trying to adopt Emilio? That was strange. “I do give him food sometimes. I tend to cook too much.” Half true: they did cook a lot on purpose, but that was also in part because Wynne wasn’t sure how to cook small portions. “Just neighborly things, you know?” And he did look like he needed some fiber and vitamins, half of the time.

Better than some places? There had been a point in Nora’s life where that would have taken a lot of imagination. Except that last two years had changed her. Nora had changed into someone who went from only knowing the best of life into someone who’d lived in only the worst cracks a person, with no money and a need to not be noticed, could fit in. It was probably like Emilio and that mysterious past he was always crying about, you didn’t end up in the dredges of wormrow because life was handing you lemons to make lemonade. Nora let it go without question. Who was she to judge. 

“It’s just me.” Nora said with a shrug. “Oh, and his dog walker.” Nora tapped a hand against her chin as she said it. She never saw the dog walker. She just knew there was one. Odd how they always missed each other. Nora was also aware that Emilio probably didn’t want a detective employee. Instead she’d wormed her way into the business through circumstance, and his too good heart. Who else would see a kid in a graveyard and not give up on her? When he owed her nothing? “You can adopt people older than you. You’re the one cooking for him? Then you’re the one taking care of him. Isn’t that adoption.” Something like that. “Did you make that stew the other day?” Nora asked, her stomach let out a loud grumble just thinking it. “It was fire.” 

“Well, like I said, that’s cool. What do you do?” Maybe all the other did was do some filing. Wynne wasn’t really sure what being a PI entailed, besides doing investigating, privately. Four eyes did see more than two. They wondered if the girl had come across Emilio the same way they had, or if this was a really professional thing. With a job application and everything. They were burning with curiosity, wanting to ask where she had come from, if the piercings had hurt, if she turned into a bear very often or if it was something she could do only a few times during a certain time, if those clothes had any meaning.

They lifted their shoulders, letting go of the bag strap. Wynne’s posture relaxed a little, what with the other not producing any strange illusions and them not feeling the need to rely on violence to quell their fear. “Maybe, but I guess he’s taken care of me too. Maybe that’s not adoption but just … you know, caring about people.” They tried not to think of the way Emilio had shown them a kind of comfort they had lacked. “Um, yes. I make stew a lot. Th-” They swallowed. Maybe bugbears were a type of fae. It was starting to get very confusing. “That’s nice of you to say.” Wynne hesitated for a moment. “You don’t have to steal if you want food from me, I guess.”

“Whatever he asks me to. Break curses and shit.” Nora was saying it in her monotone voice, as if she wean’t proud that she was an official curse breaker now. As if the pride she felt in being able to save lives and contribute didn’t mean the world to her and make her feel like she wasn’t just a waste of space taking up time and energy that she didn’t deserve. Nora shrugged again. The shrug of the cool girl who didn’t think much about anything. The shrug that belonged to a girl who didn’t break out into hysterical laughter the last time she saw Wynne who kept their composure under tight lock and key. “That sort of thing.” 

“Yeah. He’s nice like that.” Nora had a feeling that if he came out in the hallway and saw the two of them talking about how nice he was he’d scowl and walk away. That would be funny. “I have lots of food at home.” The lie jumped to readily to Nora’s lips. Practiced because of the amount of times she’d told it. The amount of ways she tried to convince everyone in her life like each day she struggled to find food. Of course the struggle was better now. She had places that would feed her just for showing up. Emilio had kept his promise to keep his fridge stocked as payment to her. But it still didn’t sit right with her, telling people that she needed help feeding herself. That wasn’t the image she wanted to give for herself. After all, she’d fought tooth and nail for her freedom. Asking for help in anyform seemed a betrayal of that. “‘preciate the offer, though.” Nora added, almost gruffly. As if realizing what she’d said in haste might have been rude when she was just trying to have a normal person conversation. 

Something flickered over their face at the mention of curses. Surely that was also something that existed in this world. At this point the world really might as well be flat, because none of it made sense any more. “Oh. Wow.” But that was good, right? Breaking curses was similar to trying to figure out what was up with a demon-worshiping cult. Maybe. Wynne did sometimes wonder if they were cursed. “Must be exciting.” They somehow found themself offering a small smile. “He’s a good guy, right?” 

It would be easy to accept the other’s words as truth, to accept that she was cool and tough and stole just for the heck of it. But it wasn’t matching up. Wynne struggled to accept that people were just like that, taking pleasure out of fear and thieving for no reason. Was this girl really just cruel? It didn’t really seem it. “Oh, okay. But I’ll probably keep bringing Emilio some food, every now and then, ‘cause he seems like he needs it. I don’t mind making some extra, is what I’m saying, I guess.” They shrugged. “And if you have plenty of food, then no need to steal from a small business, right?” They repositioned a little, their feet getting tired from standing still so long. Wynne stared at the door behind the other for a moment. “Does he know, what you are? I just — well. Just wondering.”

“Something like that.” Yes, curse breaking was exciting. If Nora had been normal, in touch with her emotions, she might have been one to break into a long spiel about how breaking curses was exciting. The thrill of breaking into that woman’s home and fucking up her shit. The worry that the curse breaking wasn’t going to work and instead Emilio and Bride were going to die. All the emotion and anxieties she felt in that moment compounded into three little words. Something like that. Did they even convey to Wynne how exciting it was? No. But then again, to Nora? There were no words that could properly convey it. “Yeah. He’s alright.” 

At that moment Nora was a day or two without showering, she couldn’t remember. Dirt coated the side of her cheek and crept under her nails. Despite all the gentle attempts that Leti gave her to try and groom better, Nora never quite shake the homeless look. Probably because she was rough living it most the time. Even her hair cut, given to herself by her own hand, was sharp and angled weird. Strands of her hair were often laced with leaves or sticks or other things she could pick up during her nature hikes. But maybe people would just believe she was an eccentric if she told them she had abundant food at home. Right? "Cool. I appreciate that." Wynne was nice, to tell Nora that she could have food. Even if at the same time they were telling her not to steal from Latte to Love. Which wasn't very nice. Nora did like the food they offered there.

"No." Nora lied, the lie slipping from her mouth before she could stop it. "And if he finds out, he'll probably kill me." Okay, so none of it was true, but Nora couldn't get away from a conversation without an attempt to scare someone. That just wasn't her style. "Please don't tell him. I need this job, and my life. If he kills me..." Nora sighed. "You know, I'd die. I don't want to die." 

Wynne had lived a life of repression back in the commune. Smothering real feelings and pressing thoughts for the sake of their own comfort (and safety, even) and making themself into a symbol. A husk. Even now they stumbled through their self-expression. The curiosity they were letting themself dip into and voice too, wasn’t entirely smooth. They wondered if there was something like this going on with the other, who was so monotone and distant in her replies. Or maybe she just didn’t like Wynne, that too was a very real possibility. “I’m glad you like it?” It was almost a question, the way they said that. 

She didn’t look like someone who had a full fridge at home, that was true. Truth be told, the girl across from Wynne didn’t look like someone who had a home, but they were trying not to make assumptions. Besides, Wynne didn’t really understand modern fashion. They did think back to their first days after leaving the commune, dirt streaking their own hands and face, their tired legs taking them forward and away. A woman in a large truck had helped them, at some point. If Nora was like them, someone who’d ran from something (and really, maybe they were just projecting, wanting to find recognition in someone else, so desperate to not feel alone in this strange way of existing), had there been someone like that? They would like that. “Okay. I’ll cook for two.” And that was that. Otherwise Emilio could just eat it. They really did hope he did and that he didn’t think it a nuisance.

They frowned, taken aback by the other’s honesty and sudden desperation. “Of course you don’t want to die. I did- don’t want to die either. That’s very normal.” That was rational and okay, not a selfish and evil thing at all. It had to be. “I won’t tell him, that’s not what I meant, I just was wondering because of … well, you know.” Wynne didn’t want to say that Emilio was a hunter, the same way they didn’t intend to tell Emilio that the other was a bugbear. 

A question of if she liked curse breaking? God. Nora loved everything she did at Axis. There were words out there that could easily describe everything Axis meant to her. In a concise clipped tongue she could say one sentence and convey that Axis was her purpose to keep going. It kept her from falling into the death pit next to Debbie's dead body where guilt would slowly eat its way through her body leaving a gaping wound where her heart should have been. Nora didn't know those words. Nora also didn't know how to tell someone something so deep about herself. Why would Wynne want to hear that anyways? Who cared what some murderer needed to keep going. Murderers didn't deserve to keep going. Nora pushed the thought out of her head. Nora pushed everything out of her head, regaining the cool calm composure. "Yeah. It's alright. You like working for Latte to Love? You keep defending it."

“Okay. I’ll cook for two.” As if it was simple. As if it wasn't a lot to ask of someone. As if they didn't even care how much that could potentially mean to someone. "He has another guy that comes around some times. Always eats what's in his fridge." Nora hadn't met him yet, Rhett, the man with the big beard. Nora only had a picture of him because she'd promised Emilio she would never scare him. Nora intended to keep that promise. "Incase you wanted to cook for three. You didn't hear it from me. I don't think Emilio would like knowing you're going out of your way to make extra things for him." Nora wouldn't like it either. They were similar that way. But Nora could ask for Emilio. She didn't think her mentor ate enough. Especially not in comparison to the amount of alcohol he consumed. 

They were so sincere as Nora asked them not to tell Emilio. What was this, did Nora feel guilty? Fuck she was getting soft. Nora was losing all those sharp edges that made her the scariest person in Wicked's Rest, and instead turning into a creature of softness. A soft family that she'd found herself. A soft friend group that... admittedly had murdered someone together but everything else they did was nice and uncomplicated. Now a softness for the person that had punched them. God. Who was she becoming? "I'm just messing with you." Nora stated. "Of course he knows. He'd be a bad detective if he hadn't worked it out yet."

Whether Wynne liked their job wasn’t really a question they bothered to ask themself. They liked the stability, the constant flow of money. Before this, they had done random jobs, odd things on the side. They’d pawned off some things they’d stolen, had cleaned motel rooms from the place they’d stayed at, had spent a few nights in a kitchen washing dishes until their hands were raw. Labour wasn’t about enjoying it, it was about having purpose and getting something in return. They had learned that by now. At least by making coffee they could give people something they needed. “It’s okay. I just don’t like getting in trouble, I guess. Someone yelled at me for the stuff you stole. I hate it when people do that. That’s all. And I like making people happy with coffee, but you know. It’s a job.” They missed the commune, where jobs and wages weren’t relevant. Where everything had purpose. 

It seemed Emilio had some odd friends, but then Wynne supposed they might be among them. Not many people had a random barista who was supposed to be a human sacrifice in their social circle, after all. Or at least, not many who knew about that. “Oh. Well, like I said, I tend to make a lot. I really do think that living with community in mind is best, you know? Looking out for one another. I guess that’s why I make him food, because he does other things for me. But I guess maybe I can make a little more.” If their wage would allow it. “Can you make sure he gets a few bites, at least? Emilio, I mean.”

They stood there, staring at the other. “Oh.” They were so easy to deceive, it was a problem Wynne was growing more and more aware of. As the truth they’d been spoon fed from a young age was starting to taste more like deceit, they grew more aware that they should be more skeptical. It just wasn’t in their nature. “That’s good.That he knows, and that he doesn’t do anything about it. That’s what I mean, he’s a good guy. Only goes after the bad ones.” 

"Oh. My bad. For that." Nora had never considered that her actions would have consequences for people other than her. After all, they were her actions. Wynne had done their best to stop Nora from stealing from Latte to Love. What else could they get done? That was dumb that they would get in trouble. "What were you supposed to do? Stop me? How?" It was an impossible task to stop Nora once she put her mind to something. Someone getting paid minimum wage didn't deserve that. At least Nora assumed Wynne was getting paid minimum wage. Nora still wasn't sure how money worked, seeing as it was never a concern for her in her development years and now that it was something she was supposed to worry about, she just stole everything she needed. But she'd heard people talk about how low minimum wage was and how it needed to be raised. It was also nice that they liked to make people happy. It was the opposite of what Nora liked. Nora liked to make people scared. Nora often thought scaring them should be a cause for them to find happiness, but more and more she was realizing no one enjoyed it as much as she did. 

"I'll stand over and make sure he eats a whole serving." Nora held her hand up in a scouts salute. Nora had never been part of the scouts, but maybe it would mean something. She had some honor, right? Maybe. 

The way Wynne said he only goes after the bad ones made Nora think they knew he was a hunter. Was that why they had been asking if Emilio knew? That would explain why they were so quick to not tell him. Nora nodded. "Yeah. He's a good guy." Nora picked herself off the door frame, stretching. It had been a boring day and she needed to get her nightly training in. "But I am a bad guy, so he's not doing that good of a job." It was supposed to be a joke, but jokes never landed as well as she liked with her tone and affect. "Anyway, this has been fun but I've got plans." Nora started to walk down the hallway towards the outer door but paused. "I'll see you around, Wynne. No fear, right?" That was a peace offering, right? Something had shifted between them in this conversation. Something had braided together and created a tentative peace. Nora could respect that, and offer to uphold it. Nora was out the door in the night air within a moment. Wynne. Maybe a friend? Something to consider. 

They shrugged. “I know, right? I tried. But I guess it was hard to explain. And he likes being bossy. It’s okay, though. He just yelled.” The stolen inventory hadn’t been held back from their wage, at least. That would have been depressing. Wynne hoped that the other’s reaction meant that she really wasn’t going to do it again. 

Wynne smiled at the gesture the other offered. “Great. He needs nutrients, I think.” And if the other also cared about Emilio, then maybe they could both accomplish it. Maybe they could both adopt him a little, to put it in her words. Either way, Wynne was glad that there was someone looking out for hunter. He hadn’t shone a lot of light on his own situation, but there seemed hefty weight there, as well as that innate willingness to care about the seemingly weaker than him. Wynne appreciated that, but didn’t want him to fade away in the process.

They wondered how sincerely the other meant that, that sentiment that she was a bad guy. Maybe she only wanted to be seen as one. Because right now, and the last time Wynne had come across her, she hadn’t been that bad. Just a bit off-putting at times, but they supposed they could be that as well. “He can have some off days every now and then too, I guess.” They hoped that matched the tone of the conversation. They watched the other start to walk away and nodded at the sentiment. “I’ll see you around …” They frowned. “I never got your name.” But before they could ask it, the other was out of the building already and Wynne remained standing there, feeling a kind of relief. It seemed this scary thief was more than met the eye and Wynne was glad to have gleamed some more of her. Perhaps the future held more for the two of them.

[preciousthingsareprecious]

In Line at the Prize Counter

So this fic was originally intended to be part of Dick and Damian week, but life intervened and I didn’t end up finishing it anywhere near on time. That said, I found it too much fun to write and didn’t want it to live forever in WIP form. So, I hope you all enjoy this adventure featuring one Very Done Damian as he’s forced to rescue Dick from a Bomp n’ Stomp. 

Characters: Dick Grayson and Damian Wayne

Words: 4,965

Summary:  When Dick Grayson is kidnapped, Robin is the only one who really believes he's being held at the Bomp n' Stomp entertainment center. So he rolls up his sleeves, and heads into the dreaded building to rescue his brother from the likes of ball pits, twisted slides, and yes even go karts.

AO3 Link

~

Of all the places in the world Damian Wayne expected to walk into, a Bomp n’ Stomp was not one of them. In fact, he had argued viciously against ever entering the indoor playscape when his brother had suggested they spend a Saturday there.

To make matters worse, in an attempt to convince Damian of it’s legitimacy, Richard had called it an arcade.

An arcade .

The nerve of the man to sully that term by applying it to this ball pit filled, gum ridden, dirty carpeted, sticky establishment. A true arcade, like Shelly’s JoyCon, home of Cheese Viking, would never allow it’s door handles to leave a strangely greasy film on Damian’s gloves as he moved his search from a back room back out into the main area.

The inside smelled of old pizza, spilled soda, and that strange almost chalky scent of fog machines. It was, in a word, disgusting. Damian felt a pull at the bottom of his boot every few steps, like the carpet was coated in something sticky. He wrinkled his nose.

No, this was nothing like his favorite arcade.

Granted. It was also closed for renovations, with the promise of things like all new games, flooring, and yes even door handles. Still, Damian thought nothing could quite erase the smell of greasy pizza. That was a scent that stuck.

He shook his head. He needed to stop thinking about greasy pizza and continue working on why he was truly here. Some odious criminal had thought it a good idea to kidnap Richard on his way into Gotham.

It would not be stood for. Not someone snatching his brother. Nor holding him up in a place as terrible as this. To top things off, whoever had taken Richard had deprived both he and Damian of a perfectly excellent evening that should have been spent at the Observatory.

Damian sniffed and picked his way past skee ball games, an overly large wheel with inane words like “Double Prize Winner!!” in bold peeling letters on it, and the playscapes namesake, a Bomp n’ Stomp game.

At the Bomp n’ Stomp, he stopped to peer down at the curious game. It was obviously broken. The machine was little more than a garishly painted box with various holes covering the top. Out of one peeked a chipped plastic facsimile of a mole. Hanging off the machine were two objects strung on cords that looked ready to snap at any moment. The first was a toy hammer, it’s fabric ripped and leaking stuffing, the other a boot attached to a stick.

“Tt.” Damian discounted it and looked back up.

Whoever thought a game designed around attacking moles was a good idea surly must be a criminal.

He’d neared the end of the ‘arcade’ portion of the building and was entering a larger more open space. The carpet changed from soiled red to blue spotted tile. At the change, the ceiling rose at least a second story above him, towering high enough to fit a series of large structures.

To one side of this new area rested a climbing wall. It, out of everything Damian had seen so far, actually looked interesting. Even from here he could see portions that might make for a mild challenge in climbing.

Next there was a multistory play set filled with slides, jungle gyms, large netted areas he supposed children were expected to crawl through, and so many tunnels it would put most professional guinea pig enclosures to shame. A sign outside the entrance indicated that somewhere towards the center of the structure rested a huge ball pit.

Damian really, truly, hoped Richard had not been placed within that. If the rest of the Bomp n’ Stomp was sticky and dirty, the ball pit must be truly foul. He could not even imagine what had happened within it or what--he grimaced-- fluids could have coated the orbs.

He turned to the last attraction, a small go kart area. Perhaps the climbing wall was not the only redeeming quality to the establishment. Provided of course that the carts actually moved quickly.

So far, he had seen no hint of Richard. His brother had not been hidden behind a garishly colored game, and he did not seem to be dangling from the climbing wall. After a brief examination (and admiration of the engines on the small cars) Damian determined that his brother was either being held in one of the staff areas indicated by the back wall or-- He glanced at the huge play place.

After a moment’s hesitation, Damian squared his shoulders. As detestable as it would be to crawl around in there, he would do it if it meant rescuing Richard from being trapped inside. He could not imagine being held within the structure longer than a few minutes. It would be torture indeed.

The truly strange thing about his investigation so far had been that no one had attempted to stop him. There were no guards at the front, nor the back, and the building was empty of signs of life. The power was on, with some games sluggishly lit or playing bites of music, but Damian had not seen anyone besides himself.

He considered this as he made his way to the entrance to the play structure. He knew for a fact that Richard was here, even if Father did not.

Damian pushed the plastic draping away from the domed entrance and stepped inside the structure. He was surrounded by net, his feet no longer on solid ground, but pressed into some kind of foam. Ahead of him was a rope ladder that looked designed to be as unstable as possible. He sighed and began to climb.

Of the three possible locations Richard could have been taken to the Bomp n’ Stomp had been deemed least likely by his Father due to the fact that it was not altogether abandoned. While, over the weekend no one would be inside, the possibility of a worker coming in was high enough Father had assumed any capable kidnapper would discount it.

The other two locations, an empty ice cream parlor, and an abandoned junk yard, had been deemed higher priorities and dangers. But something had told Damian that the Bomp n’ Stomp was the right location, and he had argued that it should be checked out.

So while his family was split between the other two locations, Father had reluctantly allowed Damian to check out his hunch, promising to meet up with him after they'd cleared their own locations.

The ladder exited onto a platform made entirely of the netting Damian had seen from outside the playhouse structure. Tentative, he pressed a hand into the thick black cording, and when it gave less than he’d assumed it would, he climbed atop it.

Balance was a tricky thing on the strange floor, and Damian could not help but think the League would benefit from installing something of the kind in one of their training rooms. It turned a normal floor into something to be treaded on with care or risk getting a toe caught between the net. If he was unlucky he might end up tumbling to the ground or twisting his ankle. Damian couldn’t imagine it filled with children.

He was keeping his ears open for any sounds of either Richard or the kidnappers. From the letter and accompanying picture Father had received there were at least three men holding Richard, but there were sure to be more.

Father had immediately identified the men as being part of a relatively new gang in Gotham. Their motive was both money and an attempt at scaring Bruce Wayne into cooperating with them in the future.

Damian scoffed at their foolishness as he hopped off one platform and onto another. His eyes went wide as, instead of the net he’d grown used to, the floor rolled under his feet.

He bit back a yelp as his feet slipped forward, and he went tumbling, hands pinwheeling out beside him in an attempt to catch his balance. He stumbled back, then forward, then one leg was in the air, followed by the other and Damian was staring up at the faded yellow ceiling of the play place.

For a moment, he lay there blinking up at it. Wondering about the strange flatness, and remembering this thing had another level above him. If someone was above him, would he see imprints of feet? Sections weighed down by a kid stepping over it?

It did not matter. What did, was finding Richard and escaping this cursed place.

Damian felt the floor under him, and realized it was not a single solid piece, but four cylinders that each rolled on their own. Whoever had designed this place was a madman. Putting a trap like this in a place where anyone could fall could only spell injury on a normal day.

He grunted, and carefully pushed himself up, moving off the shifting section and onto firm foam again. Well, not quite firm. It sagged with every step Damian took, but it was far better than the rolling part or the net.

The next hurdle came when Damian reached the tunnels. He had seen them of course, out looking up at all this. Plastic, colored brightly, sometimes one segment a different color altogether than the last, little windows dotting the sides. But he had hoped he’d find Richard before having to crawl through one.

He crouched and stepped inside. After a few moments he realized he was going to have to actually crawl. He wrinkled his nose as he pressed palm to plastic and began moving. At one point his palm stuck and after a moment, he pulled it up to reveal gum pressed into the green of his glove. Richard had better be thankful for what Damian was putting himself through to rescue him.

The space was tight, and as a defensible position it was terrible. If a fight took place within the tubes it would not be good. Even Damian, as small as he was, would have a hard time maneuvering within them. He’d have a better chance of winning a fight in some of the Batcave’s tighter spaces.

They were also impossible to be silent in. Every inch forward created squeaking or creaking or the echoing sound of a knee hitting against plastic with a series of thumps that were anything but rhythmic. Any chance of silently finding his brother was dashed a minute after he entered them.

Once Damian realized that, he no longer bothered trying to move slowly through. Instead he hurried, around turns, down dips, and up tiny plastic hills. He was thankful for the extra padding over his knees and the leather of his gloves. If not for them he was certain his palms would be red and irritated and his knees bruised.

Damian was in such a hurry to get through the tunnels that he missed the slide. One moment his hand was pressed into plastic, the next it fell into nothing. His momentum was such that he’d assumed it was another dip, a temporary fall.

But no.

His next hand hit nothing, with the other was still in air, and then Damian found himself staring down the tube of a slide, and hurtling down it face first. It twisted, and turned, and at one point his chin caught on a portion of the plastic that was raised. Damian winced, feeling the plastic scratch his skin, sure he’d be wiping blood away if he ever exited this terrible contraption.

At last, he burst out. He got one good look at a space enclosed by netting and more slide exits before he saw what was below him. To his growing horror, the ball pit waited. Staring at the pit in bullet time Damian decided this whole place was ridiculous. A death trap made for children . Even Nygma could not come up with something so fiendish.

Nothing Damian could do would stop his crash. Balls of yellow, red, blue, and green exploded around him, bursting up and into the air even as his trajectory took him down, deep into the pit. He was drowning, and yet not.

After a moment he realized he’d stopped moving. The balls around him had coalesced into a kind of solid form that still allowed him to move. It took some work, but eventually Damian righted himself and managed to semi-swim upward, kicking off against the ground before shooting back up. And at last, his head popped out into clear air.

“Robin!?” The surprised voice came from his left.

Damian shifted, careful not to sink again, “Richard!” he cried, then corrected himself, he was in uniform and Richard was a civilian. Even here, the kidnappers might be watching.

“Mr. Grayson, I am here to rescue you.”

Richard actually snorted, an aborted version of what would have been a startled laugh. He was half buried in the ball pit himself. His torso and head above the sea of color. Rope was tied around what Damian could see of his chest, presumably holding his arms back, but otherwise he looked fine.

It was a miracle Damian hadn’t plowed right into his brother during his wild exit from the slide. He’d landed a foot or so away from him, close to the middle of the pit. The problem was, figuring out how to get both himself and Richard out.

Damian glanced around the enclosed space holding the pit. He counted four slides at various sides of the netting, and two rope ladders leading up. One to another tunnel, and the other to what looked like a real ledge.

“So, Mr. Robin , what’s the plan?” Richard asked, his tone far too delighted with their situation.

A scowl crossed Damian’s face, “Do not patronize me. It is your fault we are in this mess at all. Do you know how unsanitary this all is? From the pit to those cursed tunnels. Even the door was sticky.”

Richard gave him a patient smile, “But it’s not all bad right?”

“Tt. It has been horrendous. I do not know how you have survived.” Damian said, and began wading over to his brother’s side.

It was difficult to push through the pit, but he found that thankfully, the closer he got to an edge, the higher the ground under him was. It went from almost nonexistent, to high enough he could stand on his toes beside Richard. It was not ideal, but at least he was no longer at risk of being swallowed whole.

“There has to be at least one redeeming quality about this place.” Richard continued, “Even Robin must have liked something the old Bomp n’ Stomp has to offer. Maybe one of the games?”

“Nothing.” Damian answered, defiant even as he thought of the go karts and climbing wall, “Especially not the games. This place is childish, Richard. Childish and demeaning, and even you would not stoop so low as to drag me here.” he ranted, forgetting that he was Robin with a civilian and not Damian and his brother.

His brother’s smile was full of delight now, “You protest too much. I bet at least one thing caught your eye.”

“I said nothing.” Damian declared again, and sending balls flying, “Now come on, we do not have time to waste speaking of such moronic things.”

Richard cleared his throat, “Uh, Robin, aren’t you forgetting about something?”

Damian turned to see his brother shrug, plastic balls rolling away from him, and Damian caught sight of the ropes still binding his brother.  

Fire lit hit his cheeks. He swallowed down the embarrassment and moved again to hastily slice at the ropes holding Richard’s arms to his sides. Even in his rush, he slowed as the blade neared his brother, the night would only be worse if he accidentally hurt him.

The ropes fell away easily, and soon Richard was massaging his wrists and stretching his arms up into the sky, “That feels great, thanks, Baby Bat.”

Damian ignored the nickname, and Richard’s attempt to reach out and ruffle his hair. He ducked and turned towards the ladder by the platform, “Come along, I would like to get you out of here as soon as possible.”

Richard hummed, “Yeah, I have no idea when those guys will be back, so haste is probably a good thing. Unless you already took them out?”

“The building was empty when I entered.”

Damian scrambled out of the pit and up onto the ladder. He climbed up, only to realize Richard had not followed him. When he turned to frown at his brother, he could see the man had stopped at the ladder, his eyes focused on the rungs.

“Richard?” he asked, voice quiet.

“I’m fine, just a bit dizzy. I’ve been sitting there a while, my arms and legs are tingly and just waking up.”

“What else is wrong.” Damian did not ask, but demanded the answer.

His brother shrugged, “I might have sprained my ankle when they tossed me in?”

Damian nodded, assessing the situation.

“Can you climb?”

If it were Damian in Richard’s shoes, he’d power through the ache, but he did not wish to press his brother into doing something he couldn’t. He could support Richard as they moved, and they could utilize a slide to exit this structure, but if he could not climb, getting him out of the pit might prove challenging.

Richard nodded, “I think so.”

He placed his hands on the rungs and started up. It was not an overly high ladder, but even so, Richard made it a few rungs before he paused wincing.

“Here.” Damian said.

He knelt down and reached out for his brother, “I will pull you up.”

Richard gave him a look that could only be described as incredulous. Damian glared at him in return.

“I can handle lifting you a short distance. Push off with your good foot and let us get this over with.”

After another moment of hesitation, Richard reached up and took one of Damian’s hands. His other, he kept pressed to the bars for leverage. Damian pulled as Richard pushed himself up. Below him the ladder wiggled a threat. However, he managed to grab hold of Damian’s other hand with a tight squeeze.

Richard was heavy, but together and with another awkward step onto the ladder, Damian managed to help drag him up. For a moment, they sat together looking at each other.

“Well.” Richard said, “I guess we should keep going?”

Damian nodded, “Indeed. I believe there is a slide exit in that direction.” he waved in the general area he remembered seeing one. At least he hoped it was there. His internal map of the structure felt a little turned around after his dive into the ball pit.

He helped his brother up, and they began moving through the rest of the structure. Damian stuck close to Richard, who insisted he didn’t need to lean on him yet. Still, he kept one eye on his brother, ready to assist if he showed the slightest sign of wavering.

They reached another area where solid panels switched to a rolled floor and Damian threw an arm out to stop their progress.

“Careful, that part can be deceptive.” he said, pointing down at them, “Allow me to  walk you over them, so you do not injure your ankle further.”

Richard had an odd look on his face, a smile that seemed as if it hid another emotion, but Damian wasn’t going to worry about his brother’s reaction to his protectiveness. He always seemed to blow things like that out of proportion anyway.

They traversed the trap easily, and had just about reached the slide when a question that had been bugging Damian burst to the surface.

“Why were you in that ball pit? Surely there was an easier place to hold you.”

“Apparently, I talk too much.” Richard chuckled, “In truth, I was seeing if I could irritate them into letting me go.”

Damian couldn’t stop a surprised laugh at that, “It does not seem to have worked.”

Richard shrugged, “It was worth a try, it’s worked in the past.”

At last they reached the slide.

“I will go down first, so I can look for trouble and assist you if you have any problems.”

This time, Damian’s trip down a slide was a controlled one. It was a not altogether unpleasant experience sliding at a quick speed, and turning round and round in a spiral.

He couldn’t help but think back to watching Father, back when the man had lost his memory, playing with children on a large playground. A pang of want, not as strong as then, lodged in his chest. He tried to swallow it back as he popped out. Landing on his feet before he hurried forward to get out of the way.

Damian turned his attention away from lost memories and onto the rest of the Bomp n’ Stomp’s interior. His eyes ran from the go karts, paused at the entrance to the arcade portion, and moved over to the climbing wall on the far side of the room. Still empty.

“You may come down, it is clear.” he called up the slide. His voice echoed slightly up the plastic tube, sounding a little hollow and odd.

“Yeah!” Richard cried, his voice bouncing loudly down to Damian.

He could hear his brother swish and bump down the slide as he traversed it, the plastic rumbling as he reached the end. When he came out, he stopped himself with his hands at the exit, and carefully pushed himself to his feet, grinning.

“I don’t care how much you hate these places, we’re coming back.” he declared.

Damian rolled his eyes.

Before he could respond, there was the sound of metal on concrete. He spun on his heel and turned as a large metal door labeled Staff Only rolled up to reveal four very angry looking men carrying guns. By some stroke of luck, they hadn’t noticed Dick or Robin yet.

“We’re leaving now.” Damian said, grabbing Richard’s hand.

He made to run back towards the exit, but Richard yelped, his hand staying behind Damian. He froze, and turned on his brother, eyes looking over him. Richard was wincing and Damian remembered the man’s ankle. It must be worse than he’d let on.

Damian cast his eyes around him for something to get them out of there safely. He stopped when he saw the go karts.

“Can you make it there?” He pointed at them.

Richard’s eyes lit up, “Yes. That’s a big yes.”

Just in case, Damian hooked an arm around Richard’s waist to help support him, and together they hurried at a not quite run for the go karts. Just as Damian was helping Richard over the barrier separating them from the karts he heard an angry yell.

He glanced up to see the men running towards them, a cacophony of voices yelling at them to stop. Damian knew they had moments before the shooting started. He shoved Richard into the nearest kart that had two seats, and ran around to fiddle with the exposed engine. His earlier examination had been brief, but enough to tell him that the karts had safety measures equipped to limit their speed. That would not do.

His fingers were fast and clever, even working on an engine he’d never worked with before. It was moments and he was throwing himself into the open chair. Thankfully, a key was in the ignition and Damian had the kart roaring to life after a moment.

Just as he revved the engine, the gunfire started.

Damian threw the kart to the side, thankful the area the karts were in was somewhat open, and made a large loop, letting the cart pick up speed as he moved.

“Robin--” Richard’s voice was a question, “Just what’s the plan here?”

They were roaring towards the plastic partitions they’d only just hopped over. Damian was confident they were flimsy enough to ram, especially at the speed they were going.

He grinned, “We are going through them. I would suggest ducking. I do not wish for you to get shot while we escape.”

“Damian,” his brother hissed, “There’s an opening to the outside behind us.”

“To an enclosed area. The walls are high there, we would be trapped. This is our best option.” He'd seen the area when entering the Bomp n' Stomp earlier.

Even as he spoke they were nearing the path of no return. The kart raced towards the partition, the men racing towards them. Damian pressed his foot harder against the pedal and then the pointed front of the go kart was slamming through the short plastic partition, breaking apart the multiple pieces that kept it together and sending them flying.

Damian could not help but grin as one piece caught a kidnapper in the side, sending him tumbling to the ground.

He wove the kart through the remaining three as they yelled and one of them got off a shot. The bullet pinged off the side of the kart.

“Whohoo!” Richard cheered as they blew past the last man and sped through the building.

Damian pulled them back into the part of the building filled with various small games. The kart shook as it shifted from tile to carpet. The sound it made changing from a flat rumble to something more muffled.  At the bump, Richard winced again. Damian frowned.

“We will be exiting soon.” Damian said by way of comfort.

He could hear the rumble of feet behind him, and even the sound of another go kart having been started. Damian snorted, unless they’d modified it, he and Richard still had the advantage. To make sure, he glanced behind him.

There was only one kart chasing them down, another two seater, with both seats filled. Unfortunately for them, it did seem to be running quickly. Damian swore as it began closing the distance between them. He threw himself back against the seat as the man who wasn’t driving leveled a gun at them and fired.

The bullet sped past them by a wide margin, but the danger was still there.

“Hold on.” he told his brother and pulled the cart around one of the games, twisting through the maze of Jurassic Park simulators and skee ball machines hoping they’d shake their pursuers.

“He’s still there.” Richard said, now taking Damian’s place in watching their backs.

“Lean back, you’ll get shot.” Damian hissed, “We need only make it out the front doors.”

Richard followed his lead, just in time as more shots rang out around them. Damian caught sight of Richard's worried expression out of the corner of his eye, but he didn’t have time to turn to him. He kept the cart moving forward, dodging games left and right.

At last, the doors were in front of them. Damian prayed the cart would trigger the door’s automatic response. As they sped closer and closer he started to wonder what it would be like to just plow through those too.

Then they swung open and Damian and Dick burst through.

Behind them, Damian could still hear the squeal of the pursuing kart. That didn’t matter however, as Damian’s eyes lit on the Batmobile. Father was already out, Red Robin beside him. It took them a moment to understand the extent of the chaos Damian had dragged outside, but soon they were moving too.

Damian pulled the kart around them, and heard the distinctive pop pop of something exploding. The men in the kart behind them yelled with surprise, and the sound of the kart cut off with a sudden deafness.

Feeling safe, Damian pulled his foot off the gas, slowing his own kart and turning it to drive closer to Father’s car so Richard would not have to limp far.

Turned now, they could see the other kart coated in foam. One of Drake’s newest experiments, and a successful one at that.

As they stopped, Damian grinned over at Richard, “See. As I said, we only needed to make it outside.”

Richard was grinning, and Damian found himself relieved to realize his brother was fine. Their mad dash did not seem to have resulted in his injury.

They sat in the kart as Batman and Red Robin took care of the two men in the other kart, and then moved inside to deal with the other two goons.

Damian leaned his arms on the steering wheel and gave Richard a small smile.

Richard, leaned forward to mirror him, elbow bumping against Damian’s, “Admit it, you had fun coming through there to rescue me.”

Damian considered the thought for a moment, “Never.”

“Ha! I knew you did.” Richard sat up, delighted.  

“I said nothing of the like.”

“But your face did.”

“The go karts were acceptable.” Damian admitted.

Richard reached out and tugged Damian into a half hug, “Good, we’ll do go karts when we come back, and try the rock climbing wall. And I’ll win you enough tickets to get one of those giant stuffed bears.”

“Father could buy me one for less than it would take you to get those tickets.” Damian pointed out.

“That,” Richard said sternly, “is not the point. It will be a thank you, for the rescue and one of the most exciting nights I’ve had in a long time.”

Damian snorted, but leaned a little closer into his brother’s side. Watching as Batman and Red Robin led the remaining two men out of the building.

“I can accept that. I will allow you to bring me back to the Bomp ‘n Stomp when they reopen. Even if the doors are still sticky.”  

[dameronology]

welcome to the jungle {frankie morales}

summary: after taking a job with the delta guys, you cross paths with frankie morales. even though you’re at each other’s throats at first, it proves to be the start of something beautiful.  (for @what-the--curtains​ - i hope you enjoy!!) - 7k words

warnings: swearing, mentions of ptsd

this is kinda ambiguous in terms of the timeline of the film but i sort of hint to the first half being before the events of t.f and the second half being after -- with that said, you can take it as you would like :D

- jazz

Your brother had dog sat for a few days.

In exchange, you were flying out to Colombia in the middle of your work week. 

You believed in favours, but these two did not feel like they were equal. 

Still, you were a person of your word - and getting to fly to South America was exciting. The job itself was exciting, if not a little...eyebrow raising. His friend, an ex-Delta soldier, needed somebody to ID a body. That part didn’t bother you - you were a forensic archaeologist after all and it was quite literally your job description. The suspicious bit was the circumstances under which you were doing it; Santiago Garcia hadn’t been entirely clear on the phone, but he’d said something about witnesses and getting the government off of our backs. You’d met Santiago a few times and you knew what kind of work he did - military stuff. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that it was probably an under-the-radar kind of affair. But, you’d never been one to back down from a challenge. 

So, here you were on a warm Colombian Tuesday afternoon, suitcase trailing behind you as you trekked towards a dusty old air base. The sun was high in the sky, beating down on your back in a way that had initially been comforting, but was now just plain annoying. You didn’t know how long you were going to be here, but packing three jackets now felt like a stupid idea. The one one you’d worn on the plane over had been long discarded and tied around your waist, which only added to the struggle of dragging your case up the steep, sandy hill. In the distance, you could see an ATC tower glinting under the sun - the streams of light bounced right back off of it, causing you to shield your eyes with your forearm. The taxi you’d gotten from the international airport - not like this sandy little place - had only taken you so far. At least, of all things, the boots you’d opted to wear were built for this kind of thing. 

A few hundred meters up the road, you finally saw another sign of human life. A 4x4 was parked outside the abandoned terminal entrance, three men leaning against the side of it. You spotted Santiago standing a few metres away on his phone, thumbs tapping away. He didn’t look any different to the last time you saw him; dark and curly hair, a semi-friendly smile and stubble littering his chin. You hadn’t seen him since your brother’s birthday party a few months ago. 

‘Hey!’ The former soldier offered you a grin when he saw you, holding his arms open. ‘Long time, no see!’

‘Hey, Santi!’ You replied, giving him a pat on the back as he pulled you into a hug. ‘And yeah, it’s been a while. Then again, when was the last time you were in the country for more than five minutes?’

‘I’m in high demand.’ He shot back. 

Pulling back from the embrace, Santi pointed to his colleagues. There was Will and Benny, two blonde boys, both in military gear. It didn’t take much to figure out that they were brothers; same smirk, same stance, same eyes. Even if Santi hadn’t pointed it out, you would have figured as much. You were naturally deductive - came with the job. After the brothers, there was Frankie. He had dark eyes and hair, the latter of which was covered by his hat. Unlike the other three, he was wearing more casual clothes, just with a tac vest over the top. You kind of got the vibe that he didn’t want to be there - that was...comforting. 

‘What’s all this?’ Frankie asked, gesturing to the heavy metal suitcase behind you. 

‘Just...stuff. Tools.’ You replied. ‘Things I need to do my job, I guess.’

‘How heavy is it?’ 

‘Light enough that I was able to get them onto a commercial flight?’ You offered. 

‘The plane is already at max weight.’ He replied, brown eyes flickering up to meet yours. 

‘God, give ‘em a break, Fish!’ Santi slapped him on the shoulder. ‘It’ll be fine.’

‘Remember last time you said it would be fine-’

‘- hey.’ He cut him off with a harsh look. ‘We don’t talk about that.’

‘So I can bring them?’ You raised your eyebrows. ‘Because I can’t do whatever it is you need to do unless I have them.’

‘Yeah, it’ll be fine.’ Santiago gave you a comforting smile. ‘Let’s head to the jet and we’ll talk about the job.’ 

Swinging your duffle bag back over your shoulder, you picked up your suitcase and began to follow the guys further up the hill. There wasn’t anybody else around -- just sand, sun and rusting old jets. There was one in particular that they seemed to be headed towards. It was only mildly less eroded than the damaged ones around you, but the engines were running and the cargo doors were open. Santiago took your bag from your hands as you approached it, tossing it in with the other luggage. 

‘Do not throw that one, Garcia!’ You demanded, flinching slightly as he took your suitcase. 

‘Wouldn’t dream of it.’ He shot back. 

‘Sure thing.’ You rolled your eyes at him. ‘You brought a medkit right?’

‘No. Why?’

‘There’s one in my duffle bag.’ You replied. ‘Side pocket. Can you grab it?’

‘We don’t need one, we’ll be fine-’

‘- Santiago Garcia, do you want me to report back to my brother that you took his baby sibling on a jungle-wide expedition without the correct medical supplies?’ You challenged. 

Santi swallowed, mind briefly flashing back to the time he’d almost been decked by said brother for letting you walk home alone. ‘Fine.’

Your triumphant smile only lasted a split second; as soon as your eyes fell on the plane, you realised you still had to get on it. Fuck. 

The engines seemed to be working fine, but it was just...old. And eroding. And making a funny sound. You were by no means an engineer, but even just binging a few episodes of Air Crash Investigations made you feel qualified enough to know that this was not where it was at in terms of air safety. You could have taken it up with Frankie, but he didn’t seem entirely approachable. 

You did trust Santi, however - though sometimes that seemed a little against your better judgement. Every crazy story that your brother had relayed back to you from their time in the military involved him making questionable decisions. Hopefully, opting to fly this hunk of metal wouldn’t be one of them. Here’s to hoping it was aerodynamic. 

‘Are you getting in or…’ Frankie peered down at you from the stairs, eyebrows raised. 

‘Yeah, sorry.’ You blinked in surprise. ‘This thing is safe, right?’

‘What’s it to you?’

‘What is it to me?’ You snorted. ‘Just, y’know, that I’m about to fly a few hundred thousand feet in the air and if it falls out of the sky I’ll die.’

‘I know what I’m doing.’ Frankie shut the door behind you as you climbed aboard, twisting the handle shut. ‘I’ve been flying for years.’

‘I’m not saying it’s you.’ You brushed past him, shoulders bumping as you did. ‘Captain fucking Sully couldn’t fly this thing.’

‘The guy from Monster’s Inc?’ 

‘No, the guy who landed the plane on the Hudson? They made a movie about it, with Tom Hanks-’

‘- you should sit down now.’ Frankie turned away from you. ‘We’re about to take off.’

Your mouth fell open in slight disbelief. What an asshole. 

Santi called your name, signalling for you to sit with him in the cockpit. The seats on the plane hardly looked comfortable, and your brain was mentally working out if it was safer to sit over the wing in a crash, or by the tail. You’d definitely seen it in a documentary once, but you couldn’t remember exactly what they said. Perhaps the best option was to just be less dramatic. 

Taking a seat between Frankie and Santi, you pulled your seatbelt on and shuffled awkwardly. This was fine. Absolutely fine. Frankie was a trained pilot (and a dickhead, but that didn’t take away from his flying skills) and you were going to be fine. Fiiiiine. Maybe if you said it once more, you’d believe yourself. You were going to be fine. Yeah, there we go. 

A few deep breaths and you were certain. Or, at least you’d convinced yourself to be certain. 

‘So.’ Your eyes momentarily flicked over to where Frankie was adjusting some controls. ‘What exactly am I doing here?’

‘A few months ago, the boys and I were involved in the shoot-out.’ Santi began. ‘Pretty standard for the type of operation we were on.’

‘Right. Standard office work.’ You muttered. ‘Do go on.’

‘We thought everyone who had witnessed it had been recorded.’ He continued. ‘And everyone who we spoke to verified that it was a justified shootout. No dirty work, no ulterior motive. All valid, from a legal perspective.’

You thinned your eyes. ‘I don’t think I like where this is going.’

‘We ID’d all the bodies at the time.’ He said. ‘Including a Ricky Martinez. Except now, a guy claiming to also be Ricky Martinez has come forward, claiming that his version of events is a little different. Like, different enough to incriminate us.’

‘He’s lying, right? You guys were the good ones?’ You urged. Santiago’s silence was anything but comforting. ‘Right?’

‘Morals are all a matter of perspective.’ He replied. ‘Our labs ID’d Martinez’ body twice but we need a third party opinion before we can completely dispel the guy pretending to be him.’

‘Guess that’s where I come in?’ You asked, leaning further back into the seat as the jet began to move. 

‘Exactamente.’ Santi nodded. 

That didn’t sound too bad. Between excavating the grave, running tests and returning the body, it would take a few days tops. You could manage that. 

The jet began to pick up speed, making its ascent towards the runway. Frankie did look like he knew what he was doing -- heck, the man looked bored, even.  He barely even had to look at the dash controls as it moved forward, hands moving freely and easily to manoeuvre the plane down the runway. 

‘What are you staring at?’ Frankie glanced over at you. 

‘N-nothing.’ You replied.  ‘Shouldn’t you be focusing on the road-’

‘- that’s a runway.’ He cut you off. 

‘Whatever.’

You were thrown backwards in your chair from the momentum of the take off. The plane angled upwards as it went up in the air, tilting sideways as it balanced out. You felt your stomach drop as the ground disappeared from beneath you, the push of the engines pulling you up higher into the sky. There was a clunk, signalling that the landing gear had retracted. 

Well, the plane had fulfilled its first purpose: taking off. That was a good sign. 

‘So,’ Benny peered over at you. ‘What’s your callsign gonna be?’

‘My name, presumably.’ You quirked a brow at him. 

‘We have Ironhead, Catfish and Pope.’ He continued. ‘But Will and I were talking, and we thought Barbie was gonna fit well.’ 

‘Oh, really?’ You sniffed. ‘And why might that be?’

‘Because you’re young, and pretty hot-’

‘- so your call sign is Benny, right?’ You cut him off. ‘Short for Benjamin? That’s really clever. Did you come up with it yourself?’

‘Maybe Eye Candy will be beter-’

Benny was cut off when you reached across, leaning over Santi to smack him in the chest with your balled up fist. All four of them jumped in surprise at your action - clearly, you weren’t somebody to be fucked with. You hadn’t worked your ass for years to get your degree to get discredited like that. 

‘Make a comment like that again and I’ll drop kick your ass out of this plane.’ You jabbed your finger towards him. 

Benny thinned his eyes at you. ‘Frankie wouldn’t let you do that. Right, Cat?’

‘You heard ‘em.’ Frankie’s eyes didn’t move from the clouds ahead. 

--

To give credit where credit was due, Frankie was good at landing planes. 

Specifically, he was good at landing planes in places where planes should not have been landed. Not that he’d had much of a choice when the engines gave in half way through the journey, a couple hundred miles over the thick Colombian jungle. 

In short, you’d been right the entire time. The damn thing wasn’t safe. Of course, you weren’t going to say I told you so right then, since it felt like a little bit of a sensitive subject. 

Now, the five of you were standing next to a pile of what-used-to-be-a-plane, defeat plastered over every one of your individual faces. You were lucky to all have made it out okay - just about. Santiago had taken a hit to the head, Benny had bitten his tongue pretty hard when you’d collided with the ground (fitting) and Frankie had split his head open. You and Will were the only ones who hadn’t sustained any injuries. He had proven to be much more tolerable than his brother. 

‘Okay, we just gotta…’ you looked around, eyes taking in the debris around you. ‘We just gotta stay calm-’

‘- stay calm?’ Frankie cut you off. ‘You’re the reason the fucking thing went down! If you hadn’t taken all that extra weight-’

‘- do you ever shut up, Morales?’ You snapped. ‘And I’m no genius but I don’t think the engines catching fire was anything to do with me bringing an extra bag onto the plane!’

‘I’m the pilot.’ He reminded you. ‘I know what I’m talking about.’

‘Maybe it was the weight of your ego that made it go down.’ You chided. 

‘Hey - Patrick, Spongebob!’ Will finally yelled. Both your heads snapped in his direction, eyes wide. ‘Can you keep it in your pants for two minutes so we can work out how to make it through the night?’

‘Right, sorry.’ You nodded. 

You glanced around the crash site, brain calculating for a minute as you took in what little was left. The plan had landed on its belly and skidded for a few hundred metres; consequently, most of the luggage had come out on the way. That left you with the one remaining bag, the medkit you’d scared Santi into bringing and the strewn camping kit that had been ditched in the back of the fuselage. 

Pulling your phone out your pocket, you sighed when you realised that you had no signal. What had you expected? Four bars in the middle of the jungle? Probably not realistic. You did, however, have a compass app. That was something. You thought for a moment, glancing between the app and the sun’s position in the sky. It was splintering through the trees, washing heat over you like a bucket of cold water. There was a small stream a few metres away, which was a source of water at least. 

‘It’s just gone four, maybe five in the afternoon.’ You announced. ‘So we have about three hours till the sun starts to set. The water in the stream runs that way so if we follow it, we’ll find the source. People are more likely to set up civilization around a source of water.’ 

All four of them looked at you like kids who had lost their parents in Walmart.  Were they really ex-military? 

‘So, what?’ Benny frowned. ‘We...set up a new civilisation?’

‘Oh my days.’ You muttered under your breath. ‘I am spoon-feeding this to you! It means that there will be a town with people.’ 

‘That’s smart.’ Santi nodded. 

‘But before we do that, we gotta sort this out. Will, d’you know how to check for concussion?’ You asked, to which he nodded. ‘Okay, you check Santi and I’ll clean up Frankie’s head. Then we gotta gather those camping supplies and head east. Best case scenario, we find a town before sundown. Worst case scenario, we camp out for the night.’

‘Who put you in charge?’ Frankie asked.

‘Me.’ You replied. 

Taking the medkit from Santi’s hands, you quietly thanked him and led Frankie over to some rocks. He didn’t seem all that pleased when you forced him to sit on one - and he was even less pleased when you pulled his hat off. It revealed a tangle of dark curls, some of which you had to push back to get to the mark on his head. Some may have debated the importance of mentioning such a detail, but you couldn’t help but notice how soft his hair was. 

You knelt down in front of him, pulling the supplies out of the little medical kit. There weren't many, but there was enough to give him something temporary till you got to a proper hospital. If you got a proper hospital. 

‘It’s not too deep.’ You observed, running your thumb over the creases of his forehead. ‘Just a couple stitches at worst.’

‘Don’t you normally stitch up bodies?’ Frankie asked. His brown eyes were glued to the floor, following the outlines of the boot-prints that you’d left. 

‘Yeah, it’s the same kinda principle though.’ You laughed slightly. ‘Despite your attitude, I’m not gonna give you Y-incision stitches.’

‘Thanks.’

‘At least not in a place people can see them.’

Frankie snorted, but it translated to a hiss of pain as you dabbed an alcohol wipe at his forehead. Despite everything, you had a slight admiration for him. He’d managed to land the plane safely as the situation allowed and despite a few minor injuries, things could have been much worse. You didn’t quite feel like vocalising that to him when you were still stranded in the middle of the jungle, but if you ever got out? You might get Santi to pass the message on. 

‘D’ you think it’ll scar?’ Frankie quietly asked. 

‘Maybe.’ You admitted. ‘Just take a deep breath.’

‘Where did you even learn to do this stuff?’ He asked, letting out another small grunt of discomfort. ‘The stitches and the compass shit.’

You shrugged. ‘I’ve been around the block a few times. You kinda learn to be prepared.’

‘Really? As a morgue worker?’

‘Not a morgue worker.’ You grumbled. ‘Then again, I am stabbing a needle through your skin so I suppose I’ll allow the discrepancy.’ 

‘What is it you do then?’

‘I’m a forensic archaeologist.’ You explained. ‘So it’s my job to retrospectively work out how people died, whether it be because their body was found a long time after they died or because they had to be exhumed from their original resting place.’

Gently pulling the needle back from Frankie’s forehead, you cut the thread and dabbed it again with an alcohol wipe. You brushed his hair back down and placed his hat back on his head, offering him a smile. For the first time since you’d met him, he returned the gesture. 

You dusted off your knees and took a place on the rock beside Frankie, examining your handy work. Considering you’d been in a plane crash not quite an hour ago, it wasn’t too bad. At least if it did scar, it was in a place his hair covered up. And in your defense, scarring wasn’t usually something you had to worry about with your other...patients. They usually went back in the ground not long after you dealt with them. 

‘You’ll wanna sit down for a minute.’ You replied. ‘D’you feel dizzy at all? Sick?’

‘I was just in a plane crash.’

‘Me too, funnily enough.’ You rolled your eyes at him. ‘I s’pose it’s the most interesting job I’ve worked in a while.’

‘Same here.’ Frankie said. ‘I normally work for a flight school, so this is...something else.’

‘It’ll make me grateful when I get back to the office.’ You agreed. ‘Because it has four walls, air conditioner and co-workers who don’t give me ridiculous nicknames.’

‘Right.’ He snorted. ‘Benny can be...Benny. He doesn’t mean to be an asshole.’ 

‘Benny wasn’t the asshole.’ You quipped, nudging him with your elbow.

At least Frankie had proven now that he could talk to you without being insufferable. You couldn’t work out if you’d warmed to him or if he’d warmed to you, but doing somebody’s stitches was unarguably one hell of an icebreaker. He was just a little closed off; quiet and reserved, you figured. You didn’t know what him and the Delta guys had been through, but Santi had mentioned a few things in passing that pointed to a heavy past. That was something you could relate to - your job was no walk in the park either 

‘It’s not...personal.’ Frankie glanced off into the distance. 

Will had managed to salvage the remaining bag from the jet, meaning that Santiago could use it as a seat. Benny was sitting with them, talking amongst themselves. You would have to move soon, in order to find a suitable place to camp before sundown, but taking a minute to recover from the last hour was also important. You’d barely stopped to sit down since the plane had gone down, and now you had, the shock had hit you. Your suspicions about safety had actually been correct. Not that it mattered now, but at least you had a plan to get everyone back to civilization as soon as possible. 

‘So you being an ice cold bitch isn’t to do with me? That’s a relief.’ You joked. Frankie smiled in response; his first genuine one since you’d met. 

‘The witness that you were going to ID was from the last job we all worked together.’ He explained ‘It went bad. Really bad.’

‘From what Santi said, it sure did sound like it.’ You replied. 

‘I hadn’t seen anything as bad as we did then since I was stationed out in the war zones.’ He continued. ‘So being back here, and being with the guys, has just put me on edge. I’m sorry if I was an asshole.’

‘You don’t have to say sorry.’ You shook your head. ‘I mean...actually, yeah, you were an asshole but I get it.’

‘You do?’

‘Forensic archeology is no walk in the park either.’ You replied. ‘It’s my job to work out how people have died. Most of my work is on crime scenes or in war zones so I’ve seen some...dark stuff.’

‘It sticks with you.’ Frankie quietly murmured. 

‘Yeah, it does.’ You said. ‘I know you might not think it on the surface, because it’s the usual sort of job that leaves stuff weighing on your shoulders-’

‘- doesn’t matter.’ He cut you off. ‘Trauma is trauma. Regardless of how you got it or where it came from, it’s valid.’

You gave him a small smile. Maybe he wasn’t so bad. 

---

Later that night -- and after a few hours of walking -- you and the guys had settled down into a makeshift campsite. It was just at the edge of a clearing, not too far from what looked to be a small town glinting in the distance. You did offer to keep going, but between the injuries the group had sustained, it was easier to stop for the night. You had enough of a combined skillset to find some fruit growing to snack on and to start a fire.

Santiago, Will and Benny had long passed out. It wasn’t until after they had done so that you realised there was absolutely no room left in the tent. It was only built for two people, let alone five. Where that left you in terms of sleeping arrangements, you didn’t know, but the chances of even getting to rest felt low. Your brain was on full overdrive, tired eyes darting constantly around the distance. How safe was this place? You’d managed to convince yourself that the plane was secure, and that had gone down like...well, like the fucking plane. 

You were sitting on a log, drawing pictures in the dirt with a stick. It was just something to keep your brain occupied as you fought off the tiredness. The jet-lag from your flight to Colombia had hit in full force and you wanted nothing more than to crawl into your bed -- the bed that wasn’t there. 

‘So, are you keeping a look-out?’ 

You jumped at the sound of Frankie’s voice, twisting around to face him. ‘Something like that.’

‘I can take over if you want.’ He offered. ‘You should get some rest. You’ve saved our asses like three times today.’

‘Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t fit into that tent.’ You replied. ‘I can hear them snoring from here.’

‘Is it worse than the alternative of me keeping you company?’ He softly smiled, taking a seat beside you. ‘I’ll promise not to be an asshole anymore.’

‘We spoke about this.’ You reminded him. ‘I get it. It’s okay.’

‘I still feel bad.’ He sighed. ‘Especially after you stitched me up and led us through the jungle. We woulda eaten something poisonous and died if you hadn’t stopped Benny going near those mushrooms.’

You chuckled. ‘Don’t feel bad, okay? You’ve had bad experiences before and it’s natural to be anxious.’

‘I shouldn’t have taken it out on you-’

‘- Frankie!’ You cut him off with a groan. ‘I’m about to be an asshole if you don’t stop saying sorry.’

‘So we’re good?’ 

‘We’re good.’ You smiled. ‘Thanks for keeping me company.’

‘Santiago, in no uncertain terms, made it clear that he would come for our kneecaps if we left you alone in the dark.’ Frankie admitted. ‘I think he likes you.’

You chuckled, shaking your head. ‘I think you have the wrong idea. Santi is only so protective of me because he’s one of my brother’s best friends, and I guess by extension, that kind of makes him my brother too. They go right back to high school, and then they did the academy together.’

‘That’s a long time.’ Frankie nodded. ‘So you and Santi, that’s...nothing, right?’

‘Absolutely not.’ You snorted derivatively. ‘And if it was, my brother would probably end him.’

‘So,’ He took a stick from the floor, joining in with random doodles you were carving into the ground. ‘Be honest: if these stitches scar, d’you think I’ll look rugged and handsome?’

You peered over at him, eyes creasing as your smile grew wider. ‘Sure. Why not?’

‘Ouch.’ He dramatically grabbed his heart, shaking his head. ‘The correct answer was no Frankie, you already look rugged and handsome.’

‘Okay, it would make you look more rugged and handsome.’ You rolled your eyes. ‘Better?’

‘Better.’ He grinned triumphantly. ‘When was the last time you stitched up a living, breathing human?’

‘College, I think.’ You replied. ‘My roommate got into a fight and didn’t have insurance, so I did some makeshift stitches with a cheap sewing kit we found at a 24/7 corner shop.’

‘We’ve all done it.’ He laughed. ‘I’m glad the stitches you gave me were actual, professional ones...right?’

‘Obviously!’ You exclaimed. ‘You’ll probably want to get them redone when we get back to...y’know, civilisation.’

‘Naturally.’ He nodded. ‘I appreciate you stitching me up. The others would not have been able to do that if it had been just us.’

You shrugged. ‘It’s nothing, really.’

‘What if - and feel free to blatantly reject me for my earlier actions - I took you out for a drink when we got back? Y’know, if we ever get back to civilisation.’

‘Yeah, okay.’ You smiled. 

Normally, Frankie wouldn’t have been that bold -- and you would have absolutely rejected someone who had made such a terrible first impression. But, said impression had changed. He’d been an asshole but you could see why; you could reason with it, even. God knew that you also had a tendency to become withdrawn and irritable when you were retracting back to the darker corners of your mind. Bad days on the job were hard to shake. They stuck with you for a long time. 

The conversation continued, though you couldn’t recall exactly what it was about. Nothing and everything. Growing up and going to college - or for Frankie, the military. You compared stories of Santiago; Frankie’s were better, but yours were pretty good. He told you about how he’d got his piloting license back, and you in return offered a tale of the time that your brother had gotten a DUI. 

Between the warmth of Frankie beside you and the crackling fire in front of you, it became harder and harder to fight off your exhaustion. You would have been tired enough if you were from this timezone, but your body clock was hours out of whack. With your eyelids getting heavier and the dark sky above you, it wasn’t long before you’d flopped into the pilot’s side with defeat. 

‘’M sorry.’ You murmured. 

‘It’s fine, you don’t have to apologise.’ Frankie replied. He moved his arm around your shoulders to support your weight from falling off the log - also to give a sign that he was more than okay with it. 

You rested your chin on his shoulder, peering up at him. Now that his cold facade had slipped away, you could admire him a little bit more. Warm chocolate eyes, a strong jawline, and a face that just felt kind, even despite initial impressions. The warm glow of the fire illuminated his face with a soft hue, making the lighter tones of his eyes a little more visible. 

You were both still lingering from the adrenaline of the plane crash, hearts pounding in your chests and brains wrestling with the idea that you’d both made it out with minor injuries. Was that what had made you bold? The sudden reminder of your mortality? Because you never would have kissed him if it had been a normal night.

He met you halfway, lips gently capturing yours in a soft kiss. They were a little chapped from the humidity of the jungle air, but intoxicating and enchanting all the same. He tasted very, very faintly of tobacco and a little bit of mint -- had the bastard had chewing gum this whole time? Not that it was relevant. Not that anything else in the world was relevant. Not when Frankie Morales was kissing you.

Neither of you said anything after; he simply pulled you into his chest, resting his head on top of yours. Between the mental exhaustion and emotional ping-pong game that you were partaking in, you wanted to sleep. 

And sleep, you did; tangled together on the dirt of the jungle floor, not a worry in the world. 

---

Time passed. 

It passed quickly and slowly all at once. 

Once you’d found a little town and got on a coach to Medellin, you did what you came to do: identified the body, cleared their names and closed the case. Your duties at your actual job called you back home and less than a day later, you were on a plane home. 

After that, everything was a blur. You tried to keep in contact with everyone, but life was demanding as ever. Thanks to a promotion at work, you were being kept busy 24/7. Santiago finally retired from active duty and moved back to your hometown, near to his parents and to the guys. Even with the group chat he’d made - affectionately titled Plane Pals - it was hard to constantly keep up with everyone. 

You and Frankie had texted for a while, but it sort of faded out. Whenever you were able to make it back home to see him and everyone else, he was busy. You’d both tried to make plans a few times but they’d never come to fruition. You still texted each other happy birthday every year, but that was it. Like that night in the jungle, he quickly became a thing of the past. A distant memory that sometimes felt like a dream. 

It made a good dinner table story, especially for first dates. You told it on many actually, actually -- only one ever went well. So well, in fact, that you’d ended up in a four-year-relationship. A marine biologist called Simon; not boring, but not necessarily exciting either. He was nice...enough. Nice enough that you didn’t find a reason to leave. 

Looking back, you probably had a million reasons to leave. He was an asshole, for one. The last time he’d treated you right had been your first anniversary - and for some reason, you’d stuck around to celebrate your second and third and fourth. Everyone around you was settling down, and you felt that pressure too. 

Even Santiago fucking Garcia, the biggest flirt and bachelor you knew, was getting married. You’d RSVP’d a plus one - Simon, obviously - but the week before you were due to fly home for the wedding, things had finally reached a bitter end. You weren’t sad about him; more sad that you’d wasted four years of your life on the Walmart equivalent to Ned Flanders. 

On the brightside, your brother’s respective relationship had also gone through a shitty demise, meaning you could move your seats at the reception next to one another. Like Santiago, he had also retired from the military and was living his best life - even though it had taken six months for him to start speaking to his friend again. He hadn’t taken well to the idea of Santiago taking you on a job that left you in the middle of the jungle. 

‘People are gonna ask where Simon is, aren’t they?’ You muttered. 

‘Cheer up.’ Your brother nudged you. ‘I know what’ll help - let’s make a bet.’

‘What?’ You groaned. 

You were standing outside the church, waiting to be called inside. You’d waved at Benny and Will as they came in. The latter had kids of his own now, but Benny was focusing on his boxing career. He hadn’t called you Barbie again though, so that was something. 

‘I bet you twenty bucks that Santiago is divorced by the end of the year.’ Your brother grinned. 

‘No! That’s horrible.’ You slapped his arm. 

‘Whatever. That’s $20 you’re missing out on.’

‘I hate that we’re related.’

‘Me too.’

‘Shut up!’

‘You said it first!’

The two of you were cut off by someone clearing their throats.

You almost did a double take when you saw Frankie Morales stood in front of you. He didn’t look that different to his six-year-old Whatsapp profile picture; he wasn’t wearing his hat, instead wearing his hair pushed back, and rather than his old tac vest, he had a suit and tie on. You had a sort of vision of him in your head from that night, but it didn’t do him justice. He was even better in person. 

‘Catfish!’ Your brother jeered. ‘Ain’t you a sight for sore eyes!’ 

‘Says you!’ Frankie gave him a slap on the back. His eyes then fell to you, and his demeanour changed a little. ‘Hey.’

‘Frankie fucking Morales.’ You murmured. ‘How’re you?’

‘Thriving.’ He replied. ‘You?’

‘Also thriving.’ You smiled. 

‘I was sorry to hear about the divorce, man.’ Your brother, as clueless as ever, didn’t sense the sudden onset of tension. 

‘Divorce?’ You blinked in surprise. ‘Is that really something you should bring up-’

‘- you brought up your break up at dinner last week-’

‘- only because you brought up yours first-’

‘- guys!’ Frankie cut you off. ‘It’s fine, really. I appreciate you looking out for me but it was a while ago now. Besides, I’ve got Leya. She takes up all my time.’

‘Leya?’ your eyebrows shot up. ‘Is that your girl-’

You were interrupted by a bell ringing, signalling that it was time for the guests to enter the church. Did the universe hate you? What kind of fucking dreadful timing was that? 

‘I’ll see you guys at the reception, right?’ Frankie asked. 

‘Sure thing, dude.’ Your brother waved him off.

The pilot turned on his heel, giving you a smile as he headed for the church. He was the best man after all, and his presence probably was needed. 

‘You asshole!’ You have his shoulder another whack. ‘I was talking to him!’

‘Jesus, calm down! And why do you hit so hard?’ He huffed. ‘What’s so important?’

‘Who’s Leya?’

‘I dunno! Do I look like Gossip Girl?’

‘Yeah.’

‘You’re mean.’ He grabbed you by the arm, dragging you towards the church entrance. ‘And mum made me promise to make sure you wouldn’t play Doodle Jump during the vows.’

‘That was one time!’ You snapped. 

Thankfully, the actual ceremony passed quicker than you thought. Santiago’s new wife was beautiful -- you hadn’t met Yovanna before, but both her and Santi had greeted you with a bright smile as you entered the reception. It was in a large hotel room, decorated with strings of fairy lights and a large dance floor. A lot of thought had clearly got into it. 

It made you a little sad to think about. How many weddings had you been to in the last five years? How many times had people looked at you and your former boyfriend and said you’ll be next. You weren’t even sad about him. If anything, you were mad that you’d let yourself think about marrying him. You could do better. You were going to do better.

‘Is that girl over there eying me up?’ Your brother’s voice pulled you back to reality. ‘I swear she’s been giving me heart eyes since they brought dessert out.’

‘Which one?’

‘The one in the cute dress! Brown hair, dark eyes-’

‘- that’s Santi’s cousin.’ You rolled your eyes. 

‘And?’

‘Santi’s cousin who is a lesbian?’ You tried to suppress a laugh. ‘Who has been with her wife for 11 years and has three children?’

He groaned. ‘Why must you find such joy in my pain?’

‘It’s what siblings are for.’ You grinned. ‘I’m gonna get a drink. D’you want anything?’

He only let out another groan in response - you took that as a no, simply giving him a pat on the head as you stood up. 

You’d tried to ask around with a few mutual friends if they knew who Leya was -- either they hadn’t seen Frankie in a while, or they pushed to know why you were asking. You couldn’t exactly play that one as suave. Nobody took a casual interest in the personal life of somebody they barely knew -- even though you did know Frankie. Quite well, actually. He’d practically recounted his entire life story to you that night. Told you things that not even Santi knew. 

‘What can I get for you?’ The bartender asked. 

‘Uhhh…’ you glanced up at the menu. ‘Is it an open bar?’

‘If I had enough money for every time someone asked me that tonight, I’d be able to pay for all the drinks.’  She shot back. ‘So, no.’

‘Jeez.’ You muttered. ‘How much for a double rum?’

‘Fifteen bucks.’

‘Fifteen?!’ You spluttered. ‘How much is tap water?’

‘Y’know, I still owe you a drink.’

Like earlier, Frankie had suddenly appeared unannounced. You couldn’t help but grin when you saw him leaning against the bar beside you, a goofy smile plastered across his face and his undone tie wrapped around his left hand. Your eyes flickered up to his forehead, examining it for a minute. 

‘So the stitches didn’t scar?’ You asked. 

He pulled back his hair, shaking his head. ‘Nope.’ 

‘You lucky duck.’ You quipped. ‘So. About that drink?’

‘This shit is insanely overpriced.’ Frankie said. ‘I can steal us a bottle of wine if you’re willing to hide and drink it?

You glanced over at your brother, who was now crying to one of Santiago’s great aunts, piling cake into his mouth. 

‘Yeah. I’m down for that.’ 

--

Five minutes later, you and Frankie were out in the gardens of the hotel. It had been raining all day, but there was an undercover patio not too far from the main reception; the walls were made out of white wood, with red roses trailing up the side. The fairly lights tangled beside them illuminated the place in a gentle glow, blue evening sky providing a beautiful contrast. Even though the showers had stopped, you could still smell the rain in the fresh evening air. 

‘Wine?’ Frankie led you to a seat by the edge of the patio. ‘I stole it from the head table so it's the expensive shit.’

He tore the cork off, handing you the bottle. Neither of you had brought glasses, but you didn’t mind drinking from the same bottle. You’d kissed already - what was the point in formalities? 

‘I hate it to break it to you.’ You paused to wipe your mouth, recovering from the bitter taste. ‘But that’s champagne.’

‘Still alcohol, right?’ He took it from your hands, taking a swig. ‘And it’s free!’

‘You’re right.’ You chuckled. ‘So...I believe we have four years worth of catching up to do.’

‘D’you wanna go first?’ Frankie offered. ‘I heard you got a promotion.’

‘I did, yeah.’ You grinned. ‘It’s a thousand times more work but I get more control over what jobs I take, so that’s good.’

‘Anyone special in your life?’ He asked. 

‘Cut the shit, Frankie.’ You groaned. ‘I know that Santi updates you on every second of my life as it happens.’

‘You got me there. He mentioned a...Steven?’

‘A Simon.’ You corrected. ‘But Dickhead or Asshole works just as well.’

‘Damn, I’m sorry.’ Frankie gave your leg a light squeeze. ‘What happened?’

‘He didn’t deserve me and I stayed with him too long.’ You shrugged. ‘I didn’t think I had a reason to leave.’ 

‘Not having a reason to leave isn’t a reason to stay.’ He murmured. 

You didn’t know whether to bring up the D-Word. D-i-v-o-r-c-e. He hadn’t seemed that phase when your sibling had so eloquently and gently brought it up earlier, but you knew Frankie was good at putting on a front. It was why you’d clashed when you first met. 

‘Am I allowed to ask?’ You quietly said. 

‘It’s nothing bad.’ He shrugged. ‘I mean it is bad, terrible actually, but it was two years ago now. We only got married because she got pregnant and then left the minute our daughter was born.’

‘Leya.’ You didn’t mean to say the name out loud, but it made sense now. ‘Leya is your daughter.’

‘Yeah.’ Frankie warmly smiled. ‘I hate what happened but I’d do it all over again ten times if it meant having her in my life.’

He spent the next few minutes telling you about her. She was named Leya after a certain space princess, though Frankie had changed the spelling to make it less obvious (to which you had argued it was still quite obvious, but a cool name nonetheless). She was currently three years old, often got confused between Spanish and English words, and enjoyed Power Rangers. All in all, she sounded like a great kid. Above all, it was obvious how much she meant to Frankie. His whole face lit up when he spoke about her. Her mum was entirely out the picture, meaning he was doing the whole thing by himself. 

‘She sounds amazing.’ You beamed, peering down at the picture on his phone. ‘She looks so much like you.’

‘Thank God.’ Frankie murmured. ‘I dunno if it being a dad has made me more introspective, but I think about that night a lot.’

‘Me too.’ You replied. ‘Not the thing about being a dad. The other part.’

He laughed. ‘I got that.’

‘What do you think about?’

‘You, mostly.’ He admitted. ‘The fact I was an asshole. The fact you basically saved us all. The fact I never got to take you out for that drink.’

You took a swig of champagne, poking his arm. ‘We’re doing it now!’

‘I know.’ He grinned. ‘I just...I know it was only one night but we might not have been around to tell the story if you hadn't been there.’

‘You were the one who landed the plane safely.’

‘Which wouldn’t have mattered if you didn’t do all the stuff after.’ He reminded you. ‘The thing I think about most, though, is that kiss.’

You froze slightly, head slowly turning to look at him. He was peering down at you now, brown eyes intently gazing at you, not unlike they had the first time you’d been in this position. Now, you weren’t both beyond exhausted, or stuck in the middle of the jungle. You were safe and sound, right here with one another. 

‘It was a pretty good kiss.’ You edged slightly closer towards him. 

‘A very good kiss.’

‘Maybe we should do it-’

Frankie cut you off, meeting your demand before you could even finish it. He was just as you remembered; chapped-but-soft lips with a hint of mint. No tobacco this time. He gently placed a hand on the back of your neck, pulling you further up towards him. It was like you were both reliving the memory of that night in a dream - something you’d done many times. Your memory of it had faded over time but this? This was vivid and giddy and entirely consuming all at once. 

‘You know,’ Frankie pulled back for a moment, keeping his hand on the back of your neck and forehead pressed to yours. ‘I asked Santi about you a few years ago, pretty much the minute I realised I was ready to move on from...her.’ 

‘You did?’ You murmured. 

‘That’s when he said you’d been seeing Simon for a few weeks.’ He admitted. ‘I was gutted. Kept wishing I’d got there first.’

‘I wish you had got to me first.’ You lightly chuckled. ‘It would have saved me a lot of pain.’

‘If I were to ask out now, what would you say?’

‘Fuck yes, obviously.’

‘Good.’ He pressed a brief peck to your lips. ‘I admire the enthusiasm.’

That night - well, actually it had probably been the night in Colombia, depending on who you asked - marked the start of a fresh start for you both. What had initially started out as an attempt to seek solace in one another during a difficult time had led you to something more: something whole, something fulfilling. 

If someone had told you the first time you’d met Frankie Morales that the unfriendly pilot was going to become the best thing that ever happened to you, you probably would have slapped them. Or laughed, or cried, or all three. That night you met, you thought the emotions you were feeling were from the plane crash -- adrenaline and warmth and panic. 

As it would turn out, it was simply the feeling of knowing -- knowing that Frankie Morales was it.

[my-writings-and-musings]

I have another lovely commission to share with you all! An awesome person wanted a super cute bit of interaction between Springload and Quillfire, so here it is!

Quillfire tried to keep the frown on his face from appearing too off putting as he left the base behind, keeping pace with Springload but ensuring the two of them had considerable personal space at the same time. To the benefit of their mission Earth's forests offered ample cover all around, ensuring neither had anything to fear in regards to detection. Though, to the anarchist, potential discovery was the least of his concerns. His last parting with the other mech had been under less than amicable terms, so he was fully anticipating a very unpleasant mission. In fact, he wouldn't have been surprised to learn Springload was planning to ditch him at the nearest opportunity. Such a prediction seemed more likely than not considering how the amphibicon had a tendency towards the dramatic. Was he going to be accused of defying invisible spirits, or sullying important signals from some great deity before he was exposed to corrosive attacks? It all seemed equally probable...

Frowning a little harder, he watched Springload hop ahead of him and wondered if this mission would end in failure like the last. They'd been up against considerable odds, and things weren looking much better. Steeljaw had been very insistent on them teaming up, so he had a bit of hope this would go well, but-

Crossing his arms, he huffed quietly to himself as he abandoned the train of thought, plodding along behind his chosen partner all the while. Why should he be the one to mend things? More importantly, why did he want to? There were a million other activities he could be doing at the moment, all of them more conducive to speeding up a revolution than this! Just imagining all the injustice on this backwards planet made his quills twitch with unease. Oh, how he longed to tear down the tyranny that was evident around every corner-

"Can you move more swiftly?" Springload barked back at him unexpectedly, hopping along through the forest at a pace few could match with a mere walk. Admittedly though, Quillfire was lagging behind as he mused over his unhappy thoughts. The amphibicon fixed him with an impatient glare. "The sooner this mission is completed, the sooner I may return to my quest!" 

Quillfire obeyed with a gulp, a reaction so out of character for himself he didn't know what to make of it. For some unfathomable reason, he wanted to make peace with this bot, and he was stuck with that. Perhaps he just didn't want to endure an entire mission tainted by awkward silences and angry glares, but what could possibly make things amicable between them? This bot wanted nothing but the treasure of a fabled city that didn't exist, how was he supposed to provide anything like that? Perhaps… just some conversation might do the trick? If only to lighten the mood...

As they came to a road that marked the next leg of their mission, he made an effort to think of something to say as the amphibicon pondered their map, as well as the instructions they'd been given.

"Steeljaw instructed us to wait here and construct an ambush site. When the human transport arrives, we are to steal their cargo…" he said, finishing the statement with a most distasteful croak. Clearly, his fellow bot was not especially interested in the mission either, and likely was imagining countless other ways his time could be better spent. Such was a common feeling at their rank, and he did truly share most of the frustration. With that as a starting point, Quillfire imagined they may have some common ground after all. 

"I will keep watch on the road, so that you might strike at the most opportune time!" he declared boldly, emphasizing his faith in the others skills. It wasn't even a stretch, as he firmly believed the other was more than capable of getting this done. Looking up and down the simple paved path to ensure he had a good vantage point, he found one in the form of a sheltered outcrop. Looking to Springload for a reaction the entire time, he smirked confidently and clamored up to the flat bit of earth above the road, gesturing to the wide field of observable forest as he did so. "We will claim our quarry with a single attack, and return victorious!"

Springload merely observed him with a blink of apathetic consideration. "Yes, indeed." he said simply, hopping into position and making sure to face away from his teammate when he did so. Pulling out the holo of his supposed map, he began to study it as he always did, scanning the runes for what had to be the millionth time. A terse tone made his feelings on any future reconciliation clear. "Then I may continue my quest for Doradas, alone."

The anarchist's quills sagged at the turn of events. While he hadn't been expecting immediate friendship, he also hadn't anticipated that the other mech would be so openly hostile to any kind of amicable teamwork, and found himself quite disappointed by the lack of success. For whatever reason, he just wanted Springload to like him, and failing at that was bothering him. I'm fact, it was bad enough that some part of him just refused to accept the defeat. There had to be a way he could earn the other's camaraderie. Considering how much time they still had left before their mission began, he had a good window in which to ponder a solution. 

Sitting back on the soft grass, he put a hand to his chin in intense thought. Springload himself only openly cared about one thing, and he didn't know him well enough to be aware of any other likes or interests… Casting a glance at the amphibicon, he felt his processor buzzing at the strain of thinking so hard to produce no results. He simply didn't know anything about geography, archeology, linguistics or any other topic which might help the other mech in his quest. The thought that he might not be able to do anything ate at him much more than it should have. It was enough to make him sigh sadly to himself at the hopelessness of it all.

"Do you see something?" Springload asked, mistaking his small sound for a potential signal. Embarrassed and surprised, Quillfire coughed and babbled out an excuse as fast as he could come up with one.

"Ah… no! I simply mistook a… an organic being for the target!" he explained lamely, not even believing himself. Springload arched an optic ridge, looking as incredulous as he did frustrated at the false alarm. Quillfire laughed awkwardly to clear the air, shrinking down beneath the edge of the outcrop to disappear from view. A dissatisfied croak let him know the outburst was thoroughly not appreciated. 

Frowning miserably to himself, the anarchist occupied his lonesome by doodling in the dirt at his pedes, practicing his signature mark as he often did while thinking. What was he supposed to do? Apologies were not in his nature, least of all because he didn't want to give them. As a loner he just didn't have much practice saying he was sorry to anyone. Ordinarily he was busy disrupting systems of power, overthrowing tyrannical systems, or freeing trapped souls with no one else to save them… Thoughts and feelings like these were too new for him to know what to do with them.

Thinking hard, he tried to come up with something he could do to earn the favor of the other mech, but still came up short. It was frustrating enough to make him draw more aggressively, because deep down he was certain there had to be a way to succeed. Springload wasn't too different from himself, after all. A lone mech, seeking his goals, using his natural gifts and weapons to take down those who opposed him…

Just as he was about to growl to himself at his failure to be inspired, his digit bumped against something in the soft earth. Without anything better to do, he slowly went about digging the object free. A flash of a white, shiny exterior motivated him to continue. Briefly forgetting about his troubles, he dug until a dirty but visibly solid object began to reveal its shape. Round and about the size of his palm, a glossy white stone came from the dirt without too much fuss, and he smiled at the small accomplishment. It was a rather lovely treasure for such a simple planet.

Just as he began to dust some of the remaining dirt from the granite or quartz exterior, he was struck by an idea, one so foolish he had to wonder how it could work.  

Still, he was a champion of crazy ideas, so he dared to consider it. 

Springload was a mech who one could describe as… extravagant, both in mission and mind. He required one to go all out, as he never held back in regards to the quest that he'd dedicated his entire life to completing. Overall, he was just an unusual bot. Perhaps, if Quillfire was thinking this through properly, that meant he could be reasoned with through some unusual means?

Tilting the rounded stone in his servo, he dared to believe a simple yet unusual gift would be enough to at least get the two of them started on a path to mending their teamwork. If nothing else, he'd at least get to tell himself he tried. The hardest part would be working up the courage to begin, but hopefully after that things would be easier. He just needed to take that first step…

Peeking over the edge of the outcrop, he saw that the amphibicon was in the same place he'd last been, reading over his map and murmuring to himself. Despite having read it every day for eons, the dedicated bot didn't look the least bit uninterested in his work. If anything, he looked downright eager, as if on the verge of a breakthrough at any given time. Quillfire hoped interrupting him wouldn't cause an even greater rift to form. 

Clearing his vents, he found his pump pounding with unnatural anxiety as he forced his voice box to speak up, his servos almost trembling about the stone as he took a considerable leap of faith.

"S-Springload?" he finally croaked out, nearly losing his nerve when the other mech looked up to him with painfully obvious annoyance. Gulping, he overcame his anxiety to speak up and stand tall to appear more confident than he felt.  "Can you… come up here? There is something you must see!"

Brightly colored optics widened, then fixed him with a look equal parts incredulous and irritated. "Is it important?"

"Very!" he insisted, sounding honest because he truly meant it with all of his spark. What could be more important than mending his fued with a fellow teammate?

In a single hop, Springload tucked away his map and cleared the entire road, landing just before Quillfire with a graceful thud. 

"I, er…" he stammered as the silliness of what he was about to do hit him in full. Unable to remember the last time he had given or received anything, he was without a clue as to what to say, so he simply held out the stone in his cupped palms with an attempt at a smile. There was a perceptible tremble in his arms as he did so, but he remained strong. "I believe I'm supposed to give this to you!" 

Springload didn't immediately react beyond a raised brow, so he stammered forth more of an explanation, spark sinking in his chest. "As a s-sign of… teamwork."

"A white stone?" the amphibicon said at last, as if awakening from a light trance. Taking the rock carefully into his large servo, all while ensuring his acidic coat didn't touch the other mech, he held the item aloft into the light. Just seeing him interested made the anarchist dare to hope things might work out, but in his wildest of dreams he'd never have anticipated what happened next. Springload lit up like a mech beholding a Prime out of the blue, his optics turning away from the stone for just a moment. 

"Just the same as those that line the gates of Doradas!" he exclaimed in awe.

Quillfire didn't have any response for that, good or bad as it may have been.

"What?"

"The sacred text makes it clear!" he shouted in explanation, bringing forth his scroll of indecipherable runes as if it made everything make sense. Gesturing to the lines of what Springload saw as gibberish, he began to proclaim their meaning with enthusiasm, optics wide and wild. "You see, here?! The gates of the Holy City will be lined with pure stones to mark the way!" 

"I'm…" was all he could reply with, still a million miles behind the other mech in regards to understanding. While he'd hoped at most for appreciation or a mere thanks, Springload looked about ready to burst with excitement, and for reasons he couldn't even begin to comprehend. At the very least he figured he should be happy for the turn of events when he was surprised yet again. 

"But how could you know?" Springload pressed, catching him more than a little off guard. Holding up his servos in surrender, Quillfire tried to figure out what exactly he was supposed to have known, and how he might have gone about figuring it out. He'd just thought it was pretty and would make a decent gesture of peace! Fumbling for a response so as not to lose his progress, he was saved by another burst of revelation he had no part in.

"Of course, the spirits!" he exclaimed, almost dropping the rock in his excitement. Clasping his servos over the apparently precious gift, he explained his excitement more or less by simply talking aloud to himself. "They must have guided you, enabling you to find such a sacred object, so that you could gift it to me!"

Accepting he would never truly understand, Quillfire only smiled and nodded at the other's exuberance. More than happy things had turned out so well, he was content to let the other mech believe whatever he wanted, even if he didn't follow it. "Of course!"

"As to why they would do this… they must know you are key to my quest!" Springload continued, using an avid free servo to clasp the other mech's arm in a sign of commitment. More surprised than confused, the anarchist tilted his helm in shock at how fast things had changed between them. Just like that, everything that had happened was forgiven? More than forgiven, in fact, he was seen as a friend and ally? It didn't seem inaccurate to say he was also being looked at as a divine being at the moment. By the Primes, this bot was like no other!

"I was a fool! To think, I tried to push you away!" the amphibicon cried, deactivating his acid so he could better cling to the taller mech. Seeing the emotion in his eyes, Quillfire wondered if he might start weeping, and hoped it wouldn't come to such a show. Not only was he not the best at providing comfort, he didn't have any tissues… Mercifully, the big optics looking into his seemed to sparkle with jubilation rather than tears.

"Ah, it's really nothing…" Quillfire reassured, beginning to blush from the high praise. A spare servo massaged the back of his neck in an open show of bashful deflection. Such a small thing hardly felt worthy of this kind of praise, even for a mech as glory seeking as himself. Not that he was disliking this turn of events.

"It's everything!" Springload corrected, emphatic and no longer impatient. "You must have been sent into my life by the spirits themselves!"

Actively blushing at that, the anarchist looked away, rubbing harder at the back of his neck. He hadn't a clue what to do with this newfound respect and admiration. Perhaps the other bot was just having a momentary burst of affection, which would give way as soon as the next symbol or sign grabbed his attention, but at present such a turn seemed beyond doubtful. Quillfire was being regarded in a way typically saved for the most ancient and holy of altars to the Primes. In the depths of his spark, he wanted it to last.

A distant but heavy sound caught his sharp audials, just as the tremor sensitive Springload perked up in synchronized recognition. Something was rumbling its way down the primitive earth road. Recalling their mission so fast his quills flared in alarm, the anarchist stood up to his full height, catching a glimpse of a truck through the densely packed pines. Their target was approaching fast. Worse, they were in no position to intercept it as planned. 

Thinking fast, Quillfire pulled one of his namesake weapons from his back, preparing to strike as the unknowing human drove their way. 

"I shall block the path." he announced, redirecting their strategy from before to include himself. Business came first for them both, so each was ready in an instant. Springload crouched low on his powerful legs in anticipation of his orders, which came just as the truck began barreling down the final stretch in their direction, multiple tons on a solid course they needed to stop. "You, render it motionless once it is stopped."

An agreeable ribbit communicated hearty understanding in the final moments before their strike. 

While massive by earth standards, the truck was small enough for Quillfire to plan his moves without much of a risk. Still, he was careful in his timing, as the cargo was as valuable as it was delicate. Any great crash would render it useless. Their success hinged on him being precise more than cautious, so he waited for the perfect amount of distance to be between himself and his target before he leapt down into the asphalt below. 

Well practiced using his own weapons, he tossed his quill just ahead of the already braking truck, funneling their path to the point of nonexistence. With nowhere to go, the driver was forced to slam on the brakes and skid to a stop, not having the option to go around or turn back. Quillfire smirked in pride at the human's textbook reaction, and could have sworn he heard Springload give a cheer at his victory. Near victory, that was, there was still one crucial step for them to see through.

"Now!" he ordered as the multiple tire sets came to a stop just shy of him. With the speed of someone working on the same page, the amphibicon dove from his perch, shooting his tongue out like a whip. Acid and force popped the tires in rapid succession, filling the air with a series of bangs and creaks until the heavy machine collapsed onto nothing but it's hubcaps. Rubber flew in every direction and nothing even resembling tires remained to spin, leaving multiple tons collapsed on the asphalt. The truck would not be going anywhere. 

"A clean victory!" Springload declared happily, still clutching his gift as he hopped back beside Quillfire. "Truly, the spirits are on our side in full. You are their greatest emissary."

Beaming at the praise, Quillfire turned when he heard the door of the vehicle opening up. Both mech's turned just as the human driver jumped from the vehicle, landing in a heap on the ground as he did so. Catching their mutual gaze, the tiny being threw up his hands in surrender, wide eyed and terrified as could be. A gigantic, metallic frog and an even bigger metal porcupine had not been mentioned when he'd taken the job. 

"Look, I'm n-not paid enough for this!" he stammered, gesturing wildly to the trailer as he slowly stepped backwards on shaking legs. Giving up the goods completely for his own sake, he unknowingly earned the approval of a certain anarchist. Abandoning one's shackles for self preservation was a key tactic, and he smiled as the human gave them both full clearance, dropping his keys on the spot. "Just take the truck! A-all of it!"

"We shall, your cooperation is appreciated." Springload replied, sounding a bit haughty. In truth the human's cooperation meant little; either mech was fully capable of taking what they wanted without much effort. Happy just to see someone making the right choices, Quillfire praised and comforted the terrified earthling in what he considered to be the best way.  

"Fear not, brother. You have been liberated from the bonds of oppressive labor!" he encouraged, presenting the human with a smile of reassurance. Reacting with what he presumed to be unfathomable joy, the tiny being turned about and began to sprint, disappearing into the trees with a considerable ruckus of breaking branches and fussing animals. Screams of jubilation began echoing out after he was long gone from sight.

Waving the lucky one off, Quillfire smiled at the impossible fortune this day had brought him, happy to share it with others. If humans could figure out the true way to live, perhaps there was yet hope for them. He dared to believe as much while shouting after the former truck driver. "Go forth, tiny earthling! Enjoy the freedom we have given you!"

Turning back to the work yet to be completed, he found Springload using his selectively acidic touch to melt through the lock of the truck's trailer, his gift still peeking out through his other servo's protective grip. Marveling at how the other mech seemed intent on believing his truth, Quillfire still decided to let it be. Though happy just to be friends, it was quite likely this was just how things worked for such a dramatic bot. He was surprised how he was beyond accepting of such a concept, and in fact, quite looking forward to it. 

As the doors opened, the two of them found a rather manageable cluster of boxes secured tightly to avoid damaging movement. Comfortable as the load would have been for two bots, it doubtlessly was too much for one, yet Springload began freeing it from its bonds with a smile. 

"Allow me to carry this burden, great one! It is the least I can offer!" he said eagerly, tucking his stone away into a subspace beside his spark. Cutting their payload free, he began to move the boxes happily outside, no doubt planning to pile them all into his altmode. While usually happy to get some time off, Quillfire didn't feel right about leaving the other mech to handle it all. Their new partnership deserved to get off to a much better start than that. 

"I can help." he reassured simply, taking his fair share of the boxes to carry in his hands. Though the smaller mech needed his altmode to handle his share, he didn't allow transforming to stop his eager chatting, and continued to extoll the virtues of his new ally as a happy pickup truck. 

"Such generosity!" he praised, putting along to leave the abandoned truck behind them. Though a little overwhelmed by the idea of someone seeing him as a bona fide gift from ancient deities, he allowed the other mech's chatter to fill the walk home, finding it to be far better than the awkward silence that had followed them here. Who ever would have been able to guess a mere stone could change so much? 

"I shall have to insist we are partnered together for future endeavors! As two individuals chosen by the spirits, our camaraderie can bring only success!" Springload gushed, turning about happily on his bouncing tires. "Would that please you, great one? I am certain riches will come to us both!"

Though he still had his own dreams, Quillfire didn't indeed find the idea of more missions like this very agreeable, so much so that he had no problem smiling in affirment. 

"Riches indeed, my new friend!" 

[otonymous]

A Bolt From The Blue (MLQC Shaw - NSFW) - Part III: Near & Far

Description: Promising beginnings and a premature end throw you into a tailspin Warnings: NSFW/18+: Explicit/graphic language & mature themes — reader discretion is advised.  Potential trigger warnings: depictions of mild PTSD symptoms, mentions of death of a close family member, disappearances, “breakups,” angst, profanity Word Count: 1882 words (~9 mins of falling in love and wallowing in angst 😱😂) Author’s Notes: If you’re still following this story, please accept a giant (virtual) hug from me to you!  Thank you very much from the bottom of my heart for supporting me and this piece of work! 💖 Without further ado, I present to you part 3 of my slow-burn Shaw fic, written for the lovely @op-peccatori​ as part of my follower milestone celebration.

As always, dear reader, please note the potential trigger warnings listed above, and happy reading! 😊

Jump to Chapter(s): One | Two | Four

⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️

“You can relax, you know.  I won’t try anything funny while you sleep, not my style.  Besides, isn’t this much better than camping out on the floor?”

Nodding your head before you realize that Shaw probably couldn’t see you in the dark, your “Yes” comes out in a mewl so pathetic you wished you could immediately take it back.

His snicker shakes the bed, reverberating across squeaky springs to where you lay beside him, right at the edge of the twin mattress as you tried not to let your hands touch.

No matter how much you wished for them to.

Beyond the window, a neon signboard paints electric shadows on your walls in splashes of pink, flashing in time to a rhythm Shaw tapped out with one foot beneath the covers.

“Is it cool if…if we didn’t draw the blinds tonight?  I can’t sleep in complete darkness.” He had asked you earlier that evening, towelling off his hair as he emerged from your bathroom wearing a shirt your ex had left behind along with your broken heart a year and a half ago.

Snoopy looked much better riding his skateboard across Shaw’s broad chest anyways.

And there, in the midst of an awkward arrangement where sleep would surely prove fleeting, the sounds of the night: the low hum of the refrigerator, the pawn shop’s sign buzzing just on the other side of the windowpane…the tick-tock of the clock on the wall, steady like Shaw’s breath beside you as it counts down precious time—

“I’ll be out of your hair first thing tomorrow morning.”  

Ba-bump.

“No, there’s…there’s no rush.  Honestly.”

“Can you really afford to miss more work because of me?”

Silence.  You couldn’t refute the truth.

“Tell you what, in exchange for putting up with me, you can ask me anything you want.  I’ve seen the way you look at me sometimes; surely you must be curious about some things.  Might as well find out before I go.”

Your stomach knotted, clenching tight.  He was right.  For all you know, it was now or never.  “Why did you join?  The triad, that is.”

He is silent for a moment, as if trying to find the right words to piece together.

“I’m looking for my brother.”

Out of all possible answers, this wasn’t one you were expecting.  Turning onto your side, you study the handsome profile of his face — watching as pink mixed with lavender in the most ethereal way until you were overcome with the sense that in this vast ocean of life, you and him stood on very different shores.  Eyes still fixed on your ceiling, Shaw continues.

“He was an undercover cop, working to infiltrate the ranks of the group I’m currently a part of.  I only found out by accident, and he made me swear up and down not to breathe a word of it to mom.  Then one day…he was gone.  Just...disappeared off the face of the earth.  Mom and I went down to the station every day for months, knew the names and faces of everyone who worked in that building, but it was like Gavin never even existed.

“It was too much for her.  I came home late from school one day — found her on the floor, barely breathing.  It was dark in the apartment…so dark.  She had probably just drawn the curtains.  By the time the paramedics arrived, she was already gone.  Heart attack, they said.  

“I lie awake at night sometimes, wonder how I’m going to tell him that mom’s no longer here — go through the motions in my head, rehearsing every line.  ‘Cus I know that sooner or later, that day will come.  There’s no way he’s dead.  I know my brother.”

A glimmer at the corner of his eye catches yours.  Beneath the covers, your fingers inch towards his, finding courage in the darkness to brush against his pinky as if the sliver of warmth could express what words simply couldn’t convey.

“With mom gone, there was nothing to lose.  I joined the group, worked hard…did what they needed me to do to gain their trust, all while collecting scraps of info here and there — whatever I could get my hands on in the hopes that it’ll lead me to Gav.”

Pitter-patter, pitter-patter.

Tiny drops of rain speckle your windowpane.  And when Shaw’s finger hooks around yours as if in a solemn pinky swear, the tears burning your eyes finally fall.  You don’t ask him how many years it’s been, the dirty deeds he’s had to sully his hands with.  You don’t question him about the father he doesn’t mention.  All you can do is watch as a solitary drop rolls down the side of his face before soaking into lavender strands fanned out on the pillow, the way his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows back bitterness only he knew.

In spite of it all, he is the one who chuckles when he turns towards you, eyes red rimmed even as his brows rise in feigned exasperation when he says, “Why are you crying?!  I’m the one with the tragic past here!”

And when you start to cry even harder, his soft hushes of “Shh, shh…I’m sorry, that last part was a joke.  It’s all right, everything will be okay, I promise,” burrows deep into your heart and you believe him.

Because when he reaches towards you — the thumb wiping the tears from your eyes calloused yet gentle — you are struck by a sense of overwhelming tenderness:

In the carefulness of his touch.

In the way he regards you with the sincerity of some unspoken emotion.

In the entirety of this man whom the rest of the world has already written off.

And that is when you know…

“I didn’t mean to make you cry by telling you all this, I’m sorry.”

…that you are in love with him.

“I’ll make it up to you.  Ask me another question.  Maybe something less depressing this time.”  

A smile spreads across his face.  You wished there was a way for you to keep the warmth of his hand on your cheek forever.  Sniffling, you try again.

“Wh-why did you keep coming in to my store everyday?  There’s a lot of other convenience stores in the area—”

A flash of panic in those amber eyes, and Shaw is turning over with lightning speed until all you can see is the smooth expanse of his back.

“Changed my mind.  A guy’s gotta keep some secrets!  Goodnight!”

“You’re a good girl, aren’t you?”

Wrap your arms around the pillow.

“Good girls shouldn’t concern themselves with bad boys.”

Bury your face into its cushiony fill.

“Or have you forgotten that I’m wanted by the police?”

And inhale deeply.

Shaw’s scent on your sheets is faint now, so much so that you can’t be entirely sure you’re not imagining it, having gone through this ritual countless times since the day Shaw left your apartment…

…and stepped out of your life.

                   *                                         *                                          *

“Is there…any way I could stay in touch with you?  I-I just…just want to make sure you’re okay…”

Voice trailing off, you watch as Shaw gingerly shrugs one arm then another through the sleeves of his leather jacket, still wearing the Snoopy t-shirt he had slept in the night before after you told him he could keep it.  His own was torn beyond repair, stubbornly dyed in blood regardless of how much you scrubbed at it.  And when he hesitated still, you said he would just be doing you the favour of taking out the trash.  

Smoothing down the front of his jacket, Shaw glances at the phone in your hands — eyes tracing along your eager fingers, poised to type.  The expression on his face is unreadable, as if the man you had spent the night sharing secrets with was nothing more than a figment of your imagination.

“It’s better if we don’t.  I’ll be fine, just laying low for the next while — boss’s orders.  And I don’t want the cops coming around to your place again.  Detective Whatshisname looks like he could be really good at hounding pretty girls like you.”

That smirk again, so familiar to you by now.  And in the compliment that would’ve made you blush bright red before, nothing but a smokescreen.

“Shaw, I don’t mind—”

“You’re a good girl, aren’t you?" The force in his voice cuts, and you barely breathe to feel his finger curl beneath your chin, tilting up your face until you have no choice but to meet his gaze.  Those eyes are dull, like molten gold frozen beneath a layer of impenetrable ice.  “Good girls shouldn’t concern themselves with bad boys.  Or have you forgotten that I’m wanted by the police?”

The shiver that runs electric down your spine makes the hairs on your skin stand on end.  It was like looking at a stranger.  Heart racing, your palms grow clammy with sweat, unsure of exactly when your phone had dropped from your hands, slipping away like…

“I don’t care about the cops!  I’ll deal with them—”

“DEAL WITH WHAT?!  You think that just because you managed to turn them away at the door that it makes you a hardened criminal?!  WE are not the same, okay?  My life is worthless.  I’ve already signed it away a long time ago, I’m ready to give it up without a second thought.  But you…you’re different. Y-you’re kind, innocent.  You’ve got your whole life ahead of you.  One day, you’ll make someone the luckiest person in the world, be a beautiful mother to beautiful children.  Don’t sell yourself short…not for someone like me.”

The silence that descends is thick, suffocating.  You don’t speak, afraid to open your mouth because it takes all your concentration just to keep the tears from spilling from your eyes.

Finally letting go of your chin, Shaw reaches behind his neck to undo the clasp on the thin gold chain he wore, the jade disc pendant that hung from it still warm from the heat of his skin when he places it in the palm of your hand.

“It’s not much, but it was a gift from my mom and the most valuable thing I own.  You saved my life, so it’s yours now.  Maybe…maybe one day, you can give it to your own child.”

Lump in your throat, you can barely breathe, let alone tell him there was no way you could accept something that precious, something that priceless.  That you didn’t drag him home that night, broken and bleeding, in the hopes of gain; not for money, not for love.

He curls your fingers around the heirloom, gentle thumb pressing on index, middle, ring then pinky in turn before your fist finds itself held tightly within the press of his much larger hand for one…two…three seconds…

…before those purple Chuck Taylors take him to your door…

Slam.

…and just like that, the man with the lavender hair is gone.

⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️

Forgive me for trolling, but there really was only one bed LOL!  Hope you all enjoyed the latest chapter, and please stay tuned for what may be the final instalment in this Shaw saga! - XOXO

Jump to Chapter(s): One | Two | Four

Thanks so much for reading! 💕 Check out more of my work here! 📚(Please do not repost/copy/alter my work.  Reblogs, on the other hand, are a-ok and much appreciated! 👍🏼💖)

[the-tactician-magician]

Here we go with more rarepairs~ But rarepairs deserve a little @flufftober2021 too, as a treat

Flufftober 2021 Day 17: Domestic Fluff

Rated G, Lorenz/Lysithea, 1448 words

Lysithea never could have imagined waking to an empty pillow beside her and the sound of sizzling breakfast in the kitchen. Then again, she never could have imagined that her future held so much domestic bliss in the first place.

She put on some long robes and a pair of slippers to follow the scent of food. It was fortunate that the two of them had moved into a smaller manor so she didn’t have to walk nearly as much to get anywhere. Lysithea didn’t even mind having less servants under their employ. Doing chores with their own two hands wasn’t all that bad, especially if it meant intimate mornings such as these.

As expected, her husband of 32 years, Lorenz Hellman Gloucester, awaited her in the kitchen. It looked like he already prepped the table for breakfast, with an array of dishes and silverware, a bowl of fruit, flowers arranged in a vase, and a piping hot tea kettle. All that was left to be served was the actual meal, which Lorenz was already working on. One of his hands held a frying pan, and his other hand gripped a spatula that shoveled a freshly made pancake onto a plate.

He glanced up once he was done. Upon spotting his wife in the doorway, he offered up a wide smile. “Ah. Good morning, my love.”

“Good morning, dear.” Lysithea beamed back. “Making breakfast, are we? It’s rare for someone of your status to dirty their hands in the kitchen.”

“Hah! There’s nothing dirty about making food to enjoy. Even a nobleman such as I knows the value of spoiling his dear wife.” Lorenz’s smile didn’t abate under her joke. “Anyway, please take a seat. I will have breakfast ready in just a few minutes.”

Lysithea nodded as she did just that. Her place at the table was specially marked with a small tin that contained her medicine. She wouldn’t have forgotten to take them even if Lorenz hadn’t left them out for her, but his gentle reminder didn’t bother her in the slightest. It was just another sign that he was always thinking of her, no matter the time of day.

She consumed today’s vitamins and pills right before Lorenz arrived with food to help the medicine down. In addition to pancakes, he also came bearing slices of ham, truffles, and a fried egg. The meal itself wasn’t the fanciest thing in the world, since he only recently started cooking for the two of them, but his impeccable plating made it fit for a king. Or the lord and lady of House Gloucester, as it were.

Lysithea grabbed a nearby pitcher of maple syrup and doused her pancakes in it, drawing a sigh from Lorenz. “My love, all that syrup is going to negate the benefits of your medicine.”

“Pfft. Didn’t you just say you knew the value of spoiling your wife?”

Lysithea punctuated her retort by shoving a forkful of sticky-sweet pancakes into her mouth. At that, Lorenz simply let out another amused sigh. Both of them knew better than to let pet peeves sully a perfectly good morning. Instead, they filled the dining room with peaceful silence, occasionally broken up by an idle remark or two. It was only when Lysithea and Lorenz had polished off their breakfast and Lorenz started rifling through letters that their conversation took a more serious turn.

“Vinicio is settling into the Officer’s Academy well.” He stated while reading through familiar handwriting. “Although he still laments about not being made the Golden Deer house leader.”

Lysithea rolled her eyes at the mention of their youngest son. She loved him, like she loved all three of their children, but sometimes they proved to be quite a handful. “He should have taken the entrance exams more seriously then, and not try to coast on his natural talent and status alone.”

“Indeed.” Lorenz chuckled. “Perhaps this school year will finally teach him some humility at last.”

“I highly doubt it.” Lysithea scoffed back. “The teachers at Garreg Mach are too soft on students nowadays. Vinicio is going to drive them up the walls if they aren’t careful. Now, if this year’s leader was one of Claude’s and Byleth’s children, that would have been a different story…”

“We would never hear the end of it.” Lorenz laughed again. Apparently, there was nothing else of note to mention, as he passed their son’s letter to Lysithea after he was finished.

But the time to peruse that would come later. Lysithea eyed the remaining letters eagerly. “Any correspondence from Iacchus or Evangeline?”

Lorenz’s smirk grew wider as he shook his head. “My love, they have already written to us not so long ago. You cannot expect them to notify us of every single occurrence. They are adults now, unlike little Vinicio, with their own busy lives to lead.”

Lysithea pouted, even though her dear husband was correct. Their two eldest children, who already graduated from Garreg Mach long ago, now possess some very important jobs. Iacchus, the oldest son and acting head of House Gloucester, handled the main manor while his parents enjoyed an idyllic stay in their country manor. Meanwhile, Evangeline, the Gloucesters’ only daughter, was one of the co-founders of a magical academy on the old border between Fodlan and Almyra. That role would’ve been impressive in its own right, but there was also the matter of a certain rumor floating around…

“I’m not as needy as you assume. I just wish to be kept abreast of Evangeline’s courtship with Darius. If they become wedded, then Claude and Byleth will join our family in an official capacity.”

“Does that prospect scare you?” Lorenz smiled through a sip of his teacup.

“I’m not afraid.” Lysithea huffed. “But I should be asking you the same question.”

Lorenz placed a hand on his heart in fake offense. “You wound me! Just because Claude and I are friendly rivals doesn’t mean I would object to becoming kin with him! Besides, Evangeline is the more important issue here. If Darius can make our dear daughter happy, then the two of them can have our blessings.”

Lysithea nodded in agreement, but as overjoyed as she was about their daughter’s romantic pursuits, they brought to mind a set of fears she thought she would never have: the fear of growing old. With courtship came marriage, and with marriage came children, which meant... Lysithea might become a grandmother in the near future.

Her, a grandmother! Lysithea didn’t even think she would live long enough to have kids, much less grandkids. And now here she was, faced with that very real possibility. Such a thought sent a shiver down her spine, a feeling that did not escape Lorenz’s notice.

“Lysithea, my love?” He piped up. “Are you feeling alright?”

“I’m… fine.” She managed to say. “I was just thinking about Evangeline and Darius, if they were to have children. That would make us a pair of grandparents, and very old.”

“We are not that old.” Lorenz refuted. “And you still look as lovely as ever.”

“Thank you, dear, but I wasn’t concerned about my aging.” Lysithea smiled faintly. “As odd as it may sound, I’m actually excited about all of this. I never entertained fantasies like watching our children grow up and welcoming new members to our family before. I thought I was going to die young and all alone.

“But look at me now. Look at us. I’m alive and in good health. I even hear wedding bells for our daughter on the horizon. And it’s all thanks to you.”

Her eyes started to well up as she spoke. She didn’t mean to get sentimental during what was supposed to be an ordinary breakfast, but thinking about her family made her heart swell with pride. She really was grateful to be here, surrounded by friends and one doting husband, and nothing she could say could truly express her happiness.

Yet Lorenz understood her perfectly, and went to her side to hold her hand. “It’s also all because of you. You persevered for so long, opened your heart to us, and allowed us to help you remove your Crests. If you are blessed to have such a wonderful family, then I am blessed to have such a strong and magnificent wife.”

Lorenz leaned in closer. Sensing what he was about to do, Lysithea closed the gap between them and planted a kiss on his lips.

“I love you, my dear.” She gasped out. “Let us grow old together.”

“Yes. Let’s.” Lorenz murmured back. “But let’s also take our time with it, shall we? We still have plenty of years ahead of us yet.”

[navigatrixnarrations]

Sometimes Always Part 4: Thieving Magpie

Warnings: canon-typical violence and profanity; teenage Vane being a little creep; sailing jargon

Catch up on Parts 1-3 here.

“Are you working tonight? Or prizefighting?” Margaret asks Vane by way of greeting as she lays two parcels on the table in front of him, one containing their breakfast and the other containing a fine pair of pistols, used but well-cared for.

“No.”

“I have a meeting with a smuggler boss. He used to be a privateer” -- she sneers as she says the word -- “and I’d appreciate it if you’d join me and watch my back. He intends to fuck me, in all senses of the word.” Margaret’s face is a mask of disgust. “He won’t succeed in any way, but he’s going to make his best effort. The pistols are for you.”

Had this been Nassau, where Charles Vane of the Ranger is famed and feared, he’d have made it known that he would take it personally if anyone was to bother her. If only Margaret had seen him there in his glory, though he realizes the impossibility of the wish: she left Nassau because he forced her to. What would have been, if he’d seen the truth of the situation with Eleanor, if he’d told Margaret how he felt about her, if he hadn’t driven her away? If she’d chosen him over Sully? But here they are, and the past can’t be changed, and Vane has to admit there’s a sort of poetic justice in his current situation, in being wanted and on the run, unable to use his own name and pretending to be Margaret’s hired muscle.

At the rough tavern beside the shipyard, Vane walks directly behind Margaret and stares down anyone who dares comment on her presence, letting the grip of one of the pistols barely peek out from beneath his coat. He takes an immediate dislike to Margaret’s contact, a Mr. Ballard, a ridiculous puffed-up peacock of a man with soft hands and a haughty air. Though she takes a seat across from Ballard, Vane opts to remain standing, so that he’s always in Ballard’s line of sight.

Even though she’s in a dress with her hair pinned up, what Vane has come to think of as her proper lady disguise, Margaret manages to look piratical with her deadpan expression and alert eyes and the lamplight glinting off the silver rings in her ears and brass buttons of her sea coat.

Ballard’s bloodshot eyes flicker from Maragaret to Vane and back. “I see the Adventure is registered to a M. Sullivan.”

Margaret’s face is mildly amused. “Correct. I’m Margaret Sullivan.”

“How did a woman --”

She cuts Ballard off. “With difficulty.”

“And why would you be seeking two long nines, Miss Sullivan?”

“Mrs. Not Miss.”

“Very well, then, why would you be seeking two long nines, Mrs. Sullivan?”

Margaret spreads her hands in a broad gesture. “It’s a dangerous life at sea, Mr. Ballard, full of smugglers and pirates and all manner of cutthroats. The Adventure needs to be able to defend herself.” Vane quickly hides his smirk by lighting a cigar using the candle on the table..

“Surely, Mrs. Sullivan, you know such cannons command a premium.”

Margaret frowns slightly at the rather inflated price Ballard names. She begins to rise from her chair. “I regret that we’ve wasted one another’s time, Mr. Ballard.”

“Just so you’re aware, I used to sail with William Kidd. You should always know who you’re doing business with, Mrs. Sullivan.” Smug bastard. Vane wants to punch the self-satisfied leer off his pompous face.

Margaret regards Ballard dispassionately. “In that case, I propose we race for this deal. Skiffs. Shipyard to Red Hook and back, through Buttermilk Channel both ways.”

“Mrs. Sullivan, I realize you’re fairly new to the area, so I must warn you that the currents in Buttermilk Channel are --”

“An opportunity to demonstrate skill,” she finishes for him, voice calm.

Vane turns his head so Ballard won’t see him barely suppress a seawolf’s smile. Margaret used to make extra spending money by racing skiffs in Nassau Harbour against newly-arrived sailors. Getting beaten by Margaret Teach was something of a rite of passage for would-be pirates.

“You’re challenging me to race your, ah,” Ballard’s eyes slide over to Vane, who blows a perfect smoke ring and otherwise keeps his face stoic, “associate?”

“No.” Margaret leans in slightly. “I’m challenging you to race me.”

“And what are your terms?”

“If you win, I’ll pay your asking price plus an additional ten guineas. If I win, you give me the two guns. For free.”

Vane sees the man’s greed and pride plain on his face; he’ll take pleasure in watching Ballard lose. They troop down the pier to a pair of skiffs. Margaret and Ballard each row to the middle of the river and raise their sails. One of Ballard’s men fires a powder charge from a pistol to mark the start, and they’re off. Vane can imagine the keen, hungry look on Margaret’s face, one he’s seen so many times when in pursuit of a prize. Crouched low with one hand on the lines and the other on the tiller, she heels the little skiff as hard as she can without capsizing it to pick up speed, maneuvering so that she’s on a beam reach with the sail halfway out. Ballard is far more cautious; he leans his skiff far less, and more than once he eases the sheets for a smoother ride.

Vane leans on the railing of the pier, watching and smoking as Margaret rounds the northern tip of Nutten Island into Buttermilk Channel and her sail goes out of sight. The winter constellations wheel overhead in a suddenly clear sky; the wind is shifting. Between the changeable gusts, the currents in this tidal strait, and the cold, he almost pities Ballard. He doesn’t trust the bastard not to try to pull some dirty trick out on the water, and he wishes he had a spyglass. It’s not long before Margaret is back in sight on the return, beating to windward in a series of quick tacks and trailed at some distance by Ballard whose tacks are not nearly so precise and whose sail he allows to luff too soon. Margaret has docked and is back on the pier by the time Ballard starts rowing back in. She heads directly to Vane, her eyes shining and the grimness temporarily gone from her face, and the knot in his chest eases, the weight in the pit of his stomach lessens. He takes his position at her back as Ballard walks up, winded from his exertions.

“Where did you learn to sail like that?”

“My father taught me.” Margaret’s gaze is direct, and Vane thinks the man finally shows enough sense to look abashed. “I trust that you’ll uphold your end of our bargain post-haste.”

“Just so you’re aware,” Vane growls over her shoulder, “her maiden name was Teach.” He watches recognition of the name -- and fear of it -- dawn in the man’s eyes. Good. “You should always know who you’re doing business with, Mr. Ballard.”

He wonders briefly if Margaret will be angry at him for intervening, but no. She looks back at him and grins triumphantly. Ballard all but stammers out orders to his men to move the guns to the Adventure immediately, then takes his leave.

Margaret and Vane stand side by side at the dry dock, watching Ballard’s men hoist the two cannons aboard.

“Bow chaser and stern chaser?” Vane asks. That’s what he would do with the new guns. For pirates and smugglers, it’s crucial to be able to slow down an enemy ship when the Adventure's small broadside can’t be brought to bear.

Margaret nods. “Just so.” After the race, she is almost lighthearted for the first time since they’ve been reunited, a spring back in her step and the strain around her eyes and mouth relaxed. “The old girl might not be in dry dock now if she’d had them when I was fetching you.”

“Or if you hadn’t fetched me.” He intends to sound jocular, but it comes out defensive.

She fixes him with a look that he can’t read. “Martyrs don’t have to answer for their deeds.” There is no venom in her voice. “And they are absolutely no fucking assistance at sailing.”

“We worked well together,” he offers, trying to ignore the sting of her words.

“We still do.” Is that a hint of wistfulness he detects? “Thank you for accompanying me tonight.”

“Always, Magpie.”

Margaret was surrounded by pirates from another crew, who were accusing her of stealing from them and shouting to “hold the bloody little bitch down.” She was fighting hard. Her shirt was torn, her cheek was gashed, and there was a wild terror in her eyes that he’d never seen there before, that he never wanted to see there again. She’d shot two of them and stabbed a third by the time Vane and Sully ran to her aid. Together, they dispatched three more. The remaining two, now that they were outnumbered, fled. He and Sully exchanged a dark look: we will make them pay for this. They walked her back to the Revenge camp, one on either side of her, then went on the hunt. They dragged the two who’d escaped back, and dropped their bloodied, barely-conscious bodies in the sand by the bonfire. Margaret hadn’t been nearly as grateful as they thought she’d have been. No, she was resentful about it. When asked what she wanted done with those last two attackers, she simply pulled a knife from her belt, slit their throats, then stalked off. Vane found her sitting a ways down the beach, elbows on her knees, blood-splattered, staring out to sea.

He sat beside her. “It bothers you that it bothers you. Them coming after you as they did. Needing help.”

She looked startled that he understood. “Yes.” She bit her lower lip, thinking, and finally said “Thank you for helping me tonight.”

“Always, Magpie.”

And then he was drawing her closer and her hands were tangling in his hair and his lips were on hers and he wasn’t sure whether it was her pulse he felt throbbing or his own. Strange that she should have begun to tremble then, once the danger had passed and she was safe in his arms.

Later, Sully told Vane that those shits weren’t entirely wrong about her, and Vane was going to fight him for insulting her, until Sully explained that their thieving Magpie had stolen them both and didn’t even seem to realize what she’d done.

Did she edge nearer? She edged nearer. He realizes that they’ve been looking into each other’s eyes without speaking for a long moment, and he’s about gathered the nerve to put his arms ‘round her when she shakes her head as if clearing it of whatever thoughts she’s having. She waves a hand at the Adventure.

“Our names will be on the manifest as Margaret and Charles Sullivan to get out of port.” At Vane’s raised brow she adds “As you pointed out, you can’t very well use your own name. I’m sure Sully would have found this hilarious.”

“Did you call him Sully while you were married to him?”

Margaret snorts.“Of course I did. He hated being called Michael.”

“Not as much as he hated being called Mick.”

The corners of Margaret’s lips turn up slightly as she reminisces. “That’s what I’d call him when I wanted to annoy him.” The way her face softens when she thinks of Sully, Vane thinks he’d been right to stand aside; no reason at all to think of the many times she gave him a similarly gentle smile.

“The only time I called him Mick, he called me Charlie-Boy and we ended up brawling. I don’t even remember who threw the first punch. You dumped a bucket of water on us and told us to stop being fucking idiots. You looked about to spit nails.”

Margaret tilts her head up and shrugs. “Fucking idiots or not, I didn’t want the two people I loved most to fight each other.”

The two people she loved most. Yes, there’s that gentle smile again.

They begin the walk back to Thieves’ Alley just as a snow squall blows in off the harbor.

“It’s pretty,” she sighs, “even if it delays us being able to get the hell out of here.” Repairs to the Adventure had come to a halt on account of the weather. She glances sidelong at him. “It’s crossed my mind that you might try to take my ship and leave without me.”

Vane winces. He can’t blame her for being gun-shy, but he feels gut-punched nonetheless. “I wouldn’t do that, Magpie. Not to you.” He would not willingly lose her a second time. Surely she knows that.

“I want to believe you.” Her voice is soft and a little sad, her eyes large and serious.

He steps in front of her, facing her, hands on her shoulders, and forces his own voice to be steady. “Betraying you was the worst mistake of my life. I give you my word that the only way I’ll fuck off without you is if you tell me to.”

She responds by resting a hand on his chest, close to his fast-beating heart. “I’m trying to believe you, Charles,” she says heavily into the small space between them. “I don’t know if I can, but I’m trying.”

“That’s more than fair.” Magpie, sweetheart, it all went so wrong, he wants to tell her. I want to mend this broken thing but I don’t know how. But the words are blockaded by the lump in his throat.

She turns her head slightly, and he follows her gaze. The Puritans on the third floor are watching out the window, pinch-faced and disapproving. Margaret gives them a jaunty wave, bringing forth a chuckle from Vane. Funny how she still has that ability, even when his heart feels like grapeshot and his stomach like ballast.

“I’m sure we’ll be waylaid with a speech about hellfire the next time either of us takes the stairs, but at least neither of us are going through life with mouths pursed like a cat’s arsehole,” he tells her. “Rooftop?”

They pick their way across the slippery roofs, past chimneys and over gables to their garrett, Margaret with her skirts hiked up, blithely ignoring the hand that Vane holds out to assist her. He opens the shutters and swings his way inside; she follows, this time taking Vane’s offered hand. She holds it a moment longer, perhaps, than necessary.

“The only invention worse than a dress,” she informs him as she yanks out the pins holding up her hair, “are stays. I don’t know how civilized women tolerate these things every day.”

He bites back the urge to offer to help her out of it and do some uncivilized things with her. Instead, he sets about building up the fire while she goes to change into trousers. He dares not even cast a glance at the shut door to her room; bad enough that she’d given him a wry half-grin at his widening eyes when she hiked up her skirts to scale a drainpipe.

He shouldn’t have been watching her. The gap between the boards in the bulkhead wall of her small cabin, where she moved when Teach decided she had become too much of a temptation to the men, was just wide enough for him to see through, and he told himself he was keeping watch so that none of the crew would see what he was seeing. She was bathing herself as best as she could on the ship, with a cloth and a basin of seawater, and he couldn’t pry his eyes away as she stretched a wiry arm overhead, the muscles of her back stretching and flexing, to wash her underarm. Life at sea is one of physical labor, and her body was sleekly muscled, feminine as a lioness. He longed to run his hands over the hard sinews and soft curves of her, the swell of her hips and the hollow of her waist. She turned to wash under her other arm, and the lantern light caught her sweet, round breasts. It was slightly chilly, and her nipples, dear god, her nipples, were hard. By this time, he’d been to the brothel numerous times with the men, who decided he was due. Yet somehow the effect she had on him was entirely different than anything he ever experienced there. She wasn’t performing; she wasn’t seducing.

He knew he shouldn’t have been watching her, but he wanted to delight her. He wanted to take those delicious peaks in his palms and his mouth then move lower, run his fingers and tongue across the bullet scars on her ribcage from where she saved his life, then lower still, through that cloud of curls at her cleft. He found himself wondering how she would taste, what noises she would make, what kind of touch would make her melt. He knew she was still a maiden, that nobody had ever touched her there... He inhaled sharply at the thought and she must have heard him because she tensed and grabbed a knife as she checked that the door was bolted. The image of her naked body coiling in preparation to fight seared itself into his memory, replayed countless times in the intervening years. He willed himself to be silent and after a moment she seemed to decide it was a false alarm. She pulled on a clean shirt and breeches then sat down on one hip, legs curled to the side, and unplaited her hair to comb it. He thought she looked like a mermaid luring sailors to their doom, and he’d have gladly drowned if she beckoned him. The next day while she was working abovedecks, he caulked the gap in the boards.

Tag list: @whenimaunicorn, @n3rdybird

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

Hey, could you do a hawkeye pierce nsfw alphabet with the whole alphabet please. Thank you.

A/N: I’ve been away from the Discord for a while, so I’m not sure what the general consensus is.  But, these are my headcanons, so tough!

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

He’s making some kind of joke.  Granted, he’s been making some kind of joke all night.  But, if things got a little too serious, he’ll crack one now.  He’ll make sure you’ve got water and have cleaned up enough to go back to your place if that’s what you want to do.  If you want to stick around? He’ll pull you in, nuzzling your neck until one of you falls asleep.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

As the man has stated, he’s more of a fanny man himself.  He hates to see the leave, but he loves watching them go.

For himself, he’s always been proud of his hands.  Call it a professional appreciation, but he takes care of them.  They’ve done a lot for him over the years.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He’ll only cum inside you if you have a condom, no if ands or buts.  He doesn’t care if you’re on the pill, he’s not risking it.  Also, for as much as he appreciates your “assets” he’s much more likely to cum on your stomach.  As he explains it, “why sully a piece of art”.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Your shampoo drives him crazy.  He can’t explain it. It’s the same one everyone else uses, but something about it mixed with your hair leaves him reeling.  He had to jack one out after catching a whiff of it not long after meeting you.  He’s not proud of it.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

We all know Hawkeye has a long list of one night stands under his belt.  So, needless to say the man knows what he’s doing.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

For all his talk, he actually likes missionary position.  It gives him a clear view of your face, making it easy for him to read your emotions as he tries to makes you laugh or smile.  It also gives him easy access to you lips, which he very much appreciates.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Sex is Hawkeye’s way to relaxing and getting his mind off all the bad things happening around him. He’s number one goal is to have a good time.  So, you bet your ass he’s making jokes and a running commentary every time you get down and dirty. If he isn’t? Well, that something is really wrong.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He’s not exactly working with precision razors here and for all his skill with a knife, he’s not risking it.  He keeps it clean, but is not about go about man-scaping any time soon.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

It all depends on the partner.  Most of the time it’s a one night stand, and while he can be a romantic if he wants to be, it’s mostly for fun.  So, being really intimate isn’t on his priority list.  But, if he’s really gotten involved with a person? It can be intense to the point he’s not even sure what’s going on.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He’s not opposed to jacking off, but just as a last resort.  He prides himself on being able to get a partner if he really needs to let off some steam, even wait for it.  But, every man has his breaking point.  He almost feels embaressed after, like he’s a teenager up in his room hoping his Dad doesn’t burst in at any moment.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

He does have a thing for high heels.  He’s got a particular fantasy of fucking you while you wear nothing but high heels.  They do amazing things for your legs, and even more to your ass.  How could he not?

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Anywhere he can have some privacy.  Seriously, at this point, he ain’t picky. 

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Hawkeye is ready to go at basically any moment the second you tell him you’re horny.  Assertiveness of any kind really can get him hot and bothered, whether it’s directed at him or someone else.

If he really likes you though, he can be one clingy bitch.  One time you had to leave for Tokyo for a week and when you got back, he couldn’t keep his hands off you, pulling you into every empty closet, bunk, and shower he could find.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He’s actually got a pretty low tolerance for pain, so anything like that isn’t really his thing.  He talks a big game, but it’s really just to tease Margaret.  Extensive pain has no place in his pleasure, as far as he’s concerned.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He prefers receiving rather than giving, but he’ll give if someone asks him to.  Granted, he’ll quickly move to just using his fingers.  He’s not going to shut up for anything.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Usually on the fast side; most of the time he’s not sure how long he has to enjoy the privacy before someone comes bursting in. He’s tries to to be rough while he does it though, just keeping a good, steady, quick beat. He really only goes slow and sensual when he’s with someone he really, really likes.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Quickies are what he’s good at.  He takes particular pride at once getting his partner off in less than five minutes. 

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Hawkeye is willing to try just about anything at least once, which is why he’s got a pretty extensive list of dos and don’ts under his belt.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He’s good for at least two fast rounds, or one really long one (if he has the time).

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Hawkeye doesn’t have any toys himself, but he’s willing to use any that you have.  Like I said, he’ll try anything once.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Yes, and he’s an asshole about it.  He really likes to tease you if you were being particularly mouthy with him in the O.R.  It’s his own form of petty revenge, but he knows you love it.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He never really gets lower than conversational tones, since, again, not much privacy.  That being said, he starts to talk more if that’s even possible, his words coming out in a string of consciousness.  It takes you kissing him to finally shut him up.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He’s not as kinky as he lets on.  He’s bluffing most of the time when he makes comments to the nurses and particularly Margaret.  It’s just his way of joking around, but when you get right down to it, he’s almost vanilla in his preferences.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

He’s a bit longer than average, but about average girth.  He takes some pride at this extra bit of length, but from his own experience, “it’s the motion of the ocean” that really counts.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

High.  I’d say his sex drive is pretty high.  I don’t think I need to explain myself here.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

It takes him a bit to calm down, actually.  Sometimes that means getting back to work after a quickie.  Sometimes that means just talking and joking with you for a while into the night.  Either way, you’re more likely to go to sleep before he does.

[divinewhimsy]

Ichor Pt 4 (DabixReader)

Because I apparently don’t know when to stop writing, this one is a tad longer than the others, I think. Who knows?

TW: Blood (mentions, mostly) Swearing

~~

Message me if you would like to be added to the tag list~!

TagList: @marydragneell​ @velvet-kissesss​

~~~

Part 3: X

Part 5: X

You’ve bitten off more than you can chew with this man. Why, of all people, did you have to save him? You’re regretting your kindness. 

“This is it, right?” he glances down at your scar. “The wound you fed me from.”

You don’t answer.

“Answer me.” he bares his teeth, an animalistic gesture that strikes fear into your bones. 

You nod. Tears are prickling at your eyes, threatening to spill over at any moment as he brings your wrist to his lips. His eyes never leave yours as he opens his mouth, maintaining eye contact as he swipes his tongue up the length of the scar. 

You shiver at the sensation and squeeze your eyes shut, the tears falling as a result. You want to beg. You want to plead. For your life, for him to stop- for anything to get him to let you go. But your pride is wrought iron and cemented down into your heart. You will not bow before this man. You will not break. 

“It doesn’t have to be blood but where’s the fun in getting it any other way?” he laughs darkly. “Or should we experiment, hm?” 

You snarl. 

“Ooh what a face! Crying your little heart out and still trying to kill me with a look!” he grabs a hold of your face with one hand, gripping your chin roughly. 

“You hate me so vehemently right now, don’t you?” he coos mockingly. “You wish you could have left me to die, don’t you? But you made a mistake and let a big, bad monster into your home. And now? Now I’m going to make you remember you decided to do this, princess.”

He releases you- completely- and you tumble backward. Away from him. He laughs as you clutch your arm to your chest. 

“Give me the goddamn blood packs.” he sighs and your brows furrow together. After all that he wanted to try it your way? After that fucking frightening speech? What was this? A joke?

He can read your face better than you know how to properly express it. 

“Just wanted to remind you who’s in charge here, doll face.” he simpers and extends a hand toward your face. You flinch away from him. “Try not to hate me too much for it.” 

You throw the blood packs down into his hand and stomp away from him. His laughter only makes you angrier as you grab your plate. You throw it into the sink and begin to wash the dishes as he sits back down to eat.

Or drink, you guess. Whatever. 

You take your anger out on the dishes. Scrubbing away at each and every piece that was sullied. Imagining every stain and all the baked on residue is his face and you’re scrubbing it away into nothingness. 

When the kitchen is clean, you’re still upset. You flip the clothes from the washer over to the dryer and slam the door shut. Once you’re sure it’s starting you stomp past Dabi- who’s lounging on the couch lazily flipping through the television channels. 

He’s still in that goddamn towel. You know he has nothing else to wear but the idea of him having gone through that stupid speech just to be half naked sets your fury ablaze. Not that you want him to have clothes at your place like some distraught couple living separately. You really, really don’t want that. Anything but that. 

But you’re kinder than you should be. Your mind whispers awful ideas about his life. As a villain, when is the last time he’d have clean clothes again? Did he have a home, a family? People who are worried about him? What if he looked so filthy was because he didn’t have anyone who cared enough about him to offer things like a shower or a drawer for clothes. The thought pulls at your heart strings and you cuss yourself out in your mind, hating what you’re going to do. 

You shove yourself into a pair of jeans and throw on a clean t-shirt. You tug shoes on your feet and grab your wallet, not nothing telling Dabi where you’re going. You do tell him you’ll be back later, though. And not to leave. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” he snorts from the couch. 

You wish he would. He would just disappear from your life and you wouldn’t have to worry about him. Wouldn’t think of him alone on the streets with dirty clothes and having to fight even just for a place to sleep. You’re sure villains have some kind of underground network that offers them places to sleep but knowing villains it wouldn’t come free. There would be a price. There always is. 

And the price of staying with you is significantly less. 

You know you’re too nice, too kind, too empathic for this world where people will always take advantage of that. Dabi is one of those people but how can you turn him away? Certainly not after he knows your name and where you live. Calling a hero wouldn’t do anything but signify you had to leave as soon as you could. Who’s to say Dabi wouldn’t track you down, either? No one can truly protect you if you decided to eat him out. 

Besides, you decided to do all of this. 

It was your decision to take him to your home. Your decision to heal him, to try and help. Whether or not he’s grateful for that isn’t part of your choice. It’s not why you do these things for people- hero and villain alike. Titles mean nothing but responsibility. And you’ve had more than your share of that in your years. 

As you scan through the rows of clothes hanging on racks, you can’t help but imagine what things Dabi would like. What would look best on him. 

He doesn’t deserve your kindness but that doesn’t mean he deserves to look awful. Even if you are the one buying him clothes. It’s hard not to picture him wearing specific colors or styles. You know what would look good on him.

He’s handsome, in a strange way. It’s definitely tied to the confidence he carries himself with. The way he acts like he doesn’t care about anything or anyone else but himself. He must have been drop dead gorgeous before his burns and piercings- but as you try to picture it you find you might prefer the burns. Not that you’ll ever tell him that, if course. He carries them with a sense of honor, although you wonder if he’s faking it. 

Asking what happened is out of the question. The man already threatened to kill you and here you were buying him clothes he won’t appreciate so he doesn’t have to bum around in more than the same stupid outfit or just a goddamn towel. Your entire paycheck is disappearing with every article of clothing you think will fit him. Besides, it’s not like you know how long he’s going to be there. His quirk disappearing is a situation you’ve never dealt with before. 

It could be weeks or months, gods forbid. Another mouth to feed and clean and house. The thought of it exhausts your bank account more than you’ll ever fully realize. Sure, your job pays reasonably well and you've taken a couple courses in medical school but you were on a break from that right now. You could pick up more hours at work, of course. There’s bound to be someone who wants to work a little less. But what if someone tries to visit you when Dabi’s there? If he’s not quiet then it’ll only make him staying there more obvious. 

You groan inwardly and glance down at your now filled cart. You’ve got more than enough for him to last for at least a week without having to do laundry. Although you were increasingly enraged when you flipped the laundry you were thankful you still checked the sizes he had been wearing. You could have guessed but at the end of the day you wouldn’t have been satisfied with that. And it’s not like you could drag him along with you to try things on. Even if you could, would he even bother coming along? You need to remind yourself this is Dabi you’re dealing with. 

You know next to nothing about him save for what you can gather from news reports on him. You know his quirk is gone, too. Now you know what size clothing he wears- roughly. You forgot to look at his shoe size. Dammit. 

His boots are still in the closet by the front door, thrown in there in your hurry to hide all evidence that you’re housing a villain. Well, sort of. It’s complicated. 

Does he need socks? Was he even wearing any socks when you first dragged him to your house? Every memory you pull from that night not too long ago can’t show you his feet. How often are you even supposed to look at someone's feet? Are you supposed to look at their feet?

As you cash your items out and make your way back home, your anger burns into nothing but fumes. Rolling steam off of a warm spring. Barely even there. 

Well, it was. Until you opened the door. 

The sight of Dabi gorging himself on your favorite ice cream brings the rage back.

He turns his gaze to the door as you slam the door shut behind you and drop the bags in front of him. Licking at the spoon in his hand while balancing the carton of ice cream in the other, he flickers his gaze down curiously. The t.v continues on in the background. You watch for a couple of seconds and recognize it as some dark and edgy movie about vampires and werewolves that was made more than ten years ago. ‘Under’ something or whatever. You don’t really care as you focus your attention back on Dabi.

He’s sifting through the bags, having abandoned the ice cream carton now beside him. The spoon is still clamped between his lips as he leans down to pull out a shirt. He studies it for a solid minute before his brows furrow on his face, a slight twitch to them. When he finally tears his gaze from the garment and back to you, all you can think of is how wonderful it’ll be to live alone again. 

“Are these for me?” he asks around the spoon in his mouth. 

“No, they’re for the other dumbass villain I’m stuck with.” you scoff and stomp toward your room. 

“Aw do you not like me in the towel, doll?” he calls down the hall with a laugh. “I can take it off, if you want.”

“You can shove it up your ass for all I care!” you snap back and slam your room door shut. 

Of course he ate your ice cream. Of course. 

But it’s okay. It’s fine. Everything is fine. One hundred and ninety nine percent fine. There’s absolutely no reason to be upset right now. It’s just ice cream. It’s just an ungrateful, unruly and disastrous asshole you’re stuck with who threatened to kill you not even four hours ago. That’s all.

You fall face first onto your bed, groaning loudly into your pillow. The memory of his threat is still fresh as sin on your mind. A reminder. He’s not just some idiot you have in your house. He’s an actual terrifying, cold blooded murder who’s hurt people for less. There isn’t anything about him that you shouldn’t fear. 

If anything you’re the idiot for bringing him here. 

It’s times like this you wish you had a different quirk or no quirk at all. It would have saved you from this situation, at least. Or maybe it isn’t your quirk that's the problem, it’s you. Tender hearted and kind. Empathic. 

More like pathetic. 

You sigh and turn your face over to stare at the empty wall beside your bed. You hanged lights there at some point in time but you never used them. Not when the overhead light is brighter and more useful. But looking at them now makes you miss the magic they bring when they’re on. There’s an untraceable emotion that bubbles through your veins as you look at the gleaming lights. 

You shuffle to turn them on and stand to turn your overhead light off. You stare at the bright rainbow bulbs glittering around your bed and smile. It may be dumb or stupid or whatever but you like them. And that’s all that matters. 

You wonder if Dabi drank the blood you gave him earlier. Would he have said anything if he noticed a difference? You hadn’t felt any tug on the thread that connects you two and there aren’t any new ones to mention. But you swear the pulsing light from it is brighter than before. 

Should you have mentioned the pulsing light to him earlier? Not that it’s significant. But it’s certainly there. There’s no doubting it. Can he even see the thread connecting you two? Is it specific to you and your quirk? Or does it work on both ends?

You have so many questions but you know he won’t bother answering them. It’s not useful to him. The only thing he cares about is getting his quirk back. That’s the only reason he’s here. Once he gets it back he’ll be gone and out of your hair, regardless of the rarity this situation has. Having this kind of connection with someone with your quirk is complete unexplored territory. The breakthroughs you could have if he let you study it beyond just trying to get his quirk back would be phenomenal! Scientifically speaking this is completely foreign ground. Quirks like yours are unheard of. 

Any form of healing is beyond the norm. Using your own body for it? Even more so. Some have had similar types of quirks- like Recovery Girl. But her quirk focuses on what the patient's body can handle. Your quirk has no such focus. No boundaries as far as you know. Limitless and unknown, a mystery waiting to be solved. It burns you not to know every second of every moment that he’s feeling or going through right now. To be able to document the information would be exhilarating. 

If only he cared enough to let you. If it were anyone else but him, you would ask. But you’ve provoked that bear one too many times today and it’s best if you stay out of his way for the foreseeable future. 

Except he won’t let you. As you hear your door open you turn to glare at Dabi. He’s still in that goddamn towel. At least he has the decency not to bring your ice cream here to eat it in front of you. What he is holding, however, isn’t easily seen through the low light in the room. The rainbow sheen across him is almost laughable but you’re too angry to even crack a smile. 

You blink at him before turning your gaze back to the lights, trying to keep a hold on the good mood they provide. Maybe if you focus on the colors it’ll settle your nerves enough for you to speak without screaming at Dabi. 

Maybe.

You hear the footsteps of Dabi walking toward your bedside but you don’t turn toward him. You keep your gaze on the lights, trying to lose yourself in the flashing hues. Ignoring him seems to be the only way to keep your calm. 

“You stormed off so quickly I didn’t even get the chance to tell you about your delicious little vampire snack packs.” he muses with a little too much amusement. You’re not taking the bait.

“If I didn’t know any better I’d guess you don’t want to talk to me.” he tries again and waltzes over to your desk, pulling the chair out and turning it around. 

You see him straddle it out of the corner of your eye. It’s a casual movement- or it would be if he was in anything else but a stupid, useless, indecent towel. You pointedly ignore him even as he rests his chin against the back of the chair and looks down at you. 

His quiet laugh is the only noise that lets you know he’s staring at you intently. Beyond the feeling of holes burning into your face from his cerulean eyes. He takes a deep breath and sighs loudly. 

“The blood didn’t do anything important on this end.” he announces. “In case you were wondering.”

You don’t answer. 

“Tasted a bit weird, if I’m being honest. But let’s be real here, would you be able to tell if I wasn’t?” 

You blink.

“Jokes aside, though.” he sighs, “Anything different on your end for your quirk?”

“Are you honestly trying to talk to me about this right now?” you snap and sit up. “Take the hint and leave.”

“No.” he shrugs. “I’m not trying to talk to you about this. I am talking to you about this. I want my quirk back.”

Your heart is fluttering in your chest with fear and rage. You want to hurt him. You want to scream and run and fight and burn the world to the ground. Starting with him. You can feel your skin ignite with heat and you bite the inside of your cheek to keep from grinding your teeth. 

“No changes, asshat.” you growl and flop back down on your bed. “Now buzz off. I have work tomorrow.”

To your surprise, he listens. Mostly. 

He leaves the chair beside your bed and the door open but he does leave. 

“Asshole.” you breathe and slam your door shut. 

**

Work is as boring as ever. Schedule where blood goes, filter and document the various tests asked of you. File paperwork. Sit at the front desk. Wait for an order. Wash, rinse, repeat. It’s easy. You used to be able to do your homework while you worked but now that you’ve taken a break from school you’re left with nothing to occupy the free time you find yourself having. So you focus on the thread connecting you to Dabi. You try and send things through it, treating it like a sort of bond. Maybe if you willed his quirk back it would go away. Maybe he would go away.

He didn’t even wake up when you left this morning. You left a note on the coffee table for him. You had been tempted to staple it to his stupid forehead but the lack of a staple that would hurt enough to stick it to him stopped that idea. Unfortunately. 

All the research in the world wouldn’t be able to help you, either. You tried to research what happened when people lost their quirks, if it was even something anyone documented. There were a few stories of it disappearing in families only to pop up generations later. Even fewer with those who claimed to have lost their quirk. Most of the causes were bodily harm. Specific quirks that required a part of the body to work being destroyed. Nothing like the situation you had. 

Still. It brings Dabi’s words back to your mind. Maybe the blood from the bags didn’t work because they weren’t directly from you. Sure, in a way they are but not the way he got your blood to begin with. He might be onto something with needing the same process to set things back to how they should be. Are you going to tell him that, though? 

No.

You’ll never admit you agree with him. Not after yesterday. 

You sigh and glance back at your wrist, the scar throbbing in response as if it’s acknowledging you. As if it knows. Would it be worth it to let him drink directly from you? 

You could try something else. Giving him a piece of your hair or an eyelash or something. Your spit might work- but there was no way you were going to get him to agree to that. Sure, you produce other secretions but the thought of any of them making contact with another human’s digestive system is sickening. Then again, it’s pretty weird your blood is what helps others the best. You’re a vampire's dream come true. 

Could Dabi have turned into a very specific vampire? Maybe he got a vampire quirk in place of his fire one? You turn back to your computer and start typing away at it, documenting the various kinds of vampires and the details you know from your bond with Dabi. Through blood, anything is pretty much possible one way or another. 

After twenty minutes you know it’s a ridiculous theory but you can’t bear to delete the document from your computer. Crazy as it might sound there are types of vampirism quirks out there. Somewhere. 

There has to be. But how would your quirk replace his? Is there any other way to go about such a thing? Or a way to reverse it?

Your head hurts as you try and stop thinking about it. Thank goodness work is over with. Finally it’s time to be released from the windowless office and go home back to the reason for your headache. 

It’s windy and cold as you step out onto the street. The unpredictable autumn weather draws you to tuck your chin to your chest. You should have brought a warmer coat. The only sound is the shuffle of your feet and the sweeping wind playing among the litter and leaves of the street. 

Too bad it gets so dark so early. You’d like to enjoy some time in the sun before you shut yourself in for the night. But every moment you’re not home is another minute Dabi gets to snoop around your room. Who knows what he’s looking at now? 

You decide to buy a new doorknob for your room. With a lock. Making a note to stop by sometime tomorrow you pass by the store. 

Sure you could rush home now but if you have Dabi more time tomorrow to snoop than you’d only regret it later. Turning back toward the department store you sigh. A few moments today save you the trouble for tomorrow. 

It's only when you exit the store that you notice the couple waiting outside. You’re not sure if they were there beforehand but as you watch them watching you now your gut tells you they must have been. But why? 

The woman- who looks barely older than seventeen- has blonde hair tied into two messy buns at the side of her head. Her golden eyes are locked on you, a blush on her face from the cold wind. She waves you over excitedly and you pause. 

You have no idea who she is. And the man next to her with the mutant lizard quirk, doesn’t look like anyone you know either. He casts a weary glance at his female counterpart and rolls his eyes before looking away. His purple hair is whipping in the harsh wind and now that you examine him you recognize you have seen these people before. 

They’re from the League of Villains. 

Spinner and Toga, if you remembered correctly. They had almost been apprehended by AllMight when he fought that weird villain with the black helmet and lack of a face. 

Chills that aren’t from the wind run down your spine and you take a step backward. Why were they here now? Did they know about Dabi and where he is? Had he contacted them? 

Toga giggles at your retreat and you groan inwardly. Of course he would use these punks to threaten you. Just a reminder of who it is exactly waiting for you at your house. 

You turn from them and start walking home, knowing it’s useless to argue or run. The following footsteps that echo your own solidifies your suspicions. 

With a great amount of dread in your heart you lead them to where you live, knowing that your life of normalcy and staying hidden is no longer obtainable. 

[daleisgreat]

Trauma Center

Last Christmas my mom continued her tradition of buying me a random bargain bin DVD for a stocking stuffer. I requested we discontinue this tradition as I have been slimming down my DVD/BluRay collection the past several years, and have traded in roughly a third of my movies, and buy far less than what I use to. I guess my mom could not break from tradition and thus we have today’s entry for 2019’s Trauma Center (trailer). Usually my mom’s hit-to-miss ratio is pretty solid on gifting me a film I have not seen yet and wound up loving with past examples like Sour Grapes, Alpha Dog, Blues Brothers and Trading Places. Trauma Center is a straight-to-video action movie one would find on the old “Movies for Guys Who Like Movies” pick of the night on TBS. It does have star power in the form of Bruce Willis as police detective Steve Wakes. Willis has been doing more straight-to-video efforts in recent years in other decent action films like Hard Kill and 10 Minutes Gone. It must be working out for him better than his theatrical efforts because I have no idea why he keeps up with these type of films. Digression aside, turns out Steve’s cover for his CI was tracked by a pair of corrupt cops, Tull (Texas Battle) & Pierce (Tito Ortiz).

Tull & Pierce take out the CI, but also injure innocent bystander waitress Madison (Nicky Whelan). They track her down to the hospital and discover the supposed secure room on a vacant floor Wakes sets up for her. What happens next is a game of cat-and-mouse with Madison doing her best to stay one move ahead and hold off the bad cops while Wakes pieces the clues together and attempts to assist Madison. Watching Madison adapt to her surroundings to fend off Tull & Pierce was actually entertaining, despite some too convenient camerawork at times that made it appear an injured Madison could pull off miraculous feats of strength. Tito Ortiz is a trip as the “bad cop” of the duo, and his overacting is probably the highlight of the film as he stalks and tortures Madison. Rest assured, he gets his well-earned comeuppance. Bruce Willis is as subdued in here as he was recently in his role in Glass. I am having difficulty determining if that is what he was shooting for, or if he was just going through the motions in this straight-to-video affair. If you are going into this thinking this is a Bruce Willis-lead action blockbuster, then you will be disappointed because this is a vehicle for Whelan’s survive-at-all-costs performance. Willis’s character is in the supporting role mostly doing background detective work until the final scenes. Whelan is pretty convincing in her effort at barely managing to stay alive, and the final act is fairly entertaining when all four figures have their respective standoffs.

Unsurprisingly, there are no bonus features on this DVD, not even a trailer! Regardless of that, I do not want to mislead you dear reader that I am praising the movie. I have seen a lot of straight-to-video action films, and this one is maybe a notch or two above average, but is by no means rush-out-and-see blockbuster. That is on the straight-to-video curve as well! The performances they got out of the cast seems about as good as it could get, and there are even a couple genuine moments I was kind of invested into Madison fending for herself. That said this film will not blow you away, but if you run across it on cable/streaming or the bargain bins, than it is an ideal movie to have on in the background with the occasional scene that will divert your attention. Factoring in all this curved grading, and I will chalk this one up as a semi-win for my mom’s annual random Christmas DVD! Other Random Backlog Movie Blogs 3 12 Angry Men (1957) 12 Rounds 3: Lockdown 21 Jump Street The Accountant Angry Video Game Nerd: The Movie Atari: Game Over The Avengers: Age of Ultron The Avengers: Endgame The Avengers: Infinity War Batman: The Dark Knight Rises Batman: The Killing Joke Batman: Mask of the Phantasm Batman V Superman: Dawn of Justice Bounty Hunters Cabin in the Woods Captain America: Civil War Captain America: The First Avenger Captain America: The Winter Soldier Christmas Eve The Clapper Clash of the Titans (1981) Clint Eastwood 11-pack Special The Condemned 2 Countdown Creed I & II Deck the Halls Detroit Rock City Die Hard Dredd The Eliminators The Equalizer Dirty Work Faster Fast and Furious I-VIII Field of Dreams Fight Club The Fighter For Love of the Game Good Will Hunting Gravity Grunt: The Wrestling Movie Guardians of the Galaxy Guardians of the Galaxy Vol 2 Hell Comes to Frogtown Hercules: Reborn Hitman I Like to Hurt People Indiana Jones 1-4 Ink The Interrogation Interstellar Jay and Silent Bob Reboot Jobs Joy Ride 1-3 Justice League (2017 Whedon Cut) Last Action Hero Major League Man of Steel Man on the Moon Man vs Snake Marine 3-6 Merry Friggin Christmas Metallica: Some Kind of Monster Mortal Kombat Mortal Kombat Legends: Scorpions Revenge National Treasure National Treasure: Book of Secrets Nintendo Quest Not for Resale Payback (Director’s Cut) Pulp Fiction The Punisher (1989) The Ref The Replacements Reservoir Dogs Rocky I-VIII Running Films Part 1 Running Films Part 2 San Andreas ScoobyDoo Wrestlemania Mystery Scott Pilgrim vs the World The Secret Life of Walter Mitty Shoot em Up Slacker Skyscraper Small Town Santa Steve Jobs Source Code Star Trek I-XIII Sully Take Me Home Tonight TMNT The Tooth Fairy 1 & 2 UHF Veronica Mars Vision Quest The War Wild The Wizard Wonder Woman The Wrestler (2008) X-Men: Apocalypse X-Men: Days of Future Past