#things with tripwire

[breakingdownsomebarriers]

Been a hot minute since I’ve been on here, but I scribbled these down and figured I’d share! This is my first fully-formed clone squad known as Shatter Squad. The Shatter Squad is within the 501st, if that wasn't clear by the color. Some of those in the squad are transfers, such as Bonesaw and the twins (Tripwire and Deadbeat), while the others were put into the squad from the get-go. Some of these designs aren't exactly all in the same timeframe during their story. For example, Trip's design is actually a future version of him, while the others are mostly when the squad was freshly put together. Confusing? Yeah. I'm just a tad lazy and didn't want to change it lol I have some basic info down below of some of the members, if you want to have a read. If not, I hope you liked the doodles!

Coil is the leader of the squad, but I haven't decided on a rank for him yet. He's a pretty serious guy most of the time. On the rare occasion that they have extended downtime or go to 79's, he's much more loose and open to jokes. He got his name when someone from his batch complained about him being "tightly wound like a coil". It stuck. Bonesaw is a medic, and a damn good one at that. He is actually pretty snarky, sarcastic, and so, so very smug. When he's actually peeved at someone though he has a great resting bitch face. He enjoys verbally tearing into someone if they've done something stupid and got injured for it. A nat-born medic called him Bonesaw once because of his very good ability to verbally maul someone. Kept the name because he thought it was badass. Tripwire is the team's trap-setter and infiltration-leader. Very efficient in his work- super thorough and good at shifting plans on the fly. His name was originally Livewire, but it ended up shifting to Tripwire because he is prone to being "tripped" when someone hits a nerve. He's Deadbeat's twin (they were made in the same decanting chamber). (Bit of a note here regarding his future stuff. His eye is made out of recycled assassin droid parts and both of his forearms have been replaced with prostheses. I won't get into spoiler lore because...that'd be no fun. I'll write it out eventually but until then, my lips are sealed.) Deadbeat is the team's heavy weapons guy, with the Z-6 rotary blaster cannon being his firearm of choice. The poor guy can't stand shinies: they ask him too many questions, and he hates how arrogant most of them end up being. His name was given to him as a joke, and he was too indifferent towards it to look for a replacement.

Flint is the team's electronics expert. Absolutely a prodigy when it comes to tech and loves to tinker whenever he can. His name comes from his ability to go from kind and soft to prickly and sharp. Most of the time he's pretty passive and complacent, but if he's worn down enough he'll make jabs at pretty much anyone. He can only take so much shit from people before he'll throw self restraint out the window and fire back. Oh, and he's also an ARC trooper- so there's that.

Bombshell is the final member of the team, and is the explosives expert (note, he does already have a post of his own, so you can go and check that out if you want). Anyway, he's blue-yellow colorblind and this has led to a few funny moments during his time as a shiny. He got his name when Bonesaw made a comment that he was practically a factory with the amount of bombshells he kept dropping on the team. He liked the word, so he took it and kept it as his name.

[nyan-bynary]

Season 5 is so fun bc house is the most autisticest gremlin on this god's green earth and then FINALLY cuddy has decided she wants to meet him at his level, unleashing the second most chaotic being that poor hospital's ever seen

[thesaintelectric]

the purge is such a goofy concept its a shame the movies insist on 'saying something' in the blandest way imaginable. there should be a purge movie where they steal a ton of equipment and supplies from a pharma company to mass produce insulin while fighting off the bloodthirsty security with goofy non-lethal attacks.

[malewifemrhouse]

I am now playing fallout 3 for da first time I'm not enjoying it as much as NV or 4 so far but it's still like, fun to play. Found some fun quests and perpetually not going to galaxy news radio. frag mines are really helpful for dip shit NPCs who run in a straight line at you

[definitelyjunehomestuck]

if you feel like you need to make every other feature in the game incredibly tedious to incentivize people to explore, the problem isn't that those features are too easy to interact with, it's that your world is just horribly unengaging and has no inherent fun to it.

[jitteryjive]

every time i see ch fanart where mugman is taller than cuphead it activates my fight or flight response (/this is a joke)

[sanguineweave]

new tags pt. 3 : study & ooc.

[redfieldkennedy]

i started playing re4r yesterday and i am very proud of myself for getting s ranks in the first shooting range

[dancingbirdie]

Some goblin Astarion things.

He pinches you when you toss and turn too much in your shared bed. “Wake up and stop flailing! Gods. I’ll have bruises from your pointy elbows in the morning.”

He sews “kick me” on the butt of Gale’s trousers in dark, dark gray after the Wizard pisses him off. Karlach sees it with her dark vision when they’re in the Underdark and promptly knees him in the ass.

He steals all of Halsin’s wooden ducks and plants them in Wyll’s tent, for shits and giggles.

He tries to line a tripwire across the front of Lae’zel’s tent entrance, but ends up pricking himself on a blow dart booby trap he failed to perceive. Incurs -3 hit points and the bleeding condition for 10 turns.

He nips your neck like a disgruntled cockatoo when you tease him in front of the other party members.

He puts swamp green clothing dye in Shadowheart’s bottle of hair dye when she’s not looking, causing her to endure some sickly green highlights for a fortnight.

He steals Wither’s staff while he’s speaking with Jaheria and hides it among Lae’zel’s armory. Gets hauled over by the ear by Jaheira to apologize to Withers. And Lae’zel.

He hides in the bushes near camp and makes god-awful wailing noises to keep Scratch and the owlbear cub barking while the party is trying to get some sleep.

He fabricates some ridiculous story about how the Weave is really a hoax designed by Big Magic to control the masses, just to see Gale go purple in the face while arguing against this “utter tripe.”

He loudly proclaims that he overheard Shadowheart telling Wyll she could beat Lae’zel in unarmed combat with a hand tied behind her back, then scampers away cackling when the two lady warriors start yelling at one another.

[alienssstufff]

BLOODHOUNDS

ft Y.T and Tripwire

[their ‘duo name’ is Bloodhounds from now on btw… if you even care..]

alternative title ver- it would’ve taken away the effect of the *COUGH* easter egg

notes n what not coming soon

The sketch and the flowers used :3

The composition originally was going to be a lot different (had two in mind) where the Red King’s involvement would’ve been more prominent. Went with this one simply cuz it was just more fun to experiment, where the negative space is made front and centre focus :]

Whennnn picking out the plants ddint think for a second about symbolism- and going off of just ANY flower for flower language would have been too big of a selection pool… So in respects to SL environmental setting - native Australian plants it was.

-The golden wattle trees by its abundance and have benefited Aboriginal and Torres Straight Islanders for thousands of years to create various markers and tools. The plant survives harsh droughts, and its seeds have a coating strong enough that can be salvageable beyond bushfires.

-as a signifier of Spring and new beginnings hence rebirth, the golden wattle to me was also very thematically fitting for a season like Secret Life :]

-I never looked into what Illawarra flame trees (the flowers of the coat my SL!Bdubs design is wearing) before until today.. and I quote “Regains confidence and self-approval, able to make commitments with the strength of self-reliance. Clarity in life and ability to adapt to all situations. Secure enough to express and communicate true feelings. To be beautiful and strong ” [SOURCE: Australian Bushflowers] which…. Ok damn. There’s also alcohol in it.

-Eucalyptus trees in Indigenous Australian culture represent the division between the underworld, the Earth and heaven.

The selection of plants while don’t represent Bloodhounds together - but more of what Martyn and Bdubs are individually, they’re interesting in the things they have in common what they represent. And the differences they go about this loyalty throughout the seasons and why they devote - especially in LimL and SL.. Fascinating stuff.

[dinodaweeb]

Surprise, Bub | ᡣ𐭩

Deadpool x Gn!Reader x Wolverine

summary: You break into Deadpool’s house to confront him only to find a mysterious man who’s kind of your type.

— ᡣ𐭩

Breaking into Deadpool’s apartment was almost too easy. You’d expected more—laser tripwires, explosives, maybe a pit of rabid raccoons. Instead, there was a simple lock, easily picked, and now you were standing in his living room, clutching your gun with a mix of tension and adrenaline.

The place was as chaotic as you’d imagined: mismatched furniture, a clutter of weapons and comic books, and the faint smell of old pizza lingering in the air. You glanced around, your eyes narrowing as you prepared to confront the man who had been causing you so much grief lately.

But before you could locate your target, a deep, gravelly voice interrupted your thoughts.

“You lost, bub?”

You spun around, gun aimed and ready, but the sight that met you was… unexpected. A man stood in the doorway, arms crossed over a broad chest. He was ruggedly handsome, with wild hair and piercing eyes that seemed to cut through you. There was an air of danger around him, something primal that made your heart beat a little faster.

“Who the hell are you?” you demanded, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Logan,” he replied, his voice carrying a low, rumbling growl. “And I could ask you the same thing.”

Before you could respond, the familiar, obnoxiously cheerful voice of Deadpool echoed through the room.

“Hey! Look who decided to drop in unannounced!” Wade exclaimed, popping up behind Logan. He looked between the two of you, a mischievous grin spreading across his masked face. “Oh, this is gonna be fun.”

You shot Wade a glare. “I came here to settle things with you, not—”

“Not to get distracted by my handsome, hairy friend here?” Wade interrupted, waggling his eyebrows. “I mean, I don’t blame you. Logan’s a catch. But hey, we can all play nice, right?”

Logan let out a snort, his eyes never leaving yours. “You got some guts breaking into this place, kid.”

“I’m not a kid,” you retorted, feeling a little braver than before. “And I came here to—”

“To kick my ass?” Deadpool interjected, bouncing over to you with an exaggerated pout. “Aw, you shouldn’t have. I’m flattered, really. You know, peanut over here tried the same thing one time.”

Before you could even begin to respond, Wade wrapped an arm around your shoulder, leaning in close. “But I gotta warn ya, if you’re gonna take me on, you gotta deal with him too.” He jerked his thumb toward Logan, who was now smirking at the both of you.

You weren’t sure what you’d expected when you broke into Deadpool’s apartment, but this was definitely not it. Confronting one was bad enough, but both of them together? The thought should have made you uneasy, but instead, there was something thrilling about it. The tension in the room was thick, charged with an energy that was both dangerous and alluring.

“What’s it gonna be, bub?” Logan asked, his voice low and challenging. “You gonna make a move, or are you just here to gawk?”

Your heart pounded in your chest as you looked between them. You could feel Wade’s eyes on you, feel the heat radiating from Logan’s presence. This wasn’t what you’d planned, but maybe plans were overrated.

You squared your shoulders, smirking back at Logan. “Maybe I’m here for both.”

Wade let out a delighted cackle. “Oh, I like this one, Logan. Can we keep him?”

Logan just chuckled, shaking his head. “We’ll see about that, Wade.”

“Besides, you already got a pet.”

Before you knew it, the tension shifted from dangerous to something else entirely. Wade’s hands were on your shoulders, his masked face inches from yours, while Logan stepped closer, his presence towering and imposing.

The confrontation you’d come for was far from over. But as you stood there between them, you realized that maybe, just maybe, this was exactly where you wanted to be.

You stared at Logan’s chest and grinned.

Definitely where you wanted to be.

“Now time to stop the one-shot or we’ll end up forcing the author to write a threesome.” Wade implied.

“Ugh.” You and Logan both groaned at his comment.

Fin.

a/n: I would apologize but im not sorry.

[ki-yomii]

two for the show | jjk

➥ pairing | jeon jungkook x f!reader

➥ word count | 2.1k

➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; dirty talk, established relationship, accidental voyeurism, masturbation (solo m), panty kink, implied choking kink

➥ summary | it’s unfair how pretty he is like this; so wanton and needy, half naked and stretched across the middle of your bed (aka the fic where you catch jk jerking off in your bed with a pair of your panties).

➥ notes | 🙃 this man straight up made me buy a keychain that says jk’s slut. i have no regrets.

🤎 series masterlist | masterlist | inbox | AO3 🤎

“I’m home!”

Pausing in the doorway, you listen as the barren sounds of your apartment echo back at you; the soft gurgle of the pipes, the metallic rumble of the dryer, the fan on your fridge kicking on with a dying sputter.

Everything’s as you left it, barring the notable absence of your boyfriend.

There’s no low-toned voice ringing out to greet you, no man-shaped golden retriever bouncing over to drape his arms over your shoulder and smother you in kisses.

It puts you ill at ease, a frown tugging at the corners of your mouth as you toss your keys on the side table and place your shoes next to his. Jungkook said he’d lounge around until you got back from your errands.

It couldn’t have been more than an hour, and as it was his first day off in forever, he’d wanted to spend it with you.

… Only instead, he’s nowhere to be found.

The couch is empty, the tv dark. No god awful clanking or boisterous humming, so that rules out him taking a shower. Did he get called away to the studio? Though if that was the case, he’d have texted.

Right?

Right - he knows how you feel about him disappearing without notice. So that can’t be it - plus his footwear is still on the rack. 

 Stepping into the kitchen

“Kook,” you call, peeking into the kitchen only to find it just as empty as the rest of the apartment, “you still here?”

There’s no answer.

But what sounds like a faint curse comes from somewhere near the bedrooms, so with a shrug you follow the noise only to freeze.

Your brows shoot up your forehead, and your gut clenches hotly.  A violent, visceral reaction that makes all the moisture flee your mouth.

Surely he’s not… No, there’s no way.

Except then a grunt breaks the tense quiet; smothered, breathless sounds that echo low and wounded into the hallway.

If you hadn’t been standing right outside the doorway, if you hadn’t been looking for Jungkook, the distant humdrum of everyday life would’ve otherwise disguised them.

A warm hush creeps up your neck and pools in your cheeks, leaving your skin altogether uncomfortable; itchy and tight like a nasty burn.

Every tentative step feels like walking on a tripwire, the slightest creak of the floorboards a gunshot. 

It’s a miracle you make it to the end of the hall, your door haphazardly cracked with slats of sunlight spilling across the floor. Seconds later, another grunt - this time louder and filthier. 

It’s impossible to resist the urge to peek around the doorjamb, to see how Jungkook’s pulling those kinds of sounds from his throat, to see what tempo he likes to stroke his cock to when he’s alone.

Mouth full of cotton, your heart lurches while you try to absorb the surreal image presented with difficulty.

With how he’s planted his feet and bent his legs, it’s difficult to get an unobstructed view of what his hand’s doing between his thighs but what you can see?

Well.

“…H-Haaah…ss-shit, that’s…”

It’s unfair how pretty he is like this; so wanton and needy, half naked and stretched across the middle of your bed. You only notice the scrap of fabric draped over his chest because of how bright and oddly familiar it is, but you’re too far away to identify it and you’ve got more important things to focus on.

He looks like some wild, half tamed creature come to steal you away; the briar of his hair a dark halo on the pillows, the short strands sticking to his sweat-slick forehead.

Eyes hooded and hazy, he watches as the pink tip of his cock appears through the circle of his fingers with every upwards rut. Mouth slack and rosy, his tongue glimmers like a tempting prize.

It sends you reeling, a gush of slick wetting your thighs the next time you squeeze them. You’re unbearably empty - desire hooked behind your navel. An unscratchable itch that’ll surely drive you mad.

Every time you blink, he’s there waiting behind your eyelids; his cock thick and heavy, curved towards his belly and throbbing with each measured stroke.

His thighs tremble, and his toes dig into the bed spread. “Fuhhhck, baby - baby please, let me…”

You bite the inside of your cheek. 

“Gonna cum, oh god. Yeah, that’s it just - hnggg - just like that. S’good for me.”

Tatted fingers tug at the hem of his shirt, rucking the fabric up and out of the way. It bunches under his armpits and exposes the cut of his chest, the valleys of his muscled frame.

The muscles bunch and strain with his movements, and you long to sink your teeth in.

“Right there - oh fuck - right there.” His abs clench and his hips flex. “Jus’ like that, come on, baby.”

Digging your nails into your thigh provides distraction - albeit temporarily as he pauses what he’s doing after a few more hurried strokes, the lines of frustration on his face deepening. The hand around his cock slows to an almost glacial pace.

Hooking a finger around whatever’s resting on his chest, Jungkook raises it up to dangle in front of his face - and shock lances through you, quickly followed by an ohmygod, are those… ?

Yes - yes, they are.

No wonder it looks familiar.

All thought processes grind to a halt, your pussy clenching and your knees nearly buckling once you recognize your favorite pair of panties hanging off your boyfriend’s finger.

Anticipation swells in the pit of your stomach, a ferocious heat bubbling to life behind your navel.

All corrupting, all consuming, until you’re shaking with longing.

You never thought seeing Jungkook like this would affect you so much - never even imagined a scenario in which you would, let alone with a pair of your underwear. Though, you also never imagined it would make you as hot and bothered as it does.

No way, no way, no way.

“Mm, so pretty, baby,” he murmurs, spreading his fingers to stretch out the fabric. “Jus’ for me.”

Eyes wide, you watch as he scrutinizes the whorls of delicate lace and sheer panels. He’s not really going to…is he?

Biting his lip, he spares your panties one more long look before working them down his body. His nipples stiffen when they trail down the valley of his pecs, his voice a breathy curse as they tickle the band of his hips, his skin pebbled with goosebumps. 

Holy shit, he is.

You choke on your own spit.

It’s almost impossible to believe that he’s about to jack off with a pair of your panties - that you get to witness it happen for yourself - but then he’s switching hands, and you see how pretty the fabric looks stretched out over the girth of his cock.

The texture must feel amazing because Jungkook full-body shudders, his eyes pinched shut and his brows furrowed like he’s in pain.

He lurches forward, catching himself before he folds in half and takes a shaky breath. His fingers flex, the fabric scraping over his sensitive shaft and teasing his swollen balls. 

He whines. “Oh my fuh - that feels so fucking good.”

What you wouldn’t give to know what he’s imagining right now. Every hitched whimper gets your ears ringing and your legs crossing, the drag of your shirt over your nipples uncomfortable with how hard they are.

Nevermind the state of your underwear - the slightest shift has your folds sticking together, a sticky wet gush you’d love to soak his cock with. 

You don’t even care that he’s getting a little too loud. So what if your crotchety ass neighbor files a complaint?

The sight alone more than makes up for the headache of dealing with management.

Though apparently, Jungkook’s got more consideration for prying ears because he stuffs the corner of his shirt into his mouth.

Stifling a gasp, he locks the desperate noises behind his teeth by biting down and using the fabric to muzzle himself.

His strong thighs tremble when the circle of his fingers meets the base, knuckles white as the crotch of your panties pulls taut over his swollen cockhead. The visual alone nearly ends you.

Why, you think, half-hysterical.

It’s becoming painful to watch and do nothing.

His choked little groan precedes the flex of his wrist - the apologetic glide of his palm as he staves off another orgasm, the angry tip of his erection leaking where it peeks out from the bright lace.

He’s been on the edge of coming for a while with how wet and swollen his cock his; veins thick and throbbing, balls taut and drawn up towards his body.

A punch of desire at imagining all the things he’s gotten up to while you were gone leaves you winded, and you’re barely able to swallow the moan creeping up from deep inside your chest.

It feels like someone sucker punched you full stop. And then replacing those fingers with your mouth - with your cunt - invades every thought until heat crackles down your spine.

Or maybe you should let this play out - have him stain your panties with cum and then put them on, wear them around the apartment until he fucks you over the counter.

It’s a win-win situation, no matter which scenario you pick.

A fresh wave of arousal pools between your thighs, honey thick every time your pussy clenches. Your clit aches for friction, swollen and raw, all while Jungkook continues to drive himself pleasure drunk.

Right now, the slightest touch could make you cry, you’re so turned on.

Keeping quiet as you shift closer to hear the slick, soppy sounds of him fucking up into the grip of his fist is almost impossible, but somehow you clear the doorjamb, the door itself a faint sensation at the back of your elbow.

And then you stop breathing.

Your heartbeat thuds in your ears, your blood rushing so fast you swear you hear it thundering through your veins. The air thickens with tension, the musk of fevered arousal heavy in your nose.

Only right as you’re about to crack, one of the sweetest moans you’ve ever heard breaks through his cotton gag. He must hear your stuttered inhale, the grit of your teeth because he freezes. His body becomes a rigid line of tension, muscles coiled.

And then those pretty doe eyes pop open.

Immediately seeking you out, Jungkook swallows and unhinges his jaw. The makeshift bit slips free from his mouth, his shirt fluttering back down to his chest.

A patch of damp sticks to his skin. 

“Baby…” he says, his voice thick with pleasure - low and rough like smoky whiskey - while a flush blooms across his cheeks, “You’re - You’re home…”

Without responding, you take a step into the room. 

The closer you get, the tenser Jungkook becomes - his breath locking in his throat and his eyes falling shut.

At some point, his hand pulls away and tries to tuck your panties off to the side. It’s too bad you’ve been watching the whole time, otherwise he might’ve gotten away with it.

Jungkook clears his throat and scratches at his jaw. “I was just - uh, y’know…”

He trails off, his hands fluttering around his hips. As if there’s a way to hide the excited twitch of his cock or the drool of pre-cum when you stop at the bedside. 

With a faint smile and a raised brow, you ask, “Having fun?”

“I - baby, I’m so…” A muscle in his jaw jumps. “‘m sorry.”

He refuses to look at you.

And that just won’t do.

“Shit!”

Jungkook jolts, a drawn-out moan full of heat ripped out of his mouth when you press your hand over the heated skin of his throat.

All the air whooshes from your lungs and you watch your thumb trace over the swell of his Adam’s apple, enchanted. His body strains up into your tender touch, every hard line demanding you finish what he started.

“Need some help?” you ask, feeling him gulp against your palm. “Sure looks like you do.”

It’s apparent he can barely think, those pretty eyes clouded over in a haze of desperation. Your nails dig into his oversensitive skin to see him flinch, to watch as a shudder rolls down his spine at the delicate bite of pain.

His cock bobs against his belly. 

“Come on, baby. Wouldn’t you like my hand or pussy better?”

“Shit, I -” he groans, tossing a forearm over his eyes. “Why are you like this? You’re gonna kill me one day.”

You chuckle, tracing the swell of his bottom lip, the metal of his lip ring. “That still doesn’t answer my question.”

Every pass of your hand works your fingers higher until the tips press in at the corners of his mouth.

You repeat yourself, “Do you need some help?”

At the taste of your skin, Jungkook groans; a soft, deep-throated thing that injects heat into your veins. His tongue is soft against the pads of your fingers, wet and cradling.

A lone eye peeks up at you from behind his wrist, hooded and burning.

“… Please.”

[tgcg]

we do a bit of trolling

CG: OKAY DAVE, I KNOW WE CAME TO A TRUCE ON THE WHOLE FOOD WARS SHTICK, I'M NOT ABOUT TO HURL TWENTY MORE INSULTS AT YOUR EARTH CUISINE, BUT.

CG: BUT WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT.

TG: man

TG: ok look i was kinda preoccupied with the seven minute voice message i left you about the infinite jump glitch in sonic 06 and it turns out i cant measure water and talk at the same time

CG: DON'T SLOSH IT!!! THAT'S DISGUSTING!!! IT LOOKS LIKE BILE!

TG: yeah well its the last pack of mac n sheese and im gonna eat it whatever viscosity it decides to have

TG: i can make this work

TG: is cheese soup a thing

TG: nah theres no way in hell

TG: k so what is your cooking proficiency like what are we dealing with here

CG: OH, I DON'T KNOW. I WOULD SAY I CAN PROBABLY FOLLOW BASIC INSTRUCTIONS, POSSIBLY LIKE THE ONES THAT WERE ON THE BACK OF YOUR SALIVATION-INDUCING SLOPFEST YOU'VE GOT GOING ON HERE.

TG: alright cool i got a pitch

TG: might work might dont

CG: THAT ISN'T SO MUCH INSPIRING CONFIDENCE IN ME AS IT IS TAKING WHAT MORSELS OF FAITH I HAD IN YOU OUT BACK AND THRASHING THEM IN A DARK ALLEYWAY.

TG: alright so im basing my operations on like the core features of water im talking the ten commandments of h2o-logy

TG: as the component responsible for the shlop of my shlock presented before you

TG: it can evaporate right

CG: … YEAH?

TG: ok but cheese doesnt evaporate does it you cant get a cheese mist

CG: OH NO.

TG: cheese doesnt evaporate it just like melts

TG: or dries

TG: so my theory is if i jam this shit in an oven or maybe the microwave

CG: NEITHER OF THOSE WERE IN THE INSTRUCTIONS AND YOU KNOW IT

TG: but the problem is the pasta is already cooked and all up in there so if i microwave it the pastas gonna go soggy and i cant have that

CG: DAVE.

TG: so microwave is out of the picture im assuming oven heat will keep the pasta dry while also evaporatin the water without removing the cheese

TG: that checks out doesnt it

CG: CUT THE BULLSHIT. STOP EMBARRASSING YOURSELF.

CG: YOUR INSISTENCE ON UPSTAGING YOUR OWN STUPIDITY IN FRONT OF ME ISN'T CUTE OR ENDEARING. I KNOW WHAT YOU'RE TRYING TO PULL AND I'M NOT FA--

CG:

CG: WAIT… NO… WOULD-- WOULD THAT…?

TG: real brain wrinkler huh

CG: OH SUCK MY FAT FUCKING SHAME GLOBES

TG: dude you even pointed out the tripwire and you still went ahead and threw yourself over it what kind of troll are you

CG: I DIDN'T FALL FOR SHIT! OBVIOUSLY MY ATTEMPT TO HUMOR YOUR RAPIDLY DETERIORATING SENSE OF "INTELLIGENCE" WENT CLEAN OVER YOUR NUGBONE! YOU'VE PROVEN YOUR POINT, MY FAITH IN YOU IS COMPLETELY MISPLACED.

CG: WOOPS! SILLY ME FOR BELIEVING IN YOU! WHY DO I EVEN BOTHER?

TG: hahahaha oh man

[mokulule]

Take Out For Dummies - Part 4

Summary: Danny has been hired to take out Red Hood, there may or may not have been a misunderstanding.

First | Masterpost

Part 4 here is just a little interlude that doesn't really fit part 3 or part 5, but I hope you enjoy it anyways.

Jason fresh from a shower at his nearest safe house unlocked the door to his apartment and opened it just a crack so he could reach in his arm to get at the set of tripwires and disable them. His gear, sans the jacket he’d managed to forget he’d lent Danny, was slung across his shoulder in a duffle bag.

It would have been easier to just stay in one of his rotating safe houses, like he’d done in the early days, but him having an official apartment where his family could expect to find him, apparently did a bunch of good. He didn’t exactly know what it was about him having a semipermanent residence that made them think he was less likely to snap, but as long as it got them off his back Jason would take it - It was kinda nice to keep his books in one place.

He walked in and dropped the duffel on the kitchen table with a sigh. He would deal with that later. It was mostly just his helmet anyways - and should anyone come raid his place, he could apparently just claim he was a cosplayer. He snorted, but found himself smiling.

Urgh. He leaned his forehead against the cupboard he meant to open. He was such an idiot.

It was one thing entirely to acknowledge the fact that Danny was hot and he wouldn’t mind getting horizontal with him - or vertical or really any position, Jason wasn’t picky. Danny’s question of how Jason wanted him ran unbidden to his forefront of his mind and therein lay the problem. Because the answer to that question was dangerous. It was after all something entirely different to want Danny to kiss him softly, to hold his hand and smile at him like they were the only two people in the world.

He drew back and knocked his head against the cupboard, instantly regretting it when he hit harder than intended. He straightened and rubbed his smarting forehead, like so many things recently that hadn’t been entirely thought through.

Finally he got out the glass he’d been aiming to get in the first place.

The dial for the cold water squeaked and sputtered when he turned it and his gaze became unfocused as he waited for it to run cold.

He hadn’t even known Danny that long. He was weird (wonderful). He didn’t have any self preservation at all (he wasn’t afraid of him). Something was clearly wrong with him, he’d asked Red Hood on date! For a job, it was a job! Nothing more. Danny blushing when Jason was the one who took his hand didn’t mean anything.

Jason remembered the running water with a start and quickly filled his glass and turned it off. He shook his head and took a sip. He needed to just go to bed. Maybe things would make more sense in the morning.

By habit he checked his phone as he walked to the bedroom. He was only a little surprised to see the amount of notifications. Seemed the bats had noticed Red Hood’s absence on the streets tonight. It was just check-ins, wondering where he was, nothing unusual, nobody would be surprised if he didn’t answer, but the messages from Dick had him pausing.

First text from early in the evening was just a check-in because he’d somehow heard all the way in Blüdhaven that Jay wasn’t patrolling, but then timestamped just after midnight he got:

Are you sick?

Do you need anything? I can pick something up and drive by. Just say the word.

I can be in and out, quiet even.

It was such a Dick move, he was such a big brother worrywart. Of course he, as the person living in an entirely different city, was the one to offer to pick up groceries or whatever. Jason closed his eyes tightly and breathed slowly through his nose, deliberately relaxing his shoulders as he did so. If he’d been this kind of big brother before Jason’s death, maybe their relationship wouldn’t be this.

His thumb hovered over Dick’s contact. Dick was trying.

He lowered the phone. He was probably in bed by now anyway. It was four in the morning, he had a day job. There hadn’t been anything big brewing in Blüdhaven, which would have otherwise kept him up.

Jason huffed annoyed with himself. It was four in the morning, that was exactly why he should call now. He was the little brother. He got to be annoying. Before he could second guess himself again he hit the call button and let himself fall down back first on his bed.

The phone rang. An irrational bout of anxiety gripped him. What if he didn’t answer?

“Jay,” Dick answered his phone breathlessly, clearly disoriented, “are you okay?”

“Did I wake you?”

“Uh, I, yes?”

“Good.” Jason smiled at Dick’s groan and the clear pout in the way he whined “Jay.”

“Seriously Jay, are you okay? You weren’t on patrol.”

“The fact that I didn’t patrol doesn’t mean anything.”

“Jay, you micromanage Crime Alley like it’s going out of fashion. The only times you don’t patrol are when you’re out of town, injured or sick.”

“I-“ It was hard to argue when it was true. “I do other stuff too. Also you’re one to talk, at least I know to stick to a manageable amount of ground to cover.”

Dick laughed lowly. “Okay you got me, what other stuff were you doing then if you’re not nursing an injury?”

Jason didn’t have to tell him anything just because he asked. It was none of Dick’s business.

“I was on a date.”

“A date!” Dick gasped delighted, “Oh my God. Who are they? How did you meet? No wait, you probably don’t want to tell me any of that.” He chuckled with a note of self deprecation, that almost made Jason want to answer those questions, but he didn’t get to, because Dick changed tack asking softly, “Did you have fun, Jay?”

“Yes, yeah… I had fun.”

“I’m happy for you Little Wing.” The smile was obvious in his voice.

Jason’s throat was tight. Stupid Dick.

“I’m gonna sleep now.”

“Of course, goodnight Jay.”

-

Thank you all for the really lovely comments on last the last part, I'm happy so many of you enjoy this fic <3

I have a plan of course but I don't really know when I will get around to writing the next part here. I'm closer to finishing the next part of Almanac so that's what've been taking up most of my attention when I have the time. But the next part here will be fun to get to! It will be the culmination of whole situation.

You can subscribe to the masterpost here for updates. (I made a new subscription post for this fic, I will still update the old one, but fewer people even have the option to reply to the new one)

[runnning-outof-time]

My Favorite Story | Tommy Shelby x Reader

Request: yes by @peakyswritings

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x reader

Summary: Tommy finds himself spending time in his office for other reasons once he finds out (Y/N)'s interest in the room.

Warnings: smoking

Word Count: 4024

A/N: sorry if this one got a little corny at the end…thanks Reb, for allowing me to put my love of books into a story. Enjoy! :)

PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK!

Comment/Message me if you’d like to be tagged in future stories similar to this one!

"Come out, come out wherever you are, Charlie!" (Y/N) called as she wandered the halls of Arrow House, looking for the small boy whom she was a nanny to. They were currently playing hide-and-seek, and it was the four year old's turn to hide.

She went from room to room, giving each only a quick glance because her opponent was only four after all...he wasn't going to be hiding in any advanced places. She continued on, checking each of the rooms on the first floor (because that's where their playing field was) until she got to the only hallway left. This one held a more formal sitting room, and her employer, Thomas Shelby's, office. She had hoped that Charlie wouldn't have gone down this hall because she knew that her boss was particular about the people he let into his personal office. But with all of the other rooms and hallways checked, she was quickly running out of options.

She checked in the sitting room and found it empty, which left her with one final choice of where to look. The door was also cracked, so there was a good chance that he was hiding in there. Out of all of the rooms in the house...you just want me to get into trouble, don't you? she thought to herself as she approached the door. "Charlie?!" she called out while slowly opening the door, treating it like there was tripwire on the other side and it would set off if she moved too quickly.

Giggles sounded out the second she stepped into the room. They were, of course, coming from the far corner, where the floor-to-ceiling windows were. She took a moment to take in her surroundings. This clearly wasn't one of the rooms she'd been in very much, so it all seemed foreign to her.

Something that jumped out right away was the expansive book collection that lined the walls of the room. Not a single shelf seemed to be empty, and all of the books were organized into neat rows; their spines just begging for her to run her fingers across. She would have thought that she'd died and gone to heaven if she didn't know any better. But she did...and right now she needed to find the child she'd been searching for and get out before it became a personal hell.

"Where are you, Charlie?" she called out as she walked even further into the room. She wanted to smile at his adorable giggles, but the worry of getting caught, and reprimanded kept her strict to her mission of ‘find the kid and get out’.

"You can't see me, Miss (Y/N)," he said in between his giggles, which she now realized were coming from behind the curtains.

"I think I'm getting closer," she told him, only a few steps from his hiding spot now, "hmm...why could there be shoes coming out from under the curtains?" she wondered aloud as she reached out to take hold of the curtains. The giggles quieted down as the child prepared to be found. "There you are!" (Y/N) exclaimed as she pulled the curtain slightly to the side, coming face to face with the beaming boy.

"You found me!" Charlie exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air.

"You had a good hiding spot," (Y/N) told him, a smile on her face, "although you should know better than to hide in your father's office," she added, her voice holding a more stern tone.

"It's your turn!" he cheered, unphased by her statement.

The sound of the front door closing rang out through the halls before anything else could be said. (Y/N) stiffened in her spot, knowing that that sound could only mean one thing...

"Daddy!" Charlie yelled as loud as he could before he took off running out of the room.

(Y/N) was still frozen. She wanted to run like hell out of the room and try to make it seem as though she wasn't just in a room that was supposed to be off-limits, but instead her feet stayed glued to the hardwood. The voice of Tommy Shelby came clearly from the foyer, greeting his son and asking him what he'd been doing while he was away.

Hearing him speak made her kick into gear, and she was able to walk the length of the room and reach the door just as she heard footsteps starting to come her way.

"I was playing hide-and-seek with Miss (Y/N)!" Charlie excitedly told his father as he led him down the hall he'd left his nanny in, "and I had a really good spot."

"Did you?" Tommy asked, intrigue present in his voice as he wondered where his son was taking him. When he looked up, he noticed (Y/N) in the process of shutting the door to his office. His eyebrows furrowed at this, trying to remember if he'd locked the door or not when he was leaving this morning.

His office was the one room in the house that he didn't want Charlie roaming about freely in. There were too many bad things held in there for a child to be going through it unattended.

"Where was this hiding spot, eh?" Tommy asked his son when they stopped a few steps away from where (Y/N) was standing.

"I hid behind the curtains!" the boy wasted no time in exclaiming, not seeing any problem in where he'd chosen to hide. (Y/N), on the other hand, felt like she was about to faint as she waited on baited breath for Tommy's reaction to Charlie's answer.

Instead of quickly deciding (Y/N)'s fate, Tommy did one of the things he does best: look to each of the people standing in front of him as he dragged his statement out until it felt like (Y/N) was going to explode from the tension.

"He was...we were in your office, Mr. Shelby, I'm so sorry," she admitted, the words rushing out of her mouth before she had much time to process them. She hoped they made sense.

Tommy stayed quiet for a few more moments after she spoke, blinking a few times as he thought her words over. He couldn't help but feel a tinge of anger as he thought of the rule that had been broken. Of all people, (Y/N) should have known that Charlie wasn't allowed in his office unattended.

"I've already told him that he shouldn't be going into your personal rooms, but he..."

"Stop," his voice finally broke through her second round of explanations. She closed her mouth as soon as she heard him, holding her breath as she hoped that she'd still have a job after this conversation was over. "There's no need to explain yourself any further," he told her, his voice flat, giving her no indication of what he was thinking.

(Y/N) continued to hold her breath as she watched Tommy turn to look at Charlie. "You should know better than to go into my office when I'm not home, Charles. Next time you listen to what (Y/N) is telling you, alright?" he asked with raised eyebrows, his voice stern.

"Yes, sir," Charlie answered like he knew he was supposed to, nodding his head once.

"Good lad. Go on now...go play in your room," Tommy instructed him once he deemed the boy to have understood the message he was trying to get across.

Charlie turned to (Y/N) before going anywhere. (Y/N) immediately knew that he was waiting for her to join him, but a quick glance at Tommy to see his eyes trained on her made her realize that maybe she should stick around for a few moments longer. "I'll be up shortly, Charlie," she told the boy, who nodded before running past his father to go to his room.

(Y/N) swallowed thickly as she focused on Tommy again, waiting to see if he'd be the first to say something. The anticipation was, once again, killing her.

"He didn't touch anything, did he?" Tommy finally asked; his question being one of the last that (Y/N) expected to come out of his mouth.

"No, Mr. Shelby. Everything was in its rightful place when I entered the room," she assured him.

"Good," he nodded, happy with her answer. "You're able to go with him," he said to her then, stepping out of the way so that she'd have room to pass him.

"That's all?" she asked, the words coming out before she could stop them.

Tommy's brows furrowed in confusion upon hearing her statement. "What do you mean?"

"You're not angry at me? I'm not in trouble for entering your office?" she rattled off some of the questions that were circling through her brain.

"I'm not, no," he shook his head, "let's not make a habit of it though, eh?"

"Of course, Mr. Shelby," she nodded, still surprised by how the situation had gone. She was still expecting him to blow his lid on her...it wouldn't be the first time he'd done it to one of his employees. She wasn't about to give him a reason to do so though. "Thank you," she said then, ducking her head before she walked past him so that she could go and be with Charlie again.

Tommy took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly as he moved to open his office door. He knew for certain that he would have just had a completely different conversation if (Y/N) hadn't been the one who was closing the door. He'd felt something different towards her from the moment she was hired on as Charlie's live-in nanny a little over a year ago. His son adored her, and he was happy that Charlie would grow up with someone who genuinely cared for him, and who would be able to be with him when his father was away. (Y/N) provided a much needed sense of security for a boy who'd been through so much in his short life so far.

(Y/N) brought something into the house that had been missing. Tommy often wondered if he'd grown a soft spot for her because of how she was with Charlie, or if there was maybe a little more behind the reason.

He sunk into his office chair with a sigh, looking at the picture of his late wife and son as they stared back at him. If only it had been that easy, he thought to himself before grabbing the cigarette tin so that he could take one out and roll it along his lips, but things happen for a reason, right?.

——

(Y/N) knocked on the door to her employer's office, waiting to hear if he was in before entering. His muffled voice calling for her to 'come' came through the mahogany moments later, making her turn the knob and open the door. "Good afternoon, Mr. Shelby," she greeted him as she found him sitting behind his desk.

"Hello, Miss (Y/L/N)," he returned the greeting, "is there something I can do for you?"

"I have Charlie's quarterly report. I figured you'd want it as soon as I was finished with it," she told him, holding the papers up into view.

Tommy nodded at her words. "Let's have a look then," he said, beckoning her over to his desk with a wave of his hand. (Y/N) nodded and walked across the room, stopping in front of his desk so that she could hand him the papers. He sat his glasses on the bridge of his nose before he began looking through them, reading the detailed report of how his son was progressing. "You think he'll be ready to start schooling?" he asked her after a few, quiet moments had passed, glancing up at her.

"I think so, sir. He's a very bright boy," she answered with a nod and a slight smile.

"And everything else seems to be in order...as far as developments go?" he asked another question.

"Yes," she nodded again, "there's even some things he's excelling at," she added, a proud smile forming on her face. Even though she knew she shouldn't, she'd come to love Charlie like he was her own. Spending nearly every day with him had created such a beautiful relationship between the two. She wouldn't know what she'd do without him.

"That's good to hear," Tommy nodded, continuing to look through the papers.

"He should be ready to start school in the fall," she shared the information that had been weighing on her mind, her smile faltering slightly, "and I'll promptly begin work on finding another placement for myself. I'll place adds in the papers, I'll..."

"No," Tommy cut her off abruptly with a wave of his hand and a shake of his head, "I want you to stay here with Charlie."

"He won't need me anymore, Mr. Shelby," she told him, a bit surprised by his interjection.

"Yes he will," he nodded, his eyes locked onto hers, "he's quite fond of you, (Y/N), and I don't want to separate that." We're all quite fond of you, he thought to himself as he studied her face. "I'll continue to pay you, and you'll continue to live here."

"You're serious?" (Y/N) checked, a slight gasp leaving her lips as a smile played on them.

"I am," he nodded again, clasping his hands together as he rested his elbows on the desk.

"That's so very kind of you...I will tell Charlie of this as soon as he is back from his riding lesson. He will be so thrilled. Thank you, Mr. Shelby," she expressed her gratitude, allowing the smile to take over her features.

"Thank you, Miss (Y/L/N)," he returned the sentiment, "you're free to go," he said then, signaling the end of the conversation.

(Y/N) nodded and turned to exit the room. She walked a few steps before stopping, the shelves of books catching her eye again. She folded her hands together in front of her skirt as she glanced around the room.

"Is there something else you need?" Tommy's voice broke the silence in the room, making her snap from her trance to turn and face him again.

"No, Mr. Shelby, I..." she trailed off, feeling slightly bashful for being caught admiring the books, "I'm just amazed by the amount of books that you have in here," she decided to tell him why she'd stuck around, a soft smile forming on her face after the admission.

"You read?" he asked her, his eyebrows raised in intrigue.

"I do," she nodded, "I'm slowly running out of material though, and the workers' library that you've so graciously given us only has so many books, so to see these books in here made me..." she trailed off as she realized she was sharing too much information, her face heating up as she looked down at the ground.

Tommy let the silence hang in the air for a few moments as he thought about what she'd said. "Would you want to read in here?" he asked her then, his question making her eyes shoot up to his.

"You'd let me?" she asked, her words coming out in a surprised gasp.

"Yeah," he nodded, his simple response making excitement bubble up inside of (Y/N).

"I'd really like that, thank you, Mr. Shelby," she said to him, expressing her gratitude once more. She swore that she saw the ghost of a smile flash across his lips as he nodded his head again. "I'm going to go be with Charlie now, sir...he should be returning from his lesson any moment." Tommy nodded again at her words, and she finally exited the room, her excitement boiling over as a giddy smile spread across her face. There was nothing she loved more than books.

——

It became a routine for (Y/N) to go into Tommy's study so that she could read every day after that. Tommy would be in the room sometimes, working on whatever it was that he needed to get done. She quickly came to love the peaceful silence that filled the room as they cohabitated in it. Being with him felt comfortable to her...almost as comfortable as it felt when she was spending time with Charlie.

"Do you have a favorite book?" Tommy asked out of the blue one day, his words making (Y/N) look up from the page she was reading.

"I do, yes," she responded, a smile quickly forming on her face at the thought of discussing something she liked, "it's called Walden and it's by an American author named Henry David Thoreau. He writes about being alone and immersed in the wilderness in it...it's always such a mind clearing read," she informed him of her favorite book and explained why it held that title.

"Do I have it?" he asked her, his brows furrowed in curiosity.

"I've not found it on the shelves...it's been a while since I've read it, actually," she answered, remembering clearly one of her first days spent in the room. She was rather bummed when she came up empty in her search.

"Noted," he nodded, picking up his pen and focusing his attention back on the paper in front of him. (Y/N) furrowed her eyebrows at the conversation she'd just had, confused as to why he'd just asked her that out of nowhere. Silence persisted in the room again, so she went back to reading.

——

"You're late today," Tommy commented as he watched (Y/N) enter the room.

"Charles wouldn't settle," she answered him, a slight smile on her face as she tried to push her feelings of nervousness down. She knew it wasn't the case, but she couldn't help but feel like a child who had just been called into the headmaster's office.

"Is he fine now?" he asked her, watching as she skimmed the shelves, looking for the book she'd indulge in that evening.

"He is...he had a burst of energy before bed," she answered, her eyes still focused on the books. Nothing was jumping out at her. She'd just finished a book and was now in that weird in between where she couldn't get interested in something else.

After searching for a few more minutes, (Y/N) gave up with a sigh. She moved over to the couch and sat down, resting her head back against the cushion. "All these books and yet there's nothing to read," she mumbled to herself, staring at the fire.

"Something wrong?" Tommy questioned as he watched her carefully.

"I've got nothing to read," she answered, fully aware of how dramatic she sounded, but yet not caring.

Tommy chuckled at her statement before he stood from his chair. (Y/N) turned her head and watched him as he opened one of the desk's drawers and took something from it before he made his way over to where she was sitting. Her brows furrowed together when she noticed that what he had in his hand looked like a book. Without a word, he sat down next to her and extended his arm with the book in her direction.

"What's this?" she questioned, accepting the book from his hand.

"It came in yesterday...I figured you might want to read it," he answered, giving no explicit clues to her.

(Y/N) sent him a look of confusion, to which he responded with a slight nod, silently telling her to open the book. She listened, and she just about gasped when she opened the cover and read the title page. "You found me Walden?" she asked him, surprise was present in her features when she looked up at him once more.

"I did," he nodded, the corner of his lips tugging upwards as he noticed how happy this gesture had made her.

"Thank you so much, Mr. Shelby!" she couldn't hold her excitement back, a wide smile breaking onto her face as she clutched the book close to her.

"You're welcome, (Y/N)," he said, happy that he'd made her happy. "You can call me Tommy when we're in here...you're not working," he told her then and she nodded, feeling the butterflies react to the advancement.

She eagerly opened the book then, more than ready to dive into Thoreau's words and experience his adventures again. Tommy stayed sitting on the couch, fishing the tin of cigarettes out of his pocket so that he could stick one between his lips and strike it with a lighter. He rested his head back against the couch and watched (Y/N) as she quickly became immersed in the world her book's pages held. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt as content as he did now; the last time he rather sit and do nothing instead of continuing on with his work.

"Do you have a favorite story?" (Y/N)'s question broke him from his thoughts, and when he glanced in her direction, he saw that she'd lowered her book and was looking at him.

"My favorite story?" he replied with a question. (Y/N) nodded. Tommy paused for a moment, looking at the fire as he thought it over. He then chuckled slightly before responding, "perhaps it's one that hasn't been written yet."

(Y/N) couldn't believe his reply. She bit on her lip to try and contain the smile that was threatening to form the second after she heard it as Tommy watched her intently for her reaction to his words.

"That sounded a bit soppy, didn't it?" he questioned her after a few moments had passed, taking one last drag from his cigarette before he stamped it out in the ashtray on the coffee table.

"Not at all," she answered, biting on the knuckle of her index finger to stifle the giggles that were threatening to escape as she spoke.

Tommy looked at her once he was sitting properly again, admiring her face as she did the same with him. Nothing was said as he then reached over and tucked a stray hair behind her ear. (Y/N) froze slightly at the action, her eyes locked onto his as he gently ran the back of his hand down the line from her cheek to her jaw. His touch made her skin feel like it had been set alight.

"I'm sorry my hair isn't properly done up," she apologized, her voice much softer now.

"Don't apologize," he brushed her off, his voice's tone matching hers. He kept his hand resting on her jaw, gently stroking her cheek with his thumb as he savored the feeling of her soft skin.

(Y/N) hoped she looked calm on the outside, because all of her systems were firing in her brain. She'd be lying if she said that she didn't want something like this to occur between her and Tommy. Her feelings for him seemed to grow with each hour she spent in his study; reading books while he worked. In a way she felt like she had already been with him; like they were a couple who had already settled into a peaceful married life and liked to come together in the evenings and just spent time in the other's presence. She had to keep reminding herself that she was only Charlie's nanny.

But with the way he was acting, she may not only be that for long...

"Would you come to dinner with me?" he asked her after some time had passed.

"You'd want me to?" she shyly asked him, her eyes slightly widening at his offer.

"I would," he nodded, "maybe then I could tell you a bit more about an idea for my favorite story."

"I'd like that," (Y/N) nodded, a smile forming on her face as her butterflies went swarming again, "I'd like to hear more about your favorite story."

Little did she know that his favorite story was the one they were about to write.

Tagged: @mystcldydrms @the-anxious-youth @cloudofdisney @look-at-the-soul @elenavampire21 @mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing @evita-shelby @lilyrachelcassidy @notyour-valentine @shelbydelrey @december16-1991 @onlydeadcells @peakyswritings @just-a-blackhole @watercolorskyy @strayrockette @peakyduchesss @alexxavicry @captivatedbycillianmurphy @yummycastiel @dark-academia-slut @tommystargirl @stevie75 @lyarr24 @signorellisantichrist @zablife @anotherblinder @midnightmagpiemama @cillmequick @rangerelik @dandelionprints @letal-y-poetica @itscheybaby @gypsy-girl-08 @insanitybyanothername @depxiety @raincoffeeandfandoms @dragons-are-my-favorite @acewritesfics @forgottenpeakywriter @cljordan-imperium @areyenotfondofmelobster @little-diable @thomashelbyswife

MASTERLIST

[kiss-me-cill-me]

It's Always the Quiet Ones

Pairing: Emmett x Reader

Word Count: 4.4k

Summary: After spending a few days holed up with a rugged stranger, you finally can't take the tension anymore. Things get a little more complicated when he walks in on you.

Warnings: Smut, masturbation (f), Emmett walking in on you, quiet sex, biting, begging, one fleeting thought about breeding, some fluff, light angst

A/N: Emmett was honestly the start of my whole descent into Cillian Murphy madness, so I'm really searching for my people with this one lol. He's my sad, scraggly boyfriend and I love him <3

***Please read the warnings before continuing. Minors DNI***

It’s strangely beautiful, in an overgrown way. Vines hang off of the chain-link fence as you push carefully through the jagged gap, just big enough for a person to pass through. The long grass reaches well above your ankles, and plants seem to spill out from the negative space of every structure littering the lawn.

The air has a cool, muted hue; it looks like rain later. Eyeing the building in front of you, you decide to stop here for the night. 

One step, and then a pause. Something feather-light brushes against your ankle. You look down to see a tripwire, and back away slowly in the direction you came. Interesting. It has been a long time since you’ve seen anyone else alive out here. Though the owner of the tripwire could be long gone.

You take a second look at your surroundings, this time scanning for any sign of a human presence. It’s quiet, but of course, everywhere is quiet now. Delicately stepping over the tripwire, you continue on your path toward the large building. Its looming, brick facade is featureless except for long stalks of ivy tumbling from broken windows, and as you advance you can’t help but feel that the building is watching. The sensation of eyes on you is made even more unnerving in the silence.

You pick your way across the lawn, careful to avoid shards of broken glass and open bear traps. This abandoned factory is quite the fortress, if anyone actually lives here. You reach the end of the grass, and step through a huge, weathered green door, left open on probably-ancient and squeaky hinges. The air here smells of cobwebs and must.

Inside, dripping water echoes faintly, somewhere from deeper inside the building. It’s cold by the open door, and it doesn’t get any warmer as you walk down the hallway, still keeping a careful eye out for anything waiting to meet you.

You turn a corner, and there he is, unexpected. Unexpected to you at least; the man in front of you seems quite prepared as he levels the sights of his rifle.

Instinctively, your hands fly up. The man’s face is covered, except for his eyes, which look to be the only part of him that’s still alive. Even his handling of the gun seems driven by muscle memory, as if he’s a sentry with no programming beyond, simply: “Defend.” You don’t breathe as he looks you over; relaxes a bit as he realizes you’re a lone woman, unarmed except for the hunting knife at your belt. He doesn’t look friendly, exactly - it’s hard to when you’re pointing a rifle in someone’s face. But he also doesn’t look like he really wants to hurt you. More that he just wishes you weren’t here in the first place.

As a show of good faith, you point to your knife, and then to the floor. You nod at him, questioning. He nods back. Slowly, you lower your hands to your belt and unclip the knife. The faintest click of steel against concrete is audible as you lower it to the ground. Straightening, you point to the man across from you; his gun.

Now you.

Just as slowly, the man lowers his weapon to his side. You point at your knife on the floor, expectantly.

Go on…

He’s reluctant, but after a moment of tense silence, his gun joins your knife on the ground.

You smile; hope that you look thankful and not threatening, like he’s just fallen squarely into a trap you’ve set for him.

Thank you, you mouth.

Beneath the bandana that covers his mouth and the hat that shadows his face, the man’s expression is impossible to read. His eyes, piercing blue even as they regard you more casually, move over your whole body once again. Checking you for weapons, though you don’t have anything else on you. When he’s done, you take a gentle step toward him.

Stop.

The man’s right hand flies out in front of him, fingers splayed. You freeze in your tracks. Desperately, you want to tell him that you mean no harm. You just want a place to stay for the night. There’s a cold fear soaking in the corners of his body; you can feel it all the way from here. You hold out your own hands, palms forward, telling him to stay calm. Nobody's going to get hurt. Keeping one hand in front of you, you reach around to your back pocket, intending to pull out the pad of paper you keep on you for the rare occasions you need it to communicate with someone.

Suddenly, your back is against the wall. There’s a strong hand clamped around your wrist; an arm pressed flat against your chest, restraining you. And the man’s face is inches away from your own, his eyes wild with panic.

The dust settles around you, and the echo of your body being slammed on the bricks fades away. You drop what’s in your hand and nudge your head to point at the pad and pencil, showing him. The man’s eyes roll into the back of his head when he realizes - maybe exasperation at you, or maybe frustration at himself for reacting so recklessly. He starts to move away from you-

Click.

A familiar sound comes from just outside the factory door. It’s one of them.

Shit.

The man mutters something, barely audible through the bandana, and then he’s running. Deeper and deeper into the building, his hand in a vice grip around your wrist, pulling you along after him. You feel like a mess of  awkward limbs and flapping skirts as you try to keep up. The thing behind you is in the building now, crashing carelessly through the hallways in its pursuit. Your weapons are both forgotten - not that they would be any more useful here than they are back on the ground where you left them. 

Ahead, the man has let go of your wrist and is now running at a dead sprint, trusting you to either keep up or be killed. He clearly has somewhere he’s going. You blindly follow him, out of any other options and brain too high on adrenaline to think about where he’s taking you. The hallway has opened out into a room, and now you’re weaving through huge pipes and tanks. Your lungs are about to explode. You can’t keep up with-

Suddenly, the man veers sharply to the left and smoothly jumps into a metal structure. Just like that, he’s gone. Nothing to do but follow. You breathe deep and hold it to stop from screaming as you jump in after him.

Dust. It’s in your throat and your eyes as you fall into whatever is piled at the bottom of the drop. You need to cough, but you fight hard not to. Before you can get your bearings, you’re yanked to your feet and thrust in a direction that seems random, until you reach the lip of the metal tank. The man all but throws you inside even as he’s climbing in after you, and then the heavy metal door is shut and the only sound is of two people breathing.

He tears off his hat and bandana. You watch, mesmerized, as the man’s chest rises and falls, struggling to push enough air into his lungs. Then, he utters the first word you’ve heard him say clearly.

“Fuck.”

The man’s name is Emmett. This you learn as you sit, huddled together but separate, in his makeshift bunker. 

You also learn that he doesn’t want you here.

“Please.” 

Your voice feels tight and painful; jagged around the edges from disuse. It catches sharply in your throat.

“No,” he replies.

The timer on his watch goes off, and Emmett opens the door. His chest is still heaving.

You both step out, listening carefully for any noise above you. The creature, thankfully, seems to have moved on. Emmett stands a little straighter as he turns to face you.

“I’m sorry, but you can’t stay here.” His voice is a whisper, and has the same rusty, unused quality as your own.

“I just need a place for one night.”

You beg with your eyes, and Emmett turns away. He won’t allow himself to be swayed by you.

Later, when it’s - almost- sure to be safe, the two of you go together to collect your discarded weapons. The sky outside has turned an awful gray, and sheets of rain pound into the earth. The sound is louder than anything you’ve heard in months, and the wind howls from all directions. 

Emmett sighs heavily, though he makes no sound. He looks up, seeming to question who would have the audacity to do this, and then turns to you.

One. Night. he mouths, holding up a finger for emphasis. 

He looks at you seriously, and you nod seriously in return. You follow him back down to the lower level, and settle in on opposite sides of the room.

One night, of course, turns into two, and then three. It’s nice to have company. Even Emmett seems to soften a little as the days go on. He doesn’t mention anything about you leaving after that first night, and you take care not to prompt him to. Emmett teaches you how to hide in the huge metal tank; explains the timer and watches you try it with your own alarm a few times to make sure you can do so safely. You busy yourself with mending a few things - broken backpack straps and holes in his old sweaters. He thanks you softly as you hand them back to him.

You catch Emmett looking at you a few times, barely getting a glimpse of the strange expression on his face before he turns away. You catch yourself looking at him too. It’s been so long since you’ve seen another person, but even if it hadn’t been, there’s something magnetic about him. His eyes are like spots of fresh ice against his weathered face. 

“I have something,” you say, over the meager dinner you’re sharing.

You go to your backpack and rustle around, moving slow so as not to make any noise. Finally, you pull out a bottle, its dark glass glowing faintly in the dim light.

“Cream soda,” you whisper, with all the thrill of a child showing off an ill-gotten prize from her mother’s cupboard.

The bottle hisses as you open it, and you both perk up, quickly alert for any sound of a threat above you. Safe. You pass the bottle to Emmett, offering him the first sip. It’s simple, but a rare treasure in this broken world.

“What’s the special occasion?” he asks, the barest hint of a smile drifting over his lips.

You watch as his mouth wraps around the bottle's opening, and as he gingerly tips it back to drink. He takes two quick swallows, his throat bobbing twice, then hands the bottle over to you. You take it, fingertips brushing against his for just a moment, and take a quick swig before you can think for too long about how his lips were just touching the rim.

“It’s just nice to have a treat sometimes,” you reply, shrugging. 

You hand the bottle back and Emmett takes it by the neck, letting the edge of his hand linger against yours for several seconds. You make no move to pull away. 

“It is,” he agrees. “Been a long time since I’ve had anything sweet.”

In the very back of your mind, you wonder if he’s still talking about the soda. No - stop that. You don’t need to go ruining the good thing you have going.

You had asked Emmett, on the morning of the second day, if he was alone. He’d paused for a moment before answering.

“Yes… Well, I mean… Yes.”

You'd decided not to prod any further. 

Now, as you look down at your hand ghosting against his, you notice again his wedding band, firmly wrapped around his finger. It's hard not to notice, and it's even harder to ignore the dozens of sketches that litter the room, pinned and draped on every surface. All of them show the same young boy. He could be a son, or a nephew, or just some random kid that something terrible happened to - you haven't wanted to ask. Everyone is beyond traumatized in this new world, and far be it from you to question whatever brings anyone comfort. Suddenly feeling guilty, you let go of the bottle and look away as Emmett takes another sip.

"Hey," he whispers. Your head snaps back up to look at him. "I have something too."

Emmett puts the soda down between you, methodically clears the table, and pulls out a very weathered deck of cards.

"You ever play Gin Rummy?"

The next morning, Emmett is up early. You stay in your sleeping bag, pretending that you haven't woken up yet, and watch him pull on his hat and boots. He slips on a pair of heavy leather gloves. You stir, "waking up," and Emmett walks over to you.

"Gonna go check the traps," he explains, kneeling down. "I'll be back."

You're struck by the way the moment feels almost domestic; as if he's promising you he'll be home for supper. Your eyes trail over him lazily, taking in the firm shape of his bare arms and the way his hands are abruptly covered by the work gloves. The thought of him roughly grabbing you by the waist flashes through your mind; the material rubbing your skin as his fingers sink into your sides. You swallow heavily; blink a few times.

"You should wear a jacket," you whisper.

Emmett has already started to walk off, but he turns around and smirks at your words. For a moment, it seems like he's about to say something. But it passes, and then he continues in the direction he was headed, grabbing his jacket off the back of a chair.

Once Emmett is gone, you have the place to yourself. Scant sunlight filters through the opening in the ceiling, giving you just enough light to read by. You pull out a well-worn book from your backpack, and settle into the chair Emmett's jacket was on to read it.

Quickly, the words start to swim on the page; falling forgotten into the margins. You can't get your mind off the image of Emmett leaving, blue eyes barely visible under the brim of his hat as he looked back over his shoulder. Had there been a teasing look to them, or was that just you imagining things again? Your mind flashes to an image of Emmett giving you his jacket, wrapping it around you, tight and safe. Pulling you close to him, and-

Okay, time to be honest. Emmett has been driving you crazy the past few days. And not in a bad way, but in an "imagining him tangled between your legs" kind of way. You know you shouldn't think like that. Your relationship with him is undefined and shaky at best; you shouldn't go risking it. But it's getting harder and harder to stop yourself from reaching out and snaking your fingers through his hair; against the tattoo peeking out from under his sleeve; sliding them down past his belt and-

Stop.

You practically have to bite your lip as you beg yourself. You listen for a moment to the silence. Emmett should be gone long enough. And under three feet of solid concrete, you feel safe to relax a little. You desperately need to let out some frustration.

But still, it feels too open out here. Too exposed. Even if you are alone, you just want some more privacy.

Your eyes drift to the steel bunker.

Okay, you can be quick. You have your watch and can time it and be careful. With how horny you are, this shouldn't take long at all. And in the worst case scenario, Emmett will be back soon and can let you out if you get stuck. This is a perfect idea.

You climb inside, set your watch, and close the door. Keeping your head by the entrance in case you need to rush the exit, you don't waste any time getting started.

You touch yourself, shocked at how wet you are already. Might as well take advantage of the sound-proof tank. You hiss as you slide a finger between your folds, finally not bothering to keep quiet.

"Oh, fuck, Emmett."

You desperately wish these were his fingers instead of your own. You plunge two inside yourself immediately; revel in the delicious sting. Legs squeezing together, trapping your own hand, rutting up against your palm. You imagine him hovering over you, blue eyes staring into yours as he watches you fall apart.

"Oh, fuck!"

Above your head, the door swings open. You freeze, hand still plunged sinfully down the front of your pants and hips bucking halfway off the steel floor. Next to you, your watch alarm beeps, calling more attention to your shame.

You look up, and suddenly Emmett staring back at you isn't a fantasy anymore.

"I'm… uh," you stammer in a hissed whisper, searching for any words. But the power of speech has left you. It seems to have left Emmett as well.

His mouth is practically hanging open, and after a moment of shocked panic, he quickly tears his eyes away. 

Taking the opportunity, you sit up and try to arrange yourself - although it's impossible to look presentable after you've just been caught fucking your own fingers to the thought of the man standing in front of you. 

"I'm sorry," Emmett whispers, frantic. He’s pacing; tears off his work gloves and throws them to the ground. Tosses his hat onto a table and runs a hand through his hair. "I thought something happened, and I wanted… well I didn't think - not that it's anything to be ashamed of. Everyone has urges."

"Do you?"

The sound of your voice shocks even you, despite the low volume you're speaking at. Your legs are dangling out the open door of the bunker, and you watch as Emmett stops in his tracks. 

“What?” he whispers.

“Everyone has urges,” you echo, placing your feet on the floor. “Do you?”

“I don’t know what you…”

You stand up, taking a bold step toward him. Emmett takes a half step back. His eyes are blown wide, fear and confusion, as you take another step. This time he stays.

You place a hand on Emmett’s chest. It’s crazy, but you can feel his heart pounding; the heavy rise and fall of his breath.

You’re only inches apart. One more step and your body would be pressed flush against his, just like you’ve been thinking of these past few days. From this distance, you can hear the shakiness in his breathing. 

“Tell me to stop.”

It’s a dare; a challenge; a bald-faced lie. You look up at him, pleading with your eyes for him to stay quiet. To not stop you. To keep going. 

“Tell me to stop.”

You’re on your tiptoes now, lips hovering right in front of his. Emmett swallows hard, and you can feel it reverberate through his whole chest. Looking you right in the eyes, he shakes his head.

No.

Emmett pulls you the rest of the distance. His lips scrape against yours, parting so you can slip your tongue inside. Your lungs have left your body, leaving a hollow space in your chest, making it impossible for you to breathe. You feel lightheaded. But oh, the way he’s biting at your lips; tangling a hand in your hair and pressing against you like you can stop him from drowning. His leg is between your thighs and you practically melt on it. Emmett has to hold you to keep you from falling to the floor. 

Gently, he eases you down. You’re desperate, pulling at him, trying to bring him to you faster. Your legs open to wrap around his waist. God, you’ve needed this. 

Emmett is scrambling to take off his jacket, and even though it only takes a few seconds, it is an eternity. To exist without his body pressed against yours. You hastily unbutton your pants, and Emmett tears them the rest of the way down.

There’s a pause, and you look up at him. Emmett is transfixed, but seems to quickly snap out of it when he notices you - embarrassed. You lean up on your elbows, but Emmett stops you, putting a gentle hand on your shoulder. He brings a finger to his lips; fixes you with a gaze that shows he’s serious. 

Be quiet.

You throw your head back and close your eyes. If you look at him for another second, you’re not going to be able to stop yourself from moaning. Even with the simplest gestures, he drives you crazy. You feel Emmett straddle you; reach his hand down between your legs. 

Oh, fuck.

His fingers are even better than you’d imagined. Two seconds in and he has you gasping for breath. If you were wet before, you’re positively dripping now. You dare to crack open your eyes. Emmett’s face is stoic with concentration, and you can’t believe how incredibly turned on it makes you. He bites his lip slightly, and you think you might pass out. Looking was a mistake, but you can’t tear your eyes off him. 

After teasing your entrance for a moment, Emmett slips a finger inside you. There’s that weightless feeling again; it’s like being drunk. You could ride his fingers until you forget your own name, and you already feel the coil tightening inside you.

Desperate, you scramble for something to hold onto. There’s nothing on the stone floor. Emmett is your only lifeline, and you grab at the hem of his shirt, pulling him to lean down over you. He kisses you. Rough and sloppy and frantic. You let out the smallest whimper into his mouth as you cum, hard, clamping your legs around his fingers. 

Panting. You’re actually panting as he pulls out of you, instantly missing the way his fingers curled up inside of you. You’re still holding onto his t-shirt for dear life, and he gently removes your hand. You can’t see straight, but there’s the unmistakable sound of a belt buckle being undone, and a zipper loosening. When you look up again, Emmett is hovering over you, his body planted between your legs.

He puts a hand on your waist to steady you, and you feel him line up with your entrance. It takes everything not to scream as he slides into you.

The stretch is intoxicating. You haven’t even recovered from your orgasm, but just the sight of him pausing after he’s plunged into you, needing to collect himself, breathing hard. It’s enough to make you ache.

“Please, Emmett.”

The fingers on your waist tighten, digging into your side. For a second, you worry you’ve upset him, but then he looks up at you, eyes blazing with lust. He looks like a man about to lose himself, and you smile as you move your hands up to his chest, gripping at his collar to pull him close as you whisper again. 

“Please.”

Emmett is pounding into you, careful at first to stay quiet, but getting sloppier every second. He can’t pull out all the way for fear of slapping too loudly against your thighs, but the result is an incredible friction that has you soaring. You don’t think you’ve ever been fucked this good. You grab at his shoulders, his neck, and Emmett lets you. When the pleasure has you tear open your eyes, you catch him watching you again. Enjoying the way you fall apart on his cock. It makes you clench around him even harder, and you catch the faintest whisper of a curse fall out of his lips as he leans forward, dropping his head to the crook of your neck. 

“Fuck, Emmett.” 

You whisper in his ear, breath brushing the strands of hair that fall around his face. Emmett brings his own lips right to the side of your cheek; his words tickle as he continues to fuck you.

“You know, you have a dirty mouth,” he tells you. “And here I thought you knew how to stay quiet.”

You whimper, and a hand is slapped over your mouth, the side of it slotting just under your teeth. Your heart pounds as Emmett leans in to whisper to you again, devilishly. 

“Bite down if you need to.”

Fuck, he’s going to be the death of you.

Emmett is grunting, softly, as he fucks into you just a little bit faster. The sound of him coming undone is enough to make you squeeze your eyes shut and bite down onto his hand, muffling the sound of your cries as you orgasm. 

If he’s hurt, he doesn’t show it. Emmett continues to rut into you as you bite the side of his hand, trying desperately to stay as quiet as you can. You want him to hold you down, breed you, spill everything into you with no care for the consequences. Emmett pulls his hand away and plants it on the ground, trying to balance himself.

“Where do you want me to cum?”

His words are breathless; you love hearing him like this. You bask in them, arching your back against the floor, not answering.

“Where do you want me to- Fuck!”

Emmett pulls out of you, trying and failing at the last second to cup a hand around himself. Cum gets everywhere, dripping from his fingers to the floor, coating the insides of your legs. He looks down at himself for a moment; shakes off his hand before wiping it on his pants, still halfway on in his rush to be inside you. 

“Now you decide to be quiet, huh?”

He’s leaning over you again, whispering teasingly in your ear. He pinches your waist and kisses your cheek before pulling away, showing you the mischief in his eyes.

Somewhere above you, there’s a crash followed by a loud screech. Maybe you weren’t as quiet as you’d thought.

“Shit.” Emmett yanks his pants up and pulls you both to your feet. The sounds of something getting closer are clearly audible. You should be scared, but instead you’re excited.

“Let’s go.”

You tug at Emmett’s wrist as you lead him toward the bunker. Two minutes and thirty seconds - that’s how long you have before the timer goes off. You tumble, pulling him in after you. The door closes behind you with a soft thud.

You want to hear him scream.