Rohypnol has an INCREDIBLY salty taste to it. It’s disgusting. And it also isn’t a drug that acts immediately! The minute you notice the salty taste, you have about 5-10 minutes to get somewhere safe or call an ambulance, and it CAN be fought if you’re aware of it. It will make you woozy, it will make you so dizzy you can’t stand upright, it will certainly make you unable to walk properly, but if you struggle to remain conscious you can get about 20 extra minutes of consciousness from the drug before it will knock you out completely. If you’re in a public place, and the person who drugged you is trying to take you somewhere private, start. a. fight. Insist as LOUDLY and as VIOLENTLY as you can that you refuse to go anywhere with them. Odds are they’re trying to make as little of a scene as possible as they drag you away, and if you’re putting up a fight and very clearly ‘drunk’, eyes will turn on them and they’ll either need to let you go, or cause a serious scene, which they don’t want. Don’t just act like you’re just protesting being taken home, though. Fight like your life depends on it even if they aren’t assaulting you. Cause. A. Scene. That’s the last thing they want.
Warnings: This will include dark elements, including non/dubcon. Please do not read if these elements or any dark elements make you uncomfortable.
Character: Bucky Barnes
Summary: you are snatched and sent away as a special delivery.
Please reblog if you enjoy and leave some feedback! Muah 💋
You shakily turn your legs over the side of the couch. It takes everything you have to lean forward and claim the plate of pasta. You take a deep breath and sit back, nearly spilling it all in your lap. You balance it on your legs and heave. Your lungs hurt.
You grip the fork and poke the noodle and twirl. You wrap the linguine around the tines and hunch over the plate. You push it into your mouth. Your stomach hurts but the hunger is so deep it’s next to revulsion. You suck the noodle off the fork and drone as you chew.
You close your eyes as you swallow it down. It’s good but too much. The flavour makes you nauseous.
You don’t want to be ungrateful. You open your eyes and twist up some more. The second bite turns to bile in your mouth. You groan and quiver. You spit it onto the plate as your insides constrict. You spew up the first mouthful and some acid.
You shudder and whine. You suck in a willowy breath and shake your head. You push the plate forward and lift it over the gap between the table and the couch. You get it just onto the edge of the table and slide it forward.
You let go as you tip and collapse onto the floor. You sob and shiver as footsteps barrel from another room. Bucky comes to stand above you.
“Doll,” he drops to one knee and pets your head. “What’s going on?”
“S-sorry,” You murmur. “It was… good…”
He looks up at the plate and clucks. “Too much,” he says. “Broth. We’ll get you some broth.”
He bends over you and wraps his arms around you. He lifts you back onto the couch and sits close. He strokes your cheek and hair and your neck. His hands settle on your shoulders as he keeps you from slouching over.
“We should get you washed up, doll. I got some nice clothes for you to put on. You’ll feel better.” He coaxes as his thumbs circle on your skin. “Does that sound good?”
You slump back against the couch weakly and your head lolls, “I…o…kay.”
You don’t have a choice. Even if he keeps asking like you do. He slips and arm around your back and the other under your legs. He slides you into his lap and turns. He stands and carries you around the couch. You weigh nothing in his embrace.
He takes you out of the room and up the stairs. He pushes through a door with his shoulder and reveals a spacious bathroom. The tile is deep blueish gray, the trim a dark hardwood, and the mirrors and faucets burnished silver. He places you on a bench against the wall next to the large oval tub.
If this were any other circumstance, you would marvel at it all. Your tiny apartment is nothing compared to this. The bathroom alone would take up about half of your own letted space.
He bends his legs as he steadies you. He brushes his hands over your shoulders and down your arms. Your teeth chatter as his touch stirs your insides. He tugs at your shirt and you whine.
“It’s okay, doll,” he purrs. “I’m taking care of you. Just like I said.”
You can do nothing as he peels the sweaty, dingy, tee shirt off of you. He gets it past your head and you turn your head away. You stare at the wall as he tickles up your stomach.
“So soft,” he growls.
He covers your tits with his hands and lifts them beneath your bra. He hums and squeezes. You tense.
“Gotta…” he begins and his throat clicks. “Get you clean…”
You’re not sure he was thinking of that at first. He unhooks the front of your bra and drags it off. You quiver again.
“You’re so beautiful, doll,” he rasps. “So good.”
He tosses the bra onto your shirt. He grabs your wrists and guides your hands over his shoulders. He trails his hands back up your arms.
“You hang onto me. I gotta get pants off, okay?”
You nod and your head falls against his shoulder. You bend your arms and cling to his neck. He stands and takes you with him. He pushes down your pants and your panties in a single motion, his hand crawling up your rear as the fabric drops to your ankles.
He puts you back down and you press yourself to the wall. He gets to his knees and untangles your feet from the mess. You push your legs together and quake. He bunches up the fabric and shoves it with the rest.
He stands up and groans as he stretches his fingers wide. His middle finger twitches as his lips move silently. He goes to the tub and bends over the edge to twist on the high faucet. He pulls the lever to lock the stopper then straightens up again.
He lingers by the tub and watches the water spill into the porcelain. He lets out a long breath and reaches over his head. He grabs the back of his shirt and swoops it up over his head. Your blood turns cold.
He reveals the thick muscles of his back. You watch them move as lowers his arms and flings his shirt. You gulp and look down at your knees. He continues to undress as you shiver against the wall.
His breath grits as he moves around you. You wince away from him but he turns away. He stops by the counter and you glance up as he detaches his metal arm. You blink in surprise. He lays down the prosthetic and clucks.
He faces you and cower. You quickly tear your eyes away but not without noticing his body. He’s hard, his dick bobbing as he comes closer to you.
“Hang onto me doll,” he offers his arm.
Your heart flutters. You reach to clasp onto him and he helps you up. He leads you to the tub. He steps in first then gets you over the edge. He hums and angles you in front of him. He steps close and draws you flush to him.
He lowers himself down with you on him. You feel his erection firm against you. He growls as he reclines and his hand crawls up your stomach. The rigidity slowly seeps from his body as he exhales it out.
“This feels right, don’t it, doll?” He traces circles on your skin. “You are so right… for me, doll.”
Warnings: This will include dark elements, including non/dubcon. Please do not read if these elements or any dark elements make you uncomfortable.
Character: Bucky Barnes
Summary: you are snatched and sent away as a special delivery.
Please reblog if you enjoy and leave some feedback! Muah 💋
You slip in and out of consciousness. After so long fighting to stay awake and face your date, you're overcome with exhaustion. The void is much preferable to reality.
When you come to, unable to make yourself sink back into sleep, you're not alone. You give a start as you look up and find that man staring at you. He's no longer a hazy shadow but a very real and solid figure.
His blue eyes widen as they meet yours and he flicks back a shank of dark hair behind his ear. He clears his throat and you watch how it bobs nervously. You blink up at him as he stands behind the couch, his hand nervously clutching the back.
Your gaze lingers on his fingers. Your brows furrow and you wince at the effort. He looks down then hides his metal hand. You lift your eyes again.
“I know you…” you rasp.
"Um…" he gulps. “I'm Bucky."
“Winter soldier…" you mutter in recollection and let your head loll to the side.
“I prefer Bucky," he insists. “Hey," he comes around the couch. “How are you feeling?"
You stare past him as he stands in front of you. He touches your head and you flinch. He retracts his hand.
“Look, I didn't know they were gonna… be like that.”
You cough and groan. “What? You…” your voice fizzles out. You're too weak.
"You're looking better,” he drawls. "Are you hungry at all?"
You don't answer him. You just stare. You're confused. Not only is he supposed to be a hero but he's acting like he really is a good guy. He just can't be after what you went through.
He waits for a moment but when you don't reply, he backs up. He marches away. You roll onto your side and sigh. This is so strange. Why like this? Why, at all?
You hear him in the next room. There's beeping, more tapping, the restless pacing. The drone of a microwave fills the air and another, more final beep, ends it.
You smell the food before he enters. You still don't move. He comes over and sets the dish down.
“Reheated some Alfredo I ordered," he explains. “Hopefully it's not too much."
He bends over you and grabs your shoulders. He turns you and sits you up against the armrest. You whine softly.
“Woah, I hurt you?" He asks.
His thumbs stroke your shoulders and he drags his hands down your arms before letting you go completely. You shiver.
“Sore…" you croak. “...from being in a box."
He sighs. “Like I said…I didn't expect that."
You want to ask what exactly he was expecting? Your eyelids are all fuzzy. You drag your hands into your lap and slump.
He pulls up a leather Ottoman and sits on it. He takes the plate of pasta and pokes at it with the fork.
“You should eat. Get some strength back," he girds.
For what? Why do you need to get your strength up? Why are you there?
He scoops up some of the twisted noodles and hovers it in front of your mouth. You don't react. He exhales loudly.
“Look, I didn't want you to get hurt."
“How do you even… know me?" You rub your arms, trying to soothe yourself as your nerves spin.
“Mm, not you in…particular. I just wanted… someone.”
"Someone?” You echo thinly then drop your head into your hands.
"You okay?" He puts the fork down. He shifts closer and touches your arm. You wince. “Maybe… a hot bath?” His hand crawls up your neck. "Doll, tell me what you need?"
“Why is this happening?" You eke out.
"What?” He sounds genuinely surprised. “I… I'm gonna take care of you.”
"You let them… put me in a box," you hiss, shaking as you rub your temples.
“No, I didn't tell them to do that."
“But they did… because of you."
“But… no. I wouldn't do that.”
"Stop,” you wave him off. "Please…” you sniffle as your eyes burn. "I want to go home."
He huffs and gets up from the Ottoman. He moves to sit on the edge of the couch. He grips your shoulders and pushes you back until you lift your head. Your tears roll down your cheeks.
“This is home." He grits.
You pout, “what?"
“This is your home now. I paid–“ he stops himself. "I'm helping you.”
" Wh-what?” You blubber. "No…”
"I am,” his voice is low as he squeezes your shoulders. "So just calm down.” He slides his hands down your arms, "I just want someone…"
His eyes trail down and a cold wash flows over you. His gaze clings to your chest as it shakes with unspent sobs and his hands fall onto your thighs. You flinch and press yourself against the armrest.
“There's more than I… expected,” he kneads your thighs. "You're soft…"
You slap your hands on his and whine. “Please…”
"I'm gonna be good to you," he dips his fingertips into your cushiony thighs. “I just wanna be… with you.”
"Please, you're scaring me." You whimper.
His hands tense and he rips them away. You clasp yours together before your chest and cower. His blue eyes spark and he grimaces.
“I'm not scary. I'm not… I wouldn't hurt you.” He sneers.
You lean into the couch and curl your shoulders in. “But… you brought me here.”
“To help you!” He throws his hands up and stands. “I just want to… to…” he stomps around then stops sharply.
He looks at you and sways. He puts one foot forward. His eyes dilate and he tilts his head. He marches toward you and you cry out. He stops right before he can get to you, his metal arm extended towards your throat.
He exhales through his nose and his brows twitch. The tension slowly eases from his jaw. He nods and backs up.
Warnings: This will include dark elements, including non/dubcon. Please do not read if these elements or any dark elements make you uncomfortable.
Character: Bucky Barnes
Summary: you are snatched and sent away as a special delivery.
Please reblog if you enjoy and leave some feedback! Muah 💋
You’ve never been more thirsty or hungry. More crushing than your most basic needs is the fear. You blink and the blackness remains. That darkness so thick and endless, it swirls around you like the ocean, sinking you lower and lower into the depths. It’s been so long since you saw light that your eyes hurt. Your head too.
Beyond the walls of your compact prison, you feel a subtle motion, and hear the muffled roll of an engine. They’re taking you somewhere. Each place these men, thug, monsters, have taken you has been worse than the last.
You jostle against the inside of the tight space. You have no room to roll over or even bend your arms. You lay like a plank, barely awake but never asleep. You feel your body giving into the doom in your mind. At least it will be over if you just let go.
Your heartbeat jumps at the sudden lurch of the vehicle. The brakes lock and you search the void. Your ears prickle as you listen. A door, then another. Footsteps… it’s hard to track them for how faint every noise is beyond your cage.
The long scrape of something lifting precedes the slight dip of the ground beneath you. Your breath clouds around you humidly. The box rises, a sensation that makes your head and stomach spin. You’re carried a few steps then angled vertically.
You set your feet but have no strength. Your legs bend and you lean into the barrier before you, kept upright by the walls alone. You tilt slightly, rolled over the bumpy ground on wheels. You’ve reached the end.
There’s another thump. Several. Not on the box that contains you.
There’s a lull, a cough, and a grumble. Then another voice. You can’t make out the words. One in exchange for a few more. A tap on the box then you’re rolled forward.
You jerk as the wheels bounce over some lift in the ground then you’re brought down to your back again. More footsteps then the sharp snap of another door. It evaporates all at once into silence.
Your chest caves in on itself. You can't help but gulp down the limited air around you, panic gripping you from head to toe. The quiet scuff of steps around you circle like a cyclone as you lay on the eye of the storm.
There's a clunk then a creak. The edge of the wall splits and light leaks in, stinging your dry eyes. You close them and hide in yourself, a louder whine of wood sounding. The whole front of the container breaks away and leaves you scalded in the glare of the outside world.
You keep your eyes slitted as you peek out beneath your lashes. A shadow stands over you. It bends and reaches for you. You whimper, a crackly noise that scratches your throat, and twitch. They grab your shoulders and haul you up to sit. You hang in their grip, unable to support yourself.
“Shit," the raspy curse makes you wince.
He keeps a hand on your shoulder and slides his other arm under your knees. You brace yourself. As starving as you are, you have some bulk to your figure, enough to have you cautious.
He lifts you easily. Your head lolls back. A sigh compresses from his chest. Your eyes roll back and he turns, bending to lay you on something soft. There's a speckle of light and sound before your mind goes blank.
You rouse with a start. Your vision is fuzzy and your ears are clogged. Your body aches heavily. You don't try to sit up. You know you can't.
You look down at the sharp pain as it dissipates. The thick thumb brushes down your fingers as you stare at the strange thing attached to your hand. There's something else attached to it, a tube.
The blurred figure gets up. You shield yourself behind your eyelids once more. There's a sharp tug and space dims. There's a click, and it get even greater.
He returns to you and touches your forehead. You moan and turn your head. He presses his knuckles to your cheek.
“Doll," he pets your skin. “I'm helping."
You quiver and try to roll your back to him. You fall back, weak, flat and prone. He exhales again and retracts his hand.
“Can you hear me?" He gets closer, kneeling at your side. “You're dehydrated. I'm giving you fluids."
You shudder and try to lift your arm. He catches your wrist and gently holds it down. He looms by you as his thumb strokes your arm.
“You'll get all tangled. You need to rest." He girds.
You squeeze your eyes tighter. This isn't happening. You told yourself that so many times and things just keep happening.
He shifts and draws away. You don't have the strength to do anything but obey. He stands and you hear him shuffling around the space.
Air rushes over you and something soft spreads across your body. A blanket. He gently tucks it in around you.
“I didn't think…” he begins. "Doll, you hear me at all?"
You nod with all your effort. It isn't much. He clucks as his shadow lurks.
“I'm not gonna…” he pauses again. "I'm gonna take care of you. Alright?”
You don't nod. You don't believe him. Take care of you? How? Like those men who stuff you into a box.
His footsteps circle you. He mutters under his breath and sighs again. He stops behind the couch you lay on.
You tense and wait for… something. He doesn't come toward you but marches away. His steps disappear.
You let out the breath you were holding and peel your eyes open. It hurts. The edges of your vision are hazy and you struggle to pick out the details of the room.
You lift your hand and examine the tape crisscrossed over the needle woven under the skin. You drop your arm and whine. This is the kind of twisted stuff you only see in movies and you never were a fan of horror.
Warnings: this fic could include dark content and possible untagged elements such as noncon. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
This is explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Character: mob!baker!Steve Rogers, reader with arthritis
I welcome and appreciate all feedback. This means replies, reblogs, and asks. I do prefer if you can reblog and share my work along with your thoughts. <3
Please check my pinned post for more information on my blog, stories, and asks!
Do one kind thing for yourself today and take care.💖
You’re distracted as you get to the front of the line. You feel bad to have caused all that drama. You can sense the woman who came in with Devin glancing at you as you roll up to the counter, turning the wheels to get close. You didn’t even think of what you wanted.
“Um. May I get… a strawberry turnover, please?” You ask, too edgy to read the menu.
“Of course. Anything else?” The cashier asks. You know her. She works at the grocery too. Or did.
“No thanks. I appreciate it.” You take out your change purse.
“Don’t charge her,” the owner calls through as he brings out a tray of pastries and slides it into the display. “Comped.”
“Thank you,” you eke out. You put a tip in the jar instead.
“If you want to find a table, we can bring it to you.” He offers.
“Oh, it’s…” you swallow. “Okay.”
You don’t want to draw any more attention. You look around and find a table by the window. You stare at the chair. The wooden seat won’t be good for your tailbone.
You let go of your walker and grab the chair. It’s heavier than you expect. You drag it and it scrapes on the floor loudly. You keep your head down, straining to lift the feet off the wood.
“I got you,” a voice grits and someone approaches. It’s him. Steve. The owner.
“Sorry I… don’t want my walker to be in the way.” You let go as he takes the chair and moves it to another table.
“All good,” he assures you.
You roll your walker around and grip the handles as you sit, locking the brakes. You nod and thank him under your breath. You can’t look at him. You’re too embarrassed. You should’ve got the pastry to go.
“If you need anything else, let them know at the counter.” He says.
“You’re too nice,” you stare at the table.
He leaves and you fidget restlessly. You’re used to the sideways glances and kids pointing, asking loudly what’s wrong with you. You’re too young to be like this. You know that, they really don’t need to remind you.
You move your purse onto the table and take out your little notebook. You go over the grocery list you made before you left your place. Shoot, you didn’t write down oats. You used the last ones this morning.
Steps approach and the scent of freshly warmed pastry kisses your nose. You look up as Steve sets down a scalloped saucer with a gooey turnover drizzled in lacy icing. You smile and close your notebook.
“Oh, thanks. That’s sweet.” You murmur. “It smells… looks delicious.”
“Not a problem. You’ll let me know if it’s too sweet.” He says.
“Um, I’m sure it’s good.” You frame the dish with your fingers. “Thank you.”
“Enjoy.” He claps his hands together and backs up.
You shrink down and examine the dessert. You peel apart the warm pastry and nibble on it. You get some of the filling on the next bite and your cheeks pinch. It’s better than the danishes you get on clearance at the shop.
You eat slowly as you dare to look around. You always liked baking but it was hard for you to stand too long in the kitchen. You always kept to quick and easy meals. Anything you could leave in the rice cooker or just boil water to add. Sandwiches and soup were the best.
You hold up your sticky finger and lick your lips. You sit up as you sense someone coming close. It’s Steve. Again. He puts down some napkins.
“Thank you,” you say.
"How did you like it?" He asks.
"It was good."
He sets down something else. The paper bag crinkles as a peak of crust shows through the little plastic window in the bag.
“Saw it on your list,” he says. “Sourdough. But if you prefer rye…”
“That’s… too much. I couldn’t.” You wipe your fingers, your hand shaking a moment. “Really, I’m on my way to the grocery shop.”
“One less thing on your list.” He insists. “Really, I don’t mind.”
You crumple up the napkin and sit back on the walker. You zip up your purse and hang it on the handle. You push yourself to your feet and release the brakes.
“I do. I appreciate the turnover but that’s already too much. I’m okay.” You assure him. “It was nice of you to step in earlier but… thank you. Just thank you.”
You slide your walker out from behind the table and reach for the plate and napkin. He swipes it up first. “I’ll take care of it.” He says.
You thank him one last time. You angle around and make your way across the bakery. As you near the door, he brushes by you and gets there first. He holds the door open.
You brace yourself as you let the wheels off the ledge. As you pass, he reaches to put the loaf on the seat of your walker. You gasp as you step down and pause. You look at him.
“I said no.” You insist.
“Take it.” He insists. “My treat.”
You stare at him. Even if he wasn’t standing on the ledge, he’d be huge. You wilt and purse your lips.
“Thank you.” Once again.
You continue outside and don’t look back. You’re embarrassed. It might be all in your head. Maybe no one really noticed the whole episode but it won’t be easy to forget. This is why you hate going out. Even in a small town like this, or maybe because it’s a small town, people judge.
Warnings: this fic could include dark content and possible untagged elements such as noncon. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
This is explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Character: mob!baker!Steve Rogers, reader with arthritis
I welcome and appreciate all feedback. This means replies, reblogs, and asks. I do prefer if you can reblog and share my work along with your thoughts. <3
Please check my pinned post for more information on my blog, stories, and asks!
Do one kind thing for yourself today and take care.💖
It’s rare that you see a rush in the small town. The lazy rhythm of the remote community is just your speed, not that you can go very fast. It’s not about when, just that you get there.
Ivy greets you as you pass by her pulling weeds from her garden. You wave, one hand still on your walker, and say good morning. You continue on, leaning into the metal frame as you roll the wheels over the cracks.
You turn onto the main street and focus on the wooden sign jutting out from the center. You noticed a few weeks ago when it went up. The banner announcing the grand opening has since been disposed of. You avoided the furour of the exciting premier, knowing you would only get jostled, even lost, in the chaos.
Now you feel good enough to make it down. Not without real purpose. You desperately need to do a shop after procrastinating for far too long.
You pause and wait for Len to pass in his dusty white truck. He gives a beep and a wave. Sometimes, he’ll drive you back home if he catches you on the way. He’s one of the nice ones; one of those who see you. Then there are those who pretend they don’t.
You cross and push your wheels over the curb. You can feel the inflammation in your hips already. You make slow progress along the crooked sidewalk. It dips at points and in places the grass along the edge is higher than the pavement.
You slow as you get close to the bakery and admire the handpainted calligraphy on the sign; Brooklyn’s Best Bakery. You stop in front of the windows and look at the baskets of buns and rolls on display. You can smell it all as the door opens after a customer.
You press on as a couple approaches. The man holds the door for the woman and follows her through. You try to catch the door after them and it hits your walker and knocks you back. The bell jangles above.
You wrench your walker away and let the door close. It’s not the first time it’s happened. You thought they would’ve seen you hurrying to get in after them. Of course, you can’t expect everyone to hold the door but you weren’t that far behind.
You angle and open the door, using your back to keep it open. You push on it and pull your walker close, turning it through the door. You grunt as you lift the wheels over the high step that leads inside.
As you roll through, the door swings shut and spurs you forward. You hit a shelf with the wheel and steady yourself. You check to make sure you didn’t knock anything over.
To your surprise and disappointment, there’s a line. Oh well, you have to wait. Other people exist too.
You join the line and turn your walker to sit on the seat, your bag dangling from the handle. You rub your hips and lean to the side. The last x-ray showed degeneration at the base of your spine and in your tailbone, a little in your hips.
“Excuse me,” a deep voice comes through.
You sit up but can’t see past the couple in front of you. The woman points to the croissants in the display as the man’s hand rests on her lower back. He doesn’t seem to be listening as he reads the chalkboard sign above the counter.
“‘Scuse me,” the same voice grits and several bodies shuffle apart in the queue. “Hey, you.”
You blink and look over, startled. You peek back, thinking maybe you didn’t see the mess you made after all.
You twist back as a man approaches in an apron. The red fabric is dusted with flour and other ingredients. He’s tall, his shoulders broad, and a dark beard trims his jaw. He wears a short sleeve shirt over a tank top, exposing tattoos on his chest and arms.
“You,” he points at the man ahead of you. “That wasn’t very polite.”
“Huh?” The man ahead of you snorts. You think his name is Donny or… Dustin?
“You dropped the door on another customer.” The man crosses his arms.
“Who?” Wait, his name is Devin, replies hotly.
“This lady right here,” the man in the apron points at you. “I’m sure you saw her.”
“Dude, I didn’t see her–.”
“How do you know you didn’t drop it on her if you didn’t see her?” The man’s forearms bulge.
“It was an accident.”
“So now you did see her?”
“No. I… look, uh,” Devin turns. “I’m sorry, really.” As he looks down at you, you stand, feeling smaller than ever. “I didn’t see you and if the door hit you–”
“It did.” The aproned man insists.
“I didn’t see you and I’m sorry I hit you with the door.” Devin scoffs and looks at the man. “Happy?”
“Not really,” the man retorts. “Get your food and get out.”
Devin huffs again and shakes his head. He mumbles as the woman beside him shifts away.
“Excuse me?” The man in the apron drops his arms. “You wanna say something, make sure I can hear you.”
“I said you’re a fucking tight ass.” Devin retorts.
“Common decency is being a tight ass? Well then, you can just go.” The man grabs Devin by his hoodie and drags him between a set of shelves.
There isn’t much of a struggle as the cafe employee is much stronger, even if he’s not as heavy as Devin’s rounder build. He shoves the door open and hurls Devin through. He claps his hands then turns back.
“You’re more than welcome to stay and order,” he says to the woman as he approaches. “And whatever you’re getting,” the man stops by you. “It’s on the house.”
“What? No. It’s… okay.” You babble dumbly, surprised at being addressed.
“Not okay. Not in my joint.” He sneers.
“Um, okay, uh, thank you, sir. You really didn’t have to–”
“I did,” he says and offers his hand. “Steve Rogers. It’s my place, my rules.”
You lean back on your walker, keeping your hand on one side and shake his hand. He squeezes and you nearly dissemble in his grip. You stare up at him, wide-eyed, and utter your name out of courtesy.
His cheek dimples as he nods. “Pretty. I’m almost finished a batch of strawberry turnovers. That’s my recommendation.” He lets go.
Warnings: this fic will include dark content and possible untagged elements such as noncon. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
You voted, I wrote it. This is June 3rd’s fic!
Nick Fowler + “Why don’t you try it and see what happens.”
I welcome and appreciate all feedback. This means replies, reblogs, and asks. I do prefer if you can reblog and share my work along with your thoughts. <3
Please check my pinned post for more information on my blog, stories, and asks!
Do one kind thing for yourself today and take care.💖
The tray balance on-top of two others leans dangerously. You angle with it to keep from disaster. You search for a place to put down the stack of coffee cups amid the agents sat around the tables and the devices and empty cups across the top.
No one notices you as they focus on the large screens and give directives. You go through the cups marked by balance of sugar and dairy. Jensen takes three sugar and three cream, Everett takes his black with a shot of espresso, and Barnes takes his with a single dash of milk. You cycle through the menial tasks of doling out caffeine. The last is Fowler. Plain black. Simple.
He focuses on the screen as the hazy noise of music rises from the speakers. There's a silence among the agents as they intently observe what's going. You don't dare look. Your credentials allow you to do the coffee runs and grunt work. You don't see any you aren't seen.
"We need to get in there..." Everett growls.
"No shit," Barnes retorts.
The two men scowl at each other. Jensen inhales nervously and Fowler sits back as he notices the freshly renewed cup. You clean up the empties as the agents fester in frustration.
"The woman." Fowler says and pauses to lick away a droplet of coffee from his lip. "That's the in."
"And what do you propose? This isn't your Tinder profile--" Barnes chides.
Fowler scoffs. "Jealous?" He sets his cup down and taps the side. "That's not what I mean but you know it's probably the easiest way in..."
Everett rolls his eyes and the other men groan. Fowler arches a brow and looks around as you drop the empty cups into the bin. The hollow clatter draws his attention. His cheek dimples.
"Mace is too old. Walker likes them young, doesn't he? All the other agents look like moms or worse, widows."
"Charming," Jensen comments.
"More than you, pal. Tell us again how Willa shot you down." Fowler rebuffs. Jensen sinks down.
You head for the door and something taps the table.
Your name stops you short. You nearly let out a squeak. You didn't think any of them knew it. You typically respond to the call of "intern" or snapping fingers.
You turn slowly. "Sir, is it the coffee?"
"Come here." He ignores your offer for a second run.
You glance around, wilting beneath the gazes of seniority. You cross the room, playing mindlessly with the security badge clipped to your belt, and approach Fowler. He spins his finger as you near.
“Spin.” He stands.
You take a step back but obey. You face the other agents and squirm. Fowler grabs your blouse at the sides and pulls it taut around your middle. You look down as your eyes round.
“Huh?” You utter.
“How old are you, sweetheart?” He asks.
You blink and shrug. You’re so confused and embarrassed you can barely think of the number. “Twenty-three, sir.”
“Bout the same age as Walker’s plaything.”
“Fowler, what are you on about?” Barnes crosses his arms and leans back, leg swaying.
“I know I’m the only one who can pull it off,” Fowler steps up beside you and slings his arm around your waist. You chafe and clasp your wrist to keep from collapsing. His other hand comes up to slide off your glasses. “Pop in some contacts, get some gloss on those lips,” he pokes your mouth with the end of the your glasses’ arm, “short dress…”
“She’s a goddamn intern,” Everett argues.
“Which means she’ll be believable as the mindless bimbo on my arm.” Fowler chuckles.
“Um, sir…” you protest weakly.
“Relax, honey. It comes with a pay raise.” He squeezes your side. “Besides, you’re young. Live a little.”
“The director’s never going to bite,” Everett snorts.
“Really? Maybe if you ask but she likes me.” Fowler folds up your glasses and hooks them over his jacket pocket. His arm slowly drags from around you. “We need to get in and we’re not gonna waltz in smelling of fuzz. So… she’s our way. Get in with the girlfriend or whatever.”
You sniff and frown.
“She’s gonna blow it. Look at her.” Barnes shakes his head.
“I got time to train her up right,” Fowler grins as he grips his hips. “Boys, how many times have I got shit done? Whole lot more than any of you.”
“If you exclude Barcelona,” Everett sneers.
“And Capetown.” Barnes adds.
You look around. “Um…”
“Don’t worry, sweetheart. Leave it to me.” Fowler turns and taps the tip of your nose. “I’ll get your clearance… and a stylist.” He saunters back and sits down. He lifts his coffee and you wring your hands.
“Uh, sir, my glasses…” You eke out.
He smirks. “Get rid of them.” He slides them off his pocket and holds them out. You take them and nod. “Good girl.”
👄
As much as your reticence keeps you in the background, it can just as easily get you into trouble. Your passiveness is hardly a defense to someone like Fowler. When he says something, he has no question that it will be heard. When he makes a decision, there’s not a single doubt that it’s what will happen.
It all goes by in a terrible whirlwind that leaves you breathless. You’re disoriented as you find yourself in a hotel room staring at a dress with too many straps. You cross your arms tightly as you chew your lip.
A soft noise brings your eyes up to the mirror to your right. Past the reflection of your new haircut and perfectly glowy face, you watch Fowler strap on his shoulder holster. Your nerves roil in your chest and you fidget. You look back to the dress and touch the glimmery fabric.
“Just follow my lead,” he says, for what would be the dozenth time. “We’ve gone over this.”
“Yes, sir.” You bring your thumb up to bite.
“No. No, sirs. I’m Tate and you’re Arielle. Remember the briefing.” He commands.
You flinch and look at him. “Sorry, I’m… I’m nervous.”
“Don’t be. I got you.” He assures as he slides his gun into his holster.
You look down again. You pick up the dress and hide in the bathroom. You change into the tight fit and face your reflection. You look ridiculous. All you can see is cleavage and thigh.
“Arielle, honey,” Fowler calls to you as the low hum of music comes from the suite. “Can’t hide all night.”
You sigh and close your eyes. You gather what courage you have and go back out. Fowler has his jacket on as he skips the track on his phone. A slow R&B groove plays as you sit and pull on the too high shoes.
“Come on,” He beckons to you.
“What?” You stare at him. “I can’t dance.”
““Why don’t you try it and see what happens. Gotta make it believable.”
“Er… I don’t know.” You struggle to stand but gain your balance. Despite practicing in heels for weeks, you’re still unsteady.
“Don’t know how to dance? Jeez, honey, you’re too damn young not to do anything.” He nears and grabs your hand. He pulls you against him. “Just feel the music.
“Sir– Tate.” You babble.
“Like this.” He grips your hip and presses your pelvis into him, guiding your arm over his other shoulder. “Close, sway with me.”
You could melt as his warmth clouds around you and the scent of his cologne fills your nose. You mimic him as best you can, falling into the rhythm. He squeezes your hip, fingers stretching onto the cushion of your rear. He growls and inhales along your hair. His nose traces your forehead.
“Like that, good girl.” He coaxes as he moves you with him. “Pull your hand down, touch my chest.” He directs. You obey and feel his muscle through the layers. His collar is undone and shows off the top of his muscled chest. “Is that so hard?” He asks.
“Um… no, it’s… it’s okay,” you say.
“Well…” He moves his hand across the back of your skirt. “I know I am.”
He chuckles and kisses your forehead. You wince and push on his chest. Does he mean what you think? He snickers and squeezes your ass before he lets go.
“Gotta get used to it, honey,” he rubs his fingertips with his thumb. “Gonna have to play this out. Make it believable.”
“I know, I’m trying…”
“You can do it, sweetheart, I know you can.” He tugs on the top of his belt and turns, shifting as if to adjust his pants. “You know, it doesn’t all have to be work.” He grabs his phone and stops the music. “A little play never hurt anyone.”
Nick: *sees Walker has a young mistress(?) girlfriend(?)* "Perfect! I can grab that cute little intern I've had my eye on!"
Reader: *completely oblivious to his creeping* "Huh?"
Also, I'd be screwed because I cannot put contacts in to save my life. Sir, unless you want to sit in frustration for an hour as I fight the reflexes of my eyelids and/or repeatedly poke myself in the eye, you'll give me my glasses back. Thank you.
I see we've got Jake, Curtis, and Bucky in this ... could this be a start to a new Roo-niverse? (I apologize for the pun, but I had to.)
Warnings: this fic will include dark content and possible untagged elements such as noncon. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
You voted, I wrote it. This is June 5th’s fic!
Destroyer Chris + “If you want to leave, go ahead and see how far you get.” (Biker AU)
I welcome and appreciate all feedback. This means replies, reblogs, and asks. I do prefer if you can reblog and share my work along with your thoughts. <3
Please check my pinned post for more information on my blog, stories, and asks!
Do one kind thing for yourself today and take care.💖
The empty bars at the top of the phone screen blink. You expected as much. What you didn’t account for is how dark these country roads can be.
Even with a paper map, it’s too dark to read the tiny lines and letters. You pull over to turn on the cabin light and pore over the unfamiliar roads and ways and points. It’s not any help when you lost yourself an hour ago. The signs out here don’t have the same reflective coating as the main highways and are often hidden behind overgrown leaves.
You sigh and squint closer, hoping that you miraculously find yourself in the print. You fold it up haphazardly and drop it in the passenger seat, next to the empty bottle of water and wrappers. It’s not like you want to get where you’re going. Family reunions aren’t always happy reconciliations.
All you can do is keep driving and hope for a beacon of life. You grip the wheel tight as you roll steady but cautiously down the dusty backroad. Your intent to avoid the chaos of busy highways has backfired. You were prepared for a few extra hours of driving but not for the intense void of the country night.
Ahead, you spot a dull glow. You can’t quite make it out until you’re nearly right beside it. You stop and blink at the lit sign of the bar. Only two of the bulbs on the moniker flicker and shadows flood the lot outside the grim windows.
You pull in. If there’s life inside, they have to at least know where you are. You run your hands over your head and exhale out your anxiety. You shut the engine off and grab the map. As you get out, you tuck your keys in your pocket. It’s only then, you notice the line of motorcycles propped up closer to the walls.
You sniff as your soles crunch over the gravel. As you near the door, it opens from the other side. A man stumbles out, barely missing you as you catch the door and sidestep him. He grumbles and struggles to catch a flame on his lighter as he clamps a cigarette between his lips.
You slide inside before he can notice you. Inside, the low drone of classic rock wafts in the air and the clack of pool balls bounce. Glasses clink and bottles thump onto the bar. You glance around at the leather vests and tattooed arms. Oh boy.
You clear your throat and unfold the map as you approach the bar, using the paper to calm yourself. You look at the bar tender on the other side, a grey handlebar drooping around his lips. You lay down the map.
“Hi, er…” you pause and resist the urge to glance around a second time. “I was hoping you could help me out with some direction… please.”
You try not to let your paranoia get the best of you. Besides, you’re not some Cali blond or college girl waltzing in. You’re a grown woman with time creased in her forehead and nestled above her jeans. Your faded denim and loose tea suggest soccer mom more than bombshell.
The bartender scowls and leans in. He curls his lip as he eyes the map. You shift uneasily.
“Goin’ north or south?”
“South,” you answer. “Just trying to find my way back to the highway.”
“Quite the detour,” he growls.
“Right. Well, I’d appreciate it if you could send me off in the right direction or even help me backtrack. I just need to know where I am.”
He lifts his head and his eyes flit side to side. His lips slant. “You’re in the wrong place, honey.”
A chill runs up your spine as you sense a presence behind you. You turn and face a man glaring you down. You swallow tightly. His head is shaved, he has a thick goatee, and deep blue eyes. He wears a faded leather vest over a sleeveless flannel with the top three buttons undone, exposing tattoos over his chest, neck, and arms.
“Hey, sweetheart.” He puts his hands on his hips. A rabble of men chuckle as they watch. “Looking for a hotel? I got somewhere you can sleep.”
You stiffen and feel along the hem of your shirt. Shit. You push two fingers into your pocket, feeling your keys. They’re sharp enough… you just need to move fast.
“Now, you don’t want to be reaching like that,” he warns as he steps closer.
“I’m just looking to go. I’m passing through. That’s it.” You say.
It’s then that you realise the stillness of the place. The music is gone and everyone sits, unmoving, intent on you and that man.
“If you want to leave, go ahead and see how far you get.” He crosses his arms, his shoulders bulging.
You stare at him. Your chest flutters and your fingers tingle coldly. Adrenaline flows through you as your heart hammers.
He smirks and leans in. “Trust me, I’m the nicest guy in the place so be happy it’s not these other bastards in your face.”
Your lip quivers. “Please… I just want to go.”
He snickers and steps closer. He uncrosses his arms and puts his hands on your sides. You latch onto his wrists and squirm.
Prompt: June 3rd - Mack the Knife - Bobby Darin / “And he shows them pearly white”
Character: Steve Kemp
I know it’s short but please let me know your thoughts and reblog. Also, would love to discuss any ideas these little snippets inspire!
Love you! 💞
The lines around Dr. Kemp's eyes ease. He sits back, spinning his pen in his hand as he balances his notebook on his bent leg. His eyes skim over you and he shows them pearly white. His smile is gentle, thoughtful.
"And when do you feel heard?" He prompts.
You flick your lashes and exhale. Your lip trembles as you barely hold back tears. Your sessions are always tumultuous. Sometimes, you leave high on a victory, other defeated by your own doom.
"I... don't know? Never?"
The answer has your stomach plunging. You shift in the chair and look down. You shake your head.
"Never? Not here? Not now? Or our other sessions?" He wonders.
You flinch.
"Well... you're paid to listen to me."
"Sure, that's part of it. But listening is more than my job. Hearing you is more than professional." He assures.
He tucks the pen inside the notebook and sets it aside. He drops his leg from across the other and sits up. He leans forward.
"I want you to feel heard. I want you to feel... powerful." He slides to the edge of the seat. "So..." He lowers himself onto the floor, kneeling. "You tell me..." he drops onto his hands and crawls to you. "Exactly what I should do to make you feel better."
Prompt: June 4th- Right Place, Wrong Time - Dr. John / “But I'm having such a good time”
Character: Johnny Storm
I know it’s short but please let me know your thoughts and reblog. Also, would love to discuss any ideas these little snippets inspire!
Love you! 💞
"We need to go." Johnny taps your arm with his knuckles.
"But I'm having such a good time." You argue as you turn to him.
"Apparently. I thought you were too cool for these things." He scoffs.
"I never said that. You know I'm not the best at parties." You counter. "Susan was never much for them either."
"My lame sister? No shit." He rolls his eyes.
"What's going on?"
"Nothing. I'm over it. Let's go." He snips.
"Gee, okay," you look into your mostly empty cup. "Let me toss this."
"You know an Uber will cost you an arm and a leg."
"Johnny, I said one sec." You frown.
"I'm waiting two minutes then I'm out." He sneers.
You shrug him off and search for a bin. Johnny can be a real bitch. His sister says so, too. Unfortunately, they're a package deal.
You check your pockets and purse; keys, wallet, phone, and rush to the front door. You come out to Johnny revving his bright red Corvette. You get in as he takes off before you even close the door.
"Why did you even make me come?" You huff.
"Well it was for you to giggle at that idiot in the frog hat." He leans on the gas.
"Jake's funny."
"Funny looking." He snorts.
"What are you? Five?"
"And what are you? A slut?"
"Huh?"
"You heard me." He snarls. "Hanging off of me like a scarf until you see any other guy..."
"Seriously, we're friends, Johnny."
He shakes his head and hits the wheel. "God you're real fucking stupid. I'm not friends with girls. Especially not ones with your ass."
Warning: power imbalance, dark content, obsession, and all around sexiness.
Summary: Powerful director Nick takes interest in a new project; you. (director!Nick Fowler, plus!reader)
I always see this gif and wanna write something so here we go.
Hi! Please please please reblog and leave some feedback if you read! I love you 💕
You stare at the ticket. All caps; VENICE, ITALY. You can't quite believe it's true. You're paralysed in disbelief and indecision.
How much of a choice is it? Can he even get a refund for the ticket? Your mom would always tell you never to turn your nose up at kindness, even if she chided for the excess of your own. You should call her and ask her what to do...
If she even picked up. Besides, you're an adult. This isn't really a problem. A trip to Europe is a dream. A wish come true.
Before you can do anything, your phone flashes beside your empty mug. The water! You haven't even made your tea.
You forget the bag waiting to steep again as the Caller ID snags your eyes. N Fowler. Shoot, shoot, shoot.
You tap answer and the little speaker icon. You clasp your hands together and sway on your feet.
"Hullo?" You eke out.
Nick laughs softly. "Sorry, sweetheart, I wake you up?"
"Uh... No." You stammer and shake your head. "No, I'm making my tea."
The words jar you into action. You grab the kettle and pour the steaming water over the breakfast tea. You watch the how it slowly tints reddish.
"Tea?" He echoes. "What kind? I'll have to make sure they have some waiting for you at the hotel."
You gulp and try to put the kettle down, struggling to line it up with the base. You clear your throat.
"Oh..."
"You said you didn't have work..." He intones.
You chew your lip. "I... Don't but... Leon could call today."
"He could." Nick says. "And you would choose him over me? Over Venice?"
You frown. "I didn't say..."
"No, you haven't said yes, have you?"
You sigh quietly.
"It's far away and... It must've been expensive--"
"Don't worry about the money. It's a work trip. All a write off." He insists.
"Mhmm." You hum. "It's so very nice and... I just don't want to distract you and I don't want to be in the way--"
"Sweetheart, I don't keep people around that get in my way. I also don't make offers lightly." He sniffs. "I promised to take you out for dinner, didn't I?"
"You did?"
"Well it's not exactly stir fry but genuine Italian pasta might just compare." He snorts.
"It sounds lovely."
"It can be. With good company." He prompts.
You nod as your stomach flips. You feel worse and worse more he talks. And why are you so resistant? It's not exactly a violation to offer up a free trip and once in a lifetime experience. If anything, it's ungrateful to throw it back in his face.
"Well, I have to pack..." You say.
"Sunglasses. Oh, there's a pool at the hotel. Hot tub. Sauna. And you want something light and breezy. Dresses. It's humid." He rambles. "You want me to send an assistant over to help?"
"Um, no, I don't got much. I can manage." You assure him as you pinch the string of the tea bag and bob it in the water. "Nick?"
"Yes, sweetheart," his voice is brighter.
"Thank you. It's very... Too generous."
"You don't get it, sweetheart. I'm not the one doing a favour here." He preens. "You just made my day."
🎥
You look up suggested packing lists. You’ve never really gone on a big trip like this before. Sure, you moved to LA but that was a matter of bringing everything you could fit in a duffle bag and knapsack. This time, you’ll stick to just the latter.
Toiletries. The most basic need. You tally those up first. Then underwear. You hope you have enough or at least there’s some sort of laundry access. Clothes… well, you don’t exactly have anything in Venice chic but you have a pair of flowy pants and some leggings. You still haven’t shopped for the LA heat, let alone the Italian.
You suppose it will do. You add in a few odds and ends; a well-worn crossword book, earbuds, and a novel. The bag is ready but you’re not sure you are.
You pace back and forth, checking your phone. Leon hasn’t called at all. What would he think? He told you to avoid Nick and now you’re going across the world with him? And you would have to tell him something when you can’t take whatever job is next.
It’s all so complicated but you can only really blame yourself. You said yes. You could say no but you didn’t.
But didn’t you come to LA for experiences? This is an experience!
The knock at the door sends your phone to the floor. You yipe and quickly scoop it up. Your buzzer didn’t even go off.
You scurry over to the door and peer out the peephole. You nearly screech. You expected an assistant or a driver, but it’s him. Nick. Standing in your hallway!
Shoot.
You fumble with the lock and slide back the chain. You open the door slightly and peek out. “I’m ready just give me a sec.”
“Hey, sweetheart,” he says calmly.
He’s in a short-sleeve button up and loose slacks. He looks relaxed. You feel anything but.
“Hi. Um…”
“Gonna leave me out here all alone?” He winks.
“Erm… no.”
You back up and let him in. You stare at him as your thumb brushes over your phone screen. You look down at the cracks as you feel them.
“Oh no.”
“Damn, that doesn’t look good.” He comments as he gently shuts the door.
“It’s just the protector,” you peel off the plexiglass.
“Oh, sure.” He clucks.
“I’ll… grab my bag. And my shoes. Oh, my passport…” You put your phone down on the corner of the counter near the door and rush across the apartment.
You’re all too aware of his presence. It’s a small place. A bit cluttered.
“Nice apartment,” he comments.
“Mm. It’s affordable,” you hike up your knapsack on one shoulder and fight the strap of your belt bag.
“Excited?” He asks.
“Sure, yes.” You answer as you look at him. His hand rests on the edge of the counter as he leans on one foot.
“Been a while since I’ve been to this part of town.” He says.
“Well, yeah…” you approach him.
He reaches around you and grabs your bag. You squeak. “Oh!”
“I got it, sweetheart.” He drags the bag off your shoulder. He examines the buckle barely hanging onto the flap and the tattered pockets.
“Thanks, erm. My shoes.”
You bend your knees and squat down to pull on your sneakers. You stand and clip on your belt bag. You unzip it and grab your phone, slipping it inside. You push your finger into the side pocket to feel your passport.
“Okay, I think that’s everything.”
“Just this?” He swings the back onto his shoulder effortlessly.
“Um… oh.” You turn and grab your crochet bucket hat with the frilly trim. “That’s it.”
You pull on the cap and swipe your keys from the hook near the door. He stares at you a moment and his cheek dimples. He turns and opens the door. You exit first and he follows. You turn to lock the door as he looms close.
“I wasn’t expecting you…” you twist the keys.
“No?” He startles you again as he reaches to touch the bunny charm on your key chain.
“No. The note said a driver…”
“I’m a disappointment?”
“No. No!” You face him as he looms over you. “I just… I figured you’d be busy.”
Warning: power imbalance, dark content, obsession, and all around sexiness.
Summary: Powerful director Nick takes interest in a new project; you. (director!Nick Fowler, plus!reader)
I always see this gif and wanna write something so here we go.
Hi! Please please please reblog and leave some feedback if you read! I love you 💕
Your nerves are all aflutter. Most days you wish you had more time but now you have too much. You don't know what to do with yourself. You can't focus enough to sink into distraction.
As you hear up a pre-made tray of stir fry, you bounce on your feet and count down with the microwave timer. You really should eat better. Leon showed you a few tricks even you could manage. And he always fed you during your shift, despite your modest rejections. He's a good boss. You got lucky so the thought of losing this job has you spiralling.
He won't fire you, will he? Why? You keep reminding yourself what he said. He wasn't mad at you but it sure felt like it.
You sigh as the beeper shouts at you. You wait until it's quite and hit the button. Steam puffs out above the small tray. You put it on a plate to keep from burning yourself.
You put it on the table by the couch as you sit. Your phone flashes. Oh no.
You've been avoiding the screen despite your promises. The reason greets you in a floating notification; 'sweetheart?'. Shoot.
If Leon doesn't fire you, Nick could...
You scoop up your phone and quickly respond. 'srry. Heating up dinner. 🐰' You hit send and sit back, your cell clasped between your hands. Your stomach grumbles but your appetite wilts.
The vibration shakes you again. You check the answer.
'What does the rabbit mean?' Nick asks.
Oh. You hadn't even thought of how odd that might be. You just texted like you normally would.
'No meaning. It's just cute.'
You stare at the three dots that pop up. As they pulse, your anxiety does too. You can get a reply from him but your mom can't pick up her dang phone.
No, don't be mad. Everyone is busy. It was her who told you not to come out here. Maybe she's mad too.
'You're cute. What are you up to?'
'like I said dinner.'
'Ah no cute bunny this time?' he challenges.
You frown. Even over text, you can hear his tone. You can't figure out what he wants.
'no but you can have this🐹'
You chew your lip. Your phone buzzes again but more incessantly. You twitch and fumble to answer. You're shaking. Why?
You tap speaker and balance the phone on the wide arm of the sofa.
You babble dumbly. "Hello?"
"Sweetheart," Nick purrs.
"Um..."
"Just wanted to hear your voice." He drawls. "So... Dinner? What are we having?"
You gulp and glance over at the cheap tray of veggies and noodles. "Stir fry."
"Mm. You ever been to Ellio's? They do good stir fry." He intones, a soft rustle on his end.
"Erm. No. I mostly eat at work." You turn away from the food. Your stomach hurts but you feel sick.
"I'll have to take you then." He insists.
"That's nice but..." You shrug and stare at the phone. "What are you doing? You must be busy. I don't want to... Bother."
"Day's wrapped. I'm editing the script for my next shoot." He says. "Venice..."
"Venice." You repeat. "That's far."
"Yep. But I hate shooting in LA." He says.
You hum, unsure of how to reply. You don't know much.
"I've never been further than LA. It's nice."
"Yes. You like the trees. You'd like the canals in Venice. And the coffee. And pastry." He says. "The sunshine but... It gets humid."
"You've gone before?" You touch your cheek.
"A few times. Film festivals... Boring director stuff." He sighs. "What about you? Where's Leon shipping you off to?”
“Well… I don’t know yet.” You say.
“No? That’s too bad. Not very fair.”
You’re quiet. If Leon has somewhere to send you. You know exactly how he feels about drama. There’s enough of that in Hollywood.
“Sweetheart?” He prompts.
You sniff and force a smile, even if he can’t see it.
“Sir… Nick. You’re busy. I don’t want to get in the way.”
“Sweetheart, you’re never in my way.” He inhales and laughs softly. “I’m kinda… Well, I was planning on asking you to… watch another movie but today didn’t exactly go as planned.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. Mm, well, allow me to be pathetic for a minute and confess something to you… it’s not often I get to just, what would you call it, chill? With someone else. It’s all business. All fake. Schmoozing. Trying to get funding. Reciting studio reads.” He scoffs. “The city hasn’t got to you yet.”
You twiddle your fingers nervously. You feel bad. Maybe he’s just looking for a friend but you don’t think you can afford to be his friend. You’ve never heard of any of the restaurants he’s been to or been to the big cities that are like a second home to him.
“Um, thanks? Erm… Nick?”
“Uh huh?”
“My mom’s calling.” You lie.
“Oh… okay. Of course, sweetie. I wouldn’t… wanna get in your way.” He says. “Have a good night and… make sure mom knows you’re okay.”
“Alright. Thank you. Um, good night, Nick.”
“Mm. I think it will be.” He says.
There’s a moment of dead air before the call ends. You slouch and shake your head. You don’t like lying but you just had to get off the phone. You never had to perform for anyone before but with Nick, it feels like you’re trying to play from a script you’ve never seen.
🎥
You miss Nick’s call. And the next one. And the next one.
Well, you saw him calling but you couldn’t pick up. You text him. ‘Srry 🐰 phone was charging. Think the battery is broke.’
Ugh. A lie. Another one. But how can you tell him he scares you? You don’t even know why he does. He hasn’t done anything wrong. He’s been nice to you. You’re just out of your depth and too embarrassed to admit it.
‘Damn, that’s too bad, sweetheart. All good. Finishing on set today. Busy anyway.’
You’re barely reassured. You don’t even know how to answer. So you send ‘🐼’. To your surprise, he responds with ‘🐺’.
You leave your phone alone for the rest of the day. You go out and wander around. You can’t afford to do too much so you window shop before heading back to your apartment. You sit on your bed and stare at the pages of a book. You give up on that and watch something on your tiny second-hand television.
You fall asleep but wake in spurts. You haven’t tossed and turned since your first night in the city. It’s just the anxiety of waiting on your next assignment. That’s all.
You wake up before eight and put the kettle on for tea. As the water boils, your buzzer goes off. You blink and rub your eyes. It’s early but it could be a neighbour locked out. Wouldn’t be the first time.
“Hello?” You rasp out.
“Lookin for…” the woman says your name.
You hesitate. “Is this a delivery? I don’t think I ordered anything.”
“Sent for you, miss.” The voice responds.
You move your finger slowly to the other button. You let her up and go to wait by the door. You keep the chain on as you watch through the peephole.
You recognise Jeanette, one of Nick’s assistants, as she reads the numbers on the apartment doors. She gets to yours and her eyes search it before she knocks. She has an envelope in her hand.
You unlock the door and open it.
“Um, hi.” You greet. She probably doesn’t recognise you.
“Mr. Fowler sent me to deliver this.” She holds out the envelope.
“Oh, uh… what is it?”
“I don’t know. Please take it.” She insists. “He said I can’t leave until you do.”
You look into her tired eyes. You accept the envelope. “Are you okay? Do you want to come in for tea?”
She winces. “He’ll fire me.”
Without another word, she marches off. You watch her until she’s gone then back up into your apartment. You close the door but linger as you open the envelope. You slide out a note folded around something else.
‘Car at noon. See you at LAX, sweetheart. N.’ Beside the initial, is a scribbled doodle of a rabbit. Folded inside the note is a plane ticket. To Venice.
Warning: power imbalance, dark content, obsession, and all around sexiness.
Summary: Powerful director Nick takes interest in a new project; you. (director!Nick Fowler, plus!reader)
I always see this gif and wanna write something so here we go.
Hi! Please please please reblog and leave some feedback if you read! I love you 💕
Your nerves are all aflutter. Most days you wish you had more time but now you have too much. You don't know what to do with yourself. You can't focus enough to sink into distraction.
As you hear up a pre-made tray of stir fry, you bounce on your feet and count down with the microwave timer. You really should eat better. Leon showed you a few tricks even you could manage. And he always fed you during your shift, despite your modest rejections. He's a good boss. You got lucky so the thought of losing this job has you spiralling.
He won't fire you, will he? Why? You keep reminding yourself what he said. He wasn't mad at you but it sure felt like it.
You sigh as the beeper shouts at you. You wait until it's quite and hit the button. Steam puffs out above the small tray. You put it on a plate to keep from burning yourself.
You put it on the table by the couch as you sit. Your phone flashes. Oh no.
You've been avoiding the screen despite your promises. The reason greets you in a floating notification; 'sweetheart?'. Shoot.
If Leon doesn't fire you, Nick could...
You scoop up your phone and quickly respond. 'srry. Heating up dinner. 🐰' You hit send and sit back, your cell clasped between your hands. Your stomach grumbles but your appetite wilts.
The vibration shakes you again. You check the answer.
'What does the rabbit mean?' Nick asks.
Oh. You hadn't even thought of how odd that might be. You just texted like you normally would.
'No meaning. It's just cute.'
You stare at the three dots that pop up. As they pulse, your anxiety does too. You can get a reply from him but your mom can't pick up her dang phone.
No, don't be mad. Everyone is busy. It was her who told you not to come out here. Maybe she's mad too.
'You're cute. What are you up to?'
'like I said dinner.'
'Ah no cute bunny this time?' he challenges.
You frown. Even over text, you can hear his tone. You can't figure out what he wants.
'no but you can have this🐹'
You chew your lip. Your phone buzzes again but more incessantly. You twitch and fumble to answer. You're shaking. Why?
You tap speaker and balance the phone on the wide arm of the sofa.
You babble dumbly. "Hello?"
"Sweetheart," Nick purrs.
"Um..."
"Just wanted to hear your voice." He drawls. "So... Dinner? What are we having?"
You gulp and glance over at the cheap tray of veggies and noodles. "Stir fry."
"Mm. You ever been to Ellio's? They do good stir fry." He intones, a soft rustle on his end.
"Erm. No. I mostly eat at work." You turn away from the food. Your stomach hurts but you feel sick.
"I'll have to take you then." He insists.
"That's nice but..." You shrug and stare at the phone. "What are you doing? You must be busy. I don't want to... Bother."
"Day's wrapped. I'm editing the script for my next shoot." He says. "Venice..."
"Venice." You repeat. "That's far."
"Yep. But I hate shooting in LA." He says.
You hum, unsure of how to reply. You don't know much.
"I've never been further than LA. It's nice."
"Yes. You like the trees. You'd like the canals in Venice. And the coffee. And pastry." He says. "The sunshine but... It gets humid."
"You've gone before?" You touch your cheek.
"A few times. Film festivals... Boring director stuff." He sighs. "What about you? Where's Leon shipping you off to?”
“Well… I don’t know yet.” You say.
“No? That’s too bad. Not very fair.”
You’re quiet. If Leon has somewhere to send you. You know exactly how he feels about drama. There’s enough of that in Hollywood.
“Sweetheart?” He prompts.
You sniff and force a smile, even if he can’t see it.
“Sir… Nick. You’re busy. I don’t want to get in the way.”
“Sweetheart, you’re never in my way.” He inhales and laughs softly. “I’m kinda… Well, I was planning on asking you to… watch another movie but today didn’t exactly go as planned.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. Mm, well, allow me to be pathetic for a minute and confess something to you… it’s not often I get to just, what would you call it, chill? With someone else. It’s all business. All fake. Schmoozing. Trying to get funding. Reciting studio reads.” He scoffs. “The city hasn’t got to you yet.”
You twiddle your fingers nervously. You feel bad. Maybe he’s just looking for a friend but you don’t think you can afford to be his friend. You’ve never heard of any of the restaurants he’s been to or been to the big cities that are like a second home to him.
“Um, thanks? Erm… Nick?”
“Uh huh?”
“My mom’s calling.” You lie.
“Oh… okay. Of course, sweetie. I wouldn’t… wanna get in your way.” He says. “Have a good night and… make sure mom knows you’re okay.”
“Alright. Thank you. Um, good night, Nick.”
“Mm. I think it will be.” He says.
There’s a moment of dead air before the call ends. You slouch and shake your head. You don’t like lying but you just had to get off the phone. You never had to perform for anyone before but with Nick, it feels like you’re trying to play from a script you’ve never seen.
🎥
You miss Nick’s call. And the next one. And the next one.
Well, you saw him calling but you couldn’t pick up. You text him. ‘Srry 🐰 phone was charging. Think the battery is broke.’
Ugh. A lie. Another one. But how can you tell him he scares you? You don’t even know why he does. He hasn’t done anything wrong. He’s been nice to you. You’re just out of your depth and too embarrassed to admit it.
‘Damn, that’s too bad, sweetheart. All good. Finishing on set today. Busy anyway.’
You’re barely reassured. You don’t even know how to answer. So you send ‘🐼’. To your surprise, he responds with ‘🐺’.
You leave your phone alone for the rest of the day. You go out and wander around. You can’t afford to do too much so you window shop before heading back to your apartment. You sit on your bed and stare at the pages of a book. You give up on that and watch something on your tiny second-hand television.
You fall asleep but wake in spurts. You haven’t tossed and turned since your first night in the city. It’s just the anxiety of waiting on your next assignment. That’s all.
You wake up before eight and put the kettle on for tea. As the water boils, your buzzer goes off. You blink and rub your eyes. It’s early but it could be a neighbour locked out. Wouldn’t be the first time.
“Hello?” You rasp out.
“Lookin for…” the woman says your name.
You hesitate. “Is this a delivery? I don’t think I ordered anything.”
“Sent for you, miss.” The voice responds.
You move your finger slowly to the other button. You let her up and go to wait by the door. You keep the chain on as you watch through the peephole.
You recognise Jeanette, one of Nick’s assistants, as she reads the numbers on the apartment doors. She gets to yours and her eyes search it before she knocks. She has an envelope in her hand.
You unlock the door and open it.
“Um, hi.” You greet. She probably doesn’t recognise you.
“Mr. Fowler sent me to deliver this.” She holds out the envelope.
“Oh, uh… what is it?”
“I don’t know. Please take it.” She insists. “He said I can’t leave until you do.”
You look into her tired eyes. You accept the envelope. “Are you okay? Do you want to come in for tea?”
She winces. “He’ll fire me.”
Without another word, she marches off. You watch her until she’s gone then back up into your apartment. You close the door but linger as you open the envelope. You slide out a note folded around something else.
‘Car at noon. See you at LAX, sweetheart. N.’ Beside the initial, is a scribbled doodle of a rabbit. Folded inside the note is a plane ticket. To Venice.
Warning: power imbalance, dark content, obsession, and all around sexiness.
Summary: Powerful director Nick takes interest in a new project; you. (director!Nick Fowler, plus!reader)
I always see this gif and wanna write something so here we go.
Hi! Please please please reblog and leave some feedback if you read! I love you 💕
There's a ripple in your nerves that wasn't there before. As you get to work, the feeling that you're missing something nips at your ears. You go through the motions as you tie on your apron and help with prep.
The familiarity soothes the unease you've felt since the day before. You take your time doling out your wares; offering water or going to fetch whatever's demanded by the stars. The distraction is welcome even if exhausting.
As you come back with empty trays from lunch, Leon squints at you. Usually you barely get a look from him as he booms at his staff or glares down his pan. You think to ask why but he speaks first.
"You okay?" He asks.
You blink as the surprise of the question plays across your face. "Sure am. What about you?"
He grumbles. "You tell me if you need anything... If you got any problems."
"Um. No... What problems?"
"Just... Tell me." He grits and turns to stack pans for washing.
You stare at his back. Did someone say something? Was it...him? No. You don't think you're that important.
You try not to let the conversation wilt you. You go back to work. There's two days left on set and the chaos only builds. As you pass by the star's trailer, you hear deep voices arguing. You think you know one...
Around dinner, you can't help but yawn. Leon tells you to stay in the kitchen. You don't ask why. You offer to help with the washing as the dishes start coming back.
As you slide another plate in the industrial washer, there's a metallic clack behind you and a sigh. Leon clucks and you crane to watch him checking berries for flaws. Across the serving counter, Nick stands and scours the catering area with his eyes.
"Can I help you? I'm working on wrap day dessert." Leon mutters dully without looking up. "Someone demanded it."
Nick growls. "If you weren't good at what you do..."
"I'd be good at something else. Probably something more enjoyable." Leon scoffs.
Nick pokes his tongue in his cheek as he spots you and tilts his head. "The girl you sent got au jus all over."
"Baking soda and water. Soak in cold." Leon suggests. "Vinegar for surfaces."
"I'm sure the cleaner knows how." Nick huffs.
"Are you seeking reimbursement?" Leon asks calmly.
"I didn't ask for the clumsy one."
"I sent who I had. It's busy day. You would know." Leon counters.
Nick tisks. You turn back to the dishwasher as Remo puts another plate inside.
"How about I deliver it myself. Princess treatment." Leon offers.
"You're an ass." Nick snarls and stomps away.
"Fire with fire," Leon chuckles under his breath.
Your nape burns as you ward off the thought that you might be in trouble. You didn't do anything, right? You were perfectly polite with Nick. You did everything he wanted.
Leon calls over his sous, Ashley, and has her finish with the berries. He calls your name. You spin around and bobble a cup.
"Here." He takes it from you and gives it to Remo. "Let's talk."
You nod and follow him out from the kitchen. He weaves around behind catering and into a maze of cables and equipment. He crosses his arms as he faces you.
"Did I do something? I know I missed yesterday but I can stay late--" you yammer.
"It's fine." He intones. "But I'd like to know why the director told me you'd be absent..."
"Um..."
"And why he requested you serve his meals. Exclusively."
"I don't... He asked me to watch one of his movies so I didn't really sleep and I don't know why he'd only ask for me. I was only being nice BC he asked and..."
"You need to be careful who you're nice to." He drawls. "I didn't bring you back here to lecture you, I'm giving you advice. Fowler is not the man to get tangled up with." He takes a deep breath and heaves it out. "Especially someone like you."
"I was only..."
"Take tomorrow. It's the last day on set anyway. I'll pay out full time." He insists.
"Sir-- Leon." You gulp.
"Rest up before the next job." He pays your shoulder. "And get outta here."
You frown. He said you did nothing wrong but it sure feels like it. You nod again and follow him back to the kitchen. You pass through to collect your things from your staff locker.
You sling your bag on your shoulder and jingle your keys as you scurry out. You can't complain for some time off but you kinda like your work. It keeps you busy and most people are nice enough... When they acknowledge you.
As you get to your car, you slump down. You should call your mom. She didn't answer yesterday. Or this morning.
As you unlock the driver's door, something taps on the roof. You look up over it and nearly squeal. You don't expect anyone, especially not him. Yet maybe you should.
"Running away?" Nick accuses.
"No. I... I'm done work--"
"Work? Does that include hiding?"
"Hiding?" You echo.
"Avoiding me." He insists.
"No, I wasn't. I was only... Doing what I was told."
"Uh huh. So you're saying..." He slowly snakes around the car to your side. "That I should've told you myself."
"Um. I don't... Know." You murmur as he looms closer.
"So tomorrow you know you'll be bringing me my meals. Right?"
"Ahem, er, I'm not in tomorrow, sir." You say. He tweaks a brow. "Nick."
"No? Well... Too bad." He brings his hand up again and braces the top of the car.
"I'm sorry. I didn't know. Really. I was just doing my work."
"Yeah, yeah," he exhales. "I know, sweetheart. I know you're not like that."
"Erm, but... I hope it didn't ruin your day."
"Kinda did, sweetheart, kinda did." He sniffs. "Well, you know how you can make it better?"
"How...?" You breathe.
"Text me back." He flicks his brows derisively.
You wince as you remember the message that came in as you waited for your mom to pick up her phone. It totally flew your mind. You give a sheepish smile.
"I'm sorry. I will. I promise." You eke out.
He grins and reaches you stroke your cheek. "Good girl. I appreciate when people take direction well."
He cradles your face for a moment then draws away. He takes a step back and drops his arm.
"Looking forward to hearing from you." He stares at you.
Warning: stealing, vagrancy, food sparcity, and some other elements to come.
My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.
Character: Geralt of Rivia, short reader
Summary: you lie to get some food, but get more than you bargain as the Witcher comes to collect his debt.
Note: I hate being this way but couldn’t get this one out of my head.
As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️
The sky darkens as you get further down the road. You pass another marker; the one with a faded dragonfly sigil. You stop and look around. You know that mountain that looks like it’s broken in half and those treats that puff into each other like clouds. You’ve never been the best with direction but…
“Here’s fine,” Geralt growls as he loops Roach’s reins on a low branch.
He grunts and kicks through the dirt to an overturned log and sits heavily. His pack drops down beside his foot as he examines the arrow pierced through cloak, leather, and tunic. You set your pack at the other end of the log and look around. That stone at the base of that tree…
“Are you well enough to get a fire going?” You ask as you pull out your small knife.
“I’m not dead.” He grits.
You sigh. “Please and thanks, fella. I needa get you some frogroot.”
“Frogroot? You need Fool’s Parsley.”
“First, none of that ‘round here and second, frogroot is better. It’ll heal ya and keep the infection out.” You counter as you walk the parameter of the clearing.
“What would you know about it?” He snarls.
You glance back at him as he gets up and grabs several sticks from the ground. You shake your head. “More’n ya know, fella. I been living of the land for longer ‘n I can remember. ‘Fore we met, I wasn’t stayin’ in no inns.”
“Oh, clearly you’re not an indoor pet.” He retorts.
“Right, then. I’ll go find that frogroot. If I see any angel’s seed, I’ll make ya a nice tea to calm ye down.” You snort.
“Angel’s seed. That’s fantasy. Stuff’s not real.” He sneers as he stacks the kindling.
You don’t argue. He’s in a mood. You can’t really blame him given the arrow in his shoulder but you didn’t tell those men to attack and certainly his demeanour didn’t help.
You kick between the brush and head out into the thistle and thorn. You weave around and find a tangled net of frogroot. You bend to cut some free, smelling it for freshness. You get a handful of that and search for some angle seed. The pods have been emptied already. You take some weeping nettle instead. It’s good in a pinch when you’re short on rations.
You return to the Witcher the fire crackles. The sky continues to dim as you approach him and pull a rag out of your belt. You lay it out and drop your wares on it. You go to your bag and get out your mortar and pestle. Geralt sniffs and snarls.
You look up as he touches the arrow again.
“You’re not doing yourself any favours.” You say.
“I’ve been shot before.” He drops his hand.
“How am I not surprised.” You crush up the frog root to powder, the scrape of your tools echoing in the din of humming critters hidden in the trees.
He grumbles. You get up and approach him. You balance the small bowl beside him and wipe off your knife. You lift it slowly and flatten your other hand just above his shoulder.
“Ready?”
“Hurry up.” He mutters.
You slice through his cloak and leather and tunic. He huffs.
“Easy enough to sew up,” you assure him.
You expose the flesh of his round shoulder and hide your concern. Beetles, that looks painful. You lean in and examine the arrow.
“Alright, I might have to cut it out–”
He growls and grabs the arrow. He rips it out of his shoulder and tosses it. He suppresses a roar as you grimace.
“Ugh, you shouldn’t have done that.” You tut.
He takes a rag from his own belt and smothers the blood. He looks at you defiantly. You tweak your brows.
“I’m trying to help.”
He stares and leans in. “Then help.”
You put your hand by his and take the cloth. You press onto it until the blood slows. You take two fingers and pack the frogroot into the wound. He trembles and grinds his teeth. You wipe your fingers as he directs you to his pack.
“Bone needle and horse hair.” He rasps.
You find them in a small leather packet. You thread the needle as you near him again. You begin the delicate but bloody work. He breathes through his nose. You seal the incision, you sense him watch you. You look over as he leans in, sniffing deeply. You frown.
“I told ya not to smell me.” You tie off the horse hair.
He snarls under his breath. You try to back up but he catches you by your jaw. He wrenches you close and forces your head up. He buries his nose in your throat and inhales your scent.
“Woah, fella! What in good goats!” You exclaim as you push on his chest. “That’s not right.”
“You smell…” his lips brush your collar. “Like wine and cherry tart.”
“I think you should lay down, witcher. It smells like worms and sap out here–”
“Mmmmm,” he hums and drags his lips up to your jaw. “You have cast a spell.” He squeezes and you whine. “You know what witcher’s do to enchanter’s? Your dark magic–”
A crack breaks the lull of the forest. You press on Geralt’s should and free yourself from the grip on your jaw. You gasp and spin around. You peer into the shadow forest as Geralt tugs at your wrist.
“Stop! Did you hear that?”
“I hear the sorceress’ song you’ve summoned.” He yanks on you.
You shake him off. “No, I…” You spin as a figure emerges from behind the curled willow trunk. A rush blows over you and you laugh, in disbelief and relief.
The figure stands with a bow drawn and ready. He aims it at you as Geralt reaches over. All three of you stand frozen.
“Don’t try it, Witcher,” his grinding tone warns.
You stare at the halfling. The four-hooves and speckled fur on the bottom, a man’s thick scarred torso on the top, with a head of scraggly hair around one spiral horn and another one broken off. You’ve only ever seen one fawn like that.
Warning: stealing, vagrancy, food sparcity, and some other elements to come.
My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.
Character: Geralt of Rivia, short reader
Summary: you lie to get some food, but get more than you bargain as the Witcher comes to collect his debt.
Note: I hate being this way but couldn’t get this one out of my head.
As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️
As you swing your stick, you meet nothing but air. You spin around as the horde of men charge at your companion… if you can call him that. Adversary might be more fitting. You huff as he bats off the shorter blades with his own and dodges under several bolts shot in his direction.
The Witcher growls as he slaps Roach’s hind. “Off.”
The horse turns and canters away from the onslaught. You hurl yourself back into the fury of their attack. You beat on the men’s shoulders and thwap their skulls. They fall down but don’t fight back. They are entirely focused on the white-haired fiend.
What the rats is going on? You trip one of the villagers before they can bring the hook of the sickle down on Geralt. Another steps in front of you and shields you from The Witcher.
“Back, lady, we will protect you from this beast!” He proclaims.
Another grabs you from behind and drags you back. “You must get inside where you are safe!”
“Eh!” You growl and elbow the man. He lets go and you turn, knocking him back with your stick. He flails and sprawls in the dirt. He drops his spear and lays prone.
“Do as you please, lady.” He whines and rocks his body oddly. You scrunch up your nose in a grimace.
“Stay there.” You order.
“As you please,” he mewls.
You face the brawl again as you swallow down your disgust. What’s wrong with that man? What’s wrong with all these fellas? The group continues to batter Geralt as he flings them away with his sword and the strange gestures of his hand, unseen winds blowing his attackers off course.
You charge again and spin your stick above you, knocking two men off their feet as you thump their heads. They tumble down and you jab another in his side, sending him reeling with a wheeze. More men appear and fuel the onslaught.
Geralt grunts and kicks one man into another, slice through two more with his great sword. An arrow suddenly juts out of his shoulder and he staggers for a moment as his eyes flash. This isn’t good!
“Everyone!” You holler as you swing your stick. “Everyone!” You raise your voice. “STOP! JUST QUIT! NO MORE FIGHTING!”
All at once, the villages freeze. You do too. You don’t know why you made the command, it’s fruitless, and yet, it worked. You look around in shock at the paralysed combatants. Geralt pants as he holds his sword at the ready, a dagger in his other hand. You blink.
“Oh, wow, um…”
Every eye turns towards you. “Lady, do you not wish for our protection?” The mayor asks.
You gulp and stare at Geralt. He curls his lip as his shoulder slumps with the arrow still sticking out. You look at the men one by one.
“I want… peace.” You plant the butt of your stick in the dirt. “That’s all.”
The men throw down their spears and swords and sickles and bows. In tandem, they fall to their knees and bow their heads. The mayor among them. He folds his hands. “Will you not stay, my lady? So that we might worship you and build an altar to your grace?”
“Um… no. My apologies but I really should be on my way. I’ve… much to do.” You slowly pass between the scatter of men, dead, writhing, and kneeling. You near Geralt as his eyes narrow. You touch his hand. “Put those away.”
He twitches, hesitates, then obeys. He sheaths the dagger first but cannot raise his arm to get his sword on his back. You sniff and turn to face the villagers.
“Gather up your dead and wounded. Erm… there… sacrifice is… noted.” Your voice shakes. “And do not pursue us or you will, eh, know my… wrath?”
The man shiver and rock. “Yes, my lady.” They say in unison. You glance at Geralt. His lips move slightly as he stares at you too.
“Okay, go get Roach and let’s get out of here,” you hiss.
“Yes, my–” He stops himself and growls. He stomps away, the point of his sword dragging behind him.
You shake your head. Things are getting weird and they were this strange until you met him. It must be his fault. The villagers rise and haul up the bodies in the dirt. You don’t linger.
You follow Geralt as he holds Roach’s rein and leans to one side. “You should deal with that.” You point to the arrow.
“Should,” he agrees dully. “When we’re away.”
“Mhmm,” you hum.
You walk on in silence. Confusion swirls in your head. You don’t understand what just happened. The purse jingles on your belt.
“Oh, uh… I’ll split the coin with you.”
“Keep it.” He sneers.
“Look, I don’t know what that was but it was strange and–”
“Strange is an understatement,” he snips as he stops and faces you. He leans in and you bend backwards as he looms over you. “What the fuck are you?”
“What? I’m… a person?” You babble.
“No. What are you?”
“I… told ya? A person.”
“No, there’s something…” he sniffs and his pupils flicker. “In you.”
“Woah, fella, don’t smell me. That’s… intrusive.”
“That wasn’t something in the air.” He grabs the front of your tunic. “That’s you. So fess up. What are you and why are you following me around?”
“What?! I’m not following you! You’re following me.”
“Stop fucking lying!” He shakes you.
“Woah, don’t!” You grab his hand as Roach knickers.
“Tell the fucking truth.” He snarls.
“Let go, fella!”
“You’re fucking one of them.” He accuses as he twists your tunic.
You lift your stick and hit the arrow in his shoulder. He roars and lets you go, recoiling as Roach’s teeth nip his hair at the same time. He tugs away from her and stumbles. He braces his shoulder and growls.
“I’m tellin’ ya, I’m not whatever you think I am. I’m no monster or whatnot.” You pout. “And I don’t ‘preciate the insinuation. ‘Specilly from a fella that looks like you.” You stomp your foot. “You know,” you point with your stick, “none of this started til I met you.”
“You stole from me,” he winces as he grips the arrow.
“Not really. I told a lie and got a plate in your name. I was hungry. You didn’t have to be a horse’s ass about it.” You roll your eyes. “No offense, Roach.”
He scowls as he wiggles the arrow. “Fuck!”
“Don’t be doin’ all that!” You march up to him and rap his knuckles with the stick. “We need to clean that and make sure you don’t bleed out all that venom in ya.” You sigh.
“What d’ya know?”
“I know if ya keep pulling on that, you’re not gonna be happy. If you even know how ta be. We need water and fire. I’ll stitch ya up, then we’re even. How’s that?”
He grumbles and Roach chews his hair again. He flicks his head and looks at her. “Yeah, yeah.” He exhales. “Fine. Sooner you’re outta my way, the better.”
A YANDERE HOE @minshookie29 - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
