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loveharlow · 3 months

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SEVEN - 001

PAIRING ‧₊˚ JJ Maybank x Fem!Reader

SYNOPSIS‧₊˚ [9.6k] based on 1x01.

WARNING(S)‧₊˚ swearing, mentions of drowning, mentions of death

NOW PLAYING‧₊˚

A/N‧₊˚ I've been wanting to do an OBX rewrite for a very long time so here it is, the first chapter from yours truly.

˗ˏˋ series masterlist ˎˊ˗

‘THAT’S ABOUT A THREE-STORY FALL TO THE DECK? I give you about a one-in-three chance of survival.” Pope theoreticized from below. John B was balancing himself on the roof, beer in hand and not a care in the world.

Licking his finger and holding it up in the air, he spoke. “Should I do it?”

“Yeah, you should jump! I’ll shoot you on the way down.” Pope joked, electric drill gun pointed up in the brunette’s direction.

“You’re gonna shoot me?” JB mocked the boy below him with fingers guns as Kiara emerged from inside the unfinished home, interrupting their shenanigans.

“They’re gonna have Japanese toilets with towel warmers.” She said, mildly disgusted.

“Of course they are,” JJ chimed in. “Why wouldn’t they?”

“This used to be a turtle habitat,” she continued on, looking the house up and down. “But who cares about the turtles, I guess…”

“Can’t have cold towels…”

“Do you even use towels, JJ?” You chimed in as you rounded the corner, earbud in one ear and even from the roof, the four of your friends could hear your music blasting faintly. “I thought you shook yourself off like a dog when you got wet.”

“Ha ha.” He fake laughed before he chucked an empty beer can in your direction. You dodged it with an annoyed sneer before picking it up and chucking it back ten times harder, hitting the side of the blonde’s head.

“Ah- ouch!”

“Could you please, not kill yourself?” Kiara stared up at John B with concern in her eyes.

“And don’t spill that beer! I’m not giving you another one…” JJ warned his best friend. His words almost like a trigger, JB dropping the beer right after, hearing the metal clank against the deck as the remaining liquid splattered on the wood.

“And of course he spills the beer.” You couldn’t help but speak as you slid down one of the wooden fixtures to sit against it.

“Hey!” A new voice bellowed. That’s when your eyes found Pope leaned over one of the banisters.

“Security’s here. Let’s wrap it up.” He said, voice wavering slightly as he pat the deck and turned around.

John B got down from the roof, following behind JJ as you all picked up the pace. You all made our way into the house, quick in your steps to avoid the officers.

Rushing down the stairs, JJ was in the front. “Right turn, J!” You shouted. But of course, he still made a left turn, coming face to face and just narrowly missing one of the officers as you all went right. “I said right turn, dumbass!” You yelled over your shoulder.

“They’re going out front!”

You, Kiara, and John B had already managed to jump into the van, watching as JJ and Pope hopped the gate and landed flat on their stomachs. John B honked the horn to urge them on. “Bus is leaving!”

With the last two of the group in the vehicle, John B practically stomped on the pedal, sending the vehicle forward.

He drove the van as fast it could go, which wasn’t all that fast for the record. The side door was still open as you, along with JJ and Pope, mocked the officer who was chasing after the busted van.

“Check out Gary, gunnin’ for a raise.” Pope mocked, eliciting a chorus of giggles inside the van.

“You little pricks!”

JJ waved a beer can out the door, shaking it in the mans face. “You’re so close, you can do it! There you go.” He said as he tossed the can in the running officer’s direction. “They don’t pay you enough bro!”

The officer fell behind just as the van hit the bridge, passing the welcome sign to The Outer Banks. ‘Paradise on Earth.’ The natural habitat of you and your friends.

The Pogues. Pogues, pogies, the throwaway fish.

There’s JJ, one of your best friends out of them all. He’s about as local as they come. He does the dumb, risky things none of the rest of you will and you actually find him quite funny, not that you’d ever let him know that. He's tries to act all wreckless and tough-guy but you all know that he's just a loyal friend who tries to do the right thing in the wrong way.

Then there’s Kiara, or Kie as she would prefer to be called. She’s been your closest and dearest friend since forever. Your fathers were as thick as thieves and you and Kie seemed to follow in their steps being best friends since pre-school, even though you lived on two differen't sides of the island up until recently. Her family owns The Wreck, this Outer Banks institution and her parents love you. The others? Not so much…

And you can’t forget Pope, the brains of the operation. Finalist for the Luther T. Vanderhorst Merit Scholarship. And the smartest person you know. Little bit of a weirdo but who isn’t. His father’s sort of.. strict, but he gives you free seafood. He says you're the 'least negative influence' his son keeps around.

Then, of course, There’s John B — legally, John Booker Routledge. You all have a myriad of nicknames for him though — John, JB, Bree, Jombee. You all typically hang at his place, The Chateau as his dad used to call it. Speaking of his dad, he disappeared at sea nine months ago, looking for a shipwreck and his mom split when he was three. You’ve all been doing your best to look out for him but it was an extremely difficult situation…

Last is you, the Pogues resident Pogue Princess. Well, former Pogue Princess. You moved to Figure Eight about eight months ago, after your dad died and your mom’s lawyer career skyrocketed seemingly out of the blue. But you hate it there, you spent her whole life on The Cut. Plus, your dad’s death caused a bit of a strain on your relationship with your mother. Things just haven't been the same.

WAKING UP TO HARSH POST-HURRICANE WINDS IS NEVER PLEASANT. Especially not for someone who isn’t much of a morning person. You’d barely had time to rub the sleep out of your eyes when your mom came into your room, in a rush as she was running late to meet with a client, reminding to turn on the backup generator and ordering you to help out Kiara and her father at The Wreck.

“Is that all of it?” You asked, mouth half-full of french fries that were hot and salted to literal perfection. Kie stood in front of you, apron covered in food scraps and hair in a messy bun.

“As much as we’re gonna be able to get today.” She sighed, eyes scanning over the crates and boxes littered amongst the floor. “Here,” She started, walking towards a couple of coolers stacked in the corner. “We’ll take these coolers out on the dock. The guys should be here soon.”

“M’kay.” You hummed, jumping out of the chair you were sitting backwards in and clapping your hands together to dust them off. She grabbed the cooler off the top and you grabbed the one underneath, following her out to the dock.

It had gotten hotter in the short time you both had spent cleaning The Wreck, sun hitting you directly in the face as you walked out onto the damp deck, eyes squinting from the harsh beam. Your hair was thrown up and out of your face into a high ponytail. You had discarded your flannel, tying it around your waist in front of your shorts, leaving your top half in only a bikini.

“Top o’ the mornin’ to ya.” JJ greeted.

“Good morning.” Kie replied, shielding her eyes from the sun.

“Whatcha got? Some juice boxes?”

You lifted the lid and peeked inside as you and Kiara continued walking towards the boat. “Looks like, carrots? And… yogurt?” You looked to Kie for some assurance. She smirked.

“I have his kind of juice boxes in this one.” She assured, wiggling her cooler in the air.

The boat stopped at the end of the dock, the guys helping you both inside. Once you and her were all arms and legs inside, John B sped off. Kie opened up her cooler handing everyone a beer who accepted, which was all except for John B, who was steering, and Pope who opted for baby carrots.

“Salud!” You all cheered as the three of you clanked bottles.

“HEY POPE, CAN YOU GO A LITTLE FASTER?” JJ asked, now standing at the forefront of the boat, beer in hand. Pope had taken over as driver when John B joined in drinking with the rest of the group.

“Dude, nooo, not this again. It fails every time.” You tried to stop the blonde from trying this borderline ritualistic party trick that never worked.

“Have some faith, will you?” He shot back sarcastically. “It’s gonna work!” He spoke over the rev of the engine as Pope idiotically listened to him and sped up the boat. JJ tilted the beer bottle back enough to splatter beer into his mouth, and in Kie’s hair, and on John B’s cheek, and on your lips.

“Alright, alright!” Pope tried. “Alright, stop!”

It happened out of nowhere, the boat coming to an aggressive and abrupt stop. The last thing you saw was JJ flipping forward into the water, JB and Kie falling off their seats, and Pope tumbling back before you were submerged within an endlessness of dark blue, a harsh stinging-sensation blooming on your back and thighs. You couldn’t tell what was up and what was down. Too disoriented from the fall, your brain didn’t catch up with your body, attempting to inhale in your panic before getting a mouth full of water. Then, within seconds, you felt a hand on your back, seemingly feeling around to make sure you were what they were looking for before two hands were under your arms and pulling you up.

You coughed as your eyes were met with the harsh light of the sun, but you were grateful for it. You could hear JJ’s voice behind your ear as you coughed up water. “I got her! She’s fine!”

He swam in front of you, his hand rubbing and patting your back as your coughing fit slowly became less intense. “You alright? You took a nasty fall.” You managed to strain out a hoarse laugh.

“You guys okay?” Pope shouted over the edge of the boat.

“Almost drowned but yeah, we’re just fine.” You and JJ joked back, swimming back to the boat.

“Pope, man, what happened?” JJ inquired, treading water next to you.

“Sandbar. The channel changed...”

“No kidding.” You said, voice still scratchy from the Marsh water.

“Guys…” Pope started, staring in confusion over the edge of the small boat. “I think there’s a boat down there.”

“No way.”

“No, I’m serious. There’s a boat down there. For real.” You and JJ gave each other a glance, still treading in the water as you watched the remaining three peer over where Pope was staring. “There’s a boat!”

Kie quickly turned around. “Holy shit, he’s right.” You and JJ began paddling towards where your friends eyes were glued before as they shed their clothes and jumped in with the two of you. You all took one last glance at each other before dunking your heads below the surface and diving to the pristine, white boat that stood stuck in the middle of The Marsh.

When the tips of your fingers touched the surface of the boat, you swam around it, examining the structure. This wasn’t an old shipwreck, it was too clean. This had to have happened during the hurricane. As you kept swimming, you recognized the layout, the structure, the fixtures. There was no way this was what you thought it was…

Coming back up to the surface, JJ’s voice was the first one heard. “You guys saw that, right?” He asked breathlessly, a smile on his face as he shook his wet hair from in front of his face.

“That’s a Grady-White.” You added, still catching your breath. “That’s like a half a million dollar boat, just sitting there.” You all swam back to where the HMS Pogue swayed, climbing back on all at once.

“That’s the boat I saw when I surfed the surge. Maybe it hit the jetty or something.” John B spoke. Both you and Kiara turned to him, your faces falling from excitement to dismay.

Kie was the first to speak, a quiet question. “You surfed the surge?...”

“Yeah.” JB spoke carelessly, barely paying any attention before answering.

“That’s my boy. Pogue style.” JJ encouraged him.

“Well that was dumb.” You immediately protested, siding with Kie. “You could’ve gotten killed.” You added seriously. What the hell was thinking? Surfing a surge isn’t uncommon in the Outer Banks, but waves like that? That’s a death wish for sure.

“I’m still here, aren’t I?”

There was brief, tense eye contact between the both of you before you scoffed and turned around, walking off.

“Wait. Do we know whose boat that is?” Pope asked.

“No, but we’re about to find out.” John B spoke up.

“Dude, it’s way too deep.” JJ pointed out. He was right. It was too deep, especially for someone with no diving experience. Diving experience that you happened to have. No matter how pissed you were at him for surfing the surge, letting John B make another dumb mistake was just as bad. Also, mildly hypocritical.

“Oh, for the weak and feeble, JJ.”

“I’m not resuscitating you.” JJ reminded. “I’m just...making that clear up front.” He told him, scrunching his nose and shrugging his shoulders.

“That’s fine.” John was now standing on the edge of the boat, anchor in hand with a smile that was much to happy for someone doing something so dangerous.

“Diver down.” Pope saluted.

You turned around, about to offer to go down yourself. That was, until JJ pushed John B off the edge of the boat himself.

“JJ!” You shouted, hands out. He turned to you, blue eyes wide and wandering.

“What?” You just shook your head and groaned.

You just opted to stand on the other side of Kie, watching and waiting for John B to emerge again.

Seconds passed, seconds that felt like minutes. “He’s been down there too long.” You eventually vocalized, breaking through the tense silence.

“Should we go get him?” Pope suggested. Just then, the brown haired boy sprung up out the water, shaking his head side to side flinging water on the four of you. You all shielded your faces, mutual groans leaving the four of you on the boat.

“Dude! C’mon…” Pope complained, wiping droplets of water from his forehead and peering over the edge of the boat. “Any dead bodies?”

“No.” John B answered. “I found this motel key.” He continued, holding up a small, silver key with a yellow tag attached.

“A key...” Pope said unimpressed.

“Great! We… salvaged a motel key.” JJ continued mocking as they helped John B back onto the boat. Pope resumed his position behind the wheel as John B examined the key, you sat back with your earbud in one ear, still able to listen and chime in on the conversation.

“Guys, we should report the wreck to the coast guard. Maybe we’ll get a finder’s fee.”

POPE DOCKED AT THE COAST GUARD, THE PLACE BOMBARDED WITH ISLANDERS. Some searching for their spouses, pets, and family members. JJ and John B walked inside to find someone while Pope, Kie and yourself waited outside the maze of tents.

“It’s the day after a hurricane. They’re looking for old people and children, not boats. Besides, would it really be that bad if we just, didn’t report it?” You voiced.

“I don’t know,” Pope expressed, hand on the back of his neck. “What if there’s a body down there and we just, I don’t know, missed it.”

“And,” Kie started in that motherly tone that could make you question all bad judgment. “Reporting it is the right thing to do. No matter what.”

JJ and John B came back out of the tent. JJ shook his head. “No luck.” You couldn’t say you were surprised. Or disappointed. All heads turned to John B who stared out at nothing. He fiddled with the key before voicing his thoughts.

“...I think I know how we’re gonna find the guy who owns that boat.”

“No, no, no,” Pope stressed, pointing at the key as if the object was to blame. “No bad ideas. We don’t know whose that is.”

The two boys ignored him, JJ taking the key from John B’s fingers and tossing it to Kie. “I’m in.” He declared.

“Come on,” Kie urged Pope. “I’ll be lookout.”

You shrugged, following behind them but talking to Pope as you walked backwards. “At least we tried.” You turned to walk forwards, JB trailing behind you.

“Finder’s fee, just sayin’” You heard him say. “And hey! At least you’ll only be an accomplice.”

Pope sighed before you heard his footsteps join the group. “Man…”

“Come on, bubba.” John B comforted, throwing an arm over the dark-skinned boy's shoulders.

THE FIVE OF YOU ALL STOOD, NOT MOVING, AS YOU SILENTLY JUDGED THE MOTEL COMING INTO VIEW IN FRONT YOU AS THE HMS POGUE DRIFTED CLOSER TO IT.

“This is place is a shithole.” You were the first to say it out loud. The cloudy windows, the overgrown vines on the, what you guessed used to be, white walls, and the overgrown weeds.

“I thought The Chateau looked bad...”

“Motel or Meth-lab?”

“Doesn’t look like the type of place someone with a Grady-White would stay.” John pointed out the obvious.

“It looks like the type of place someone with a Grady-White would get mugged.” You mumbled as JJ winded up the rope and jumped off the front of the boat, tying it down to anchor it in place.

“We good?” John B asked as the chipper blonde wrapped the blue and white rope around the anchor point a couple more times for good measure.

“Good to go.”

“All right,” John B said. “Here goes nothing.”

“Hey.” Pope uttered, pointing a finger at JJ but maintaining eye contact with JB. “Don’t let him do anything stupid.”

“I’m not making any promises.” Was all John B said, you and Pope simultaneously rolling your eyes.

“Be careful…” Kiara spoke softly, handing John B the key. “I mean it.” John B kept his eyes on hers until a small smile crept up on his sun kissed cheeks. He let out a soft, almost school-girlish chuckle.

“Yeah...” He muttered as he turned to walk away with JJ.

Seconds passed as you watched the boys disappear, already knowing nothing good could come out of those two. It was only a small matter of time before Kiara spoke up, eyes on you as she fiddled nervously with her fingers.

“You should go with them.”

You could feel your expression morph into one of of confusion, looking on both sides of you. “Me?” You asked incredulously, pointing a finger at yourself. “Why me?”

“Well, they’d just rope Pope into whatever dumb decision they make, so he’s not an option.”

“Hey!” Pope threw his hands up in a poor attempt to defend himself. His mouth opened and closed, trying to find words before eventually surrendering to the fact that what she said was at least somewhat truthful.

“And what about you?” You asked, crossing my arms and raising an eyebrow. “Any chance for some extra time with John B, right?” You teased, edging towards the girl as she rolled her eyes.

“Will all of you stop saying that?” She looked away, playing with her bracelets. "I just get worried..."

You laughed and playfully pecked her cheek. “Yeah, worried. More like hot and bothered.” You played with the girl, hopping off the boat and landing just barely on your feet. You hadn’t made it but two steps before you heard her voice again.

“Hey!” You turned around. “Don’t forget your phone.” She reminded, tossing the small device your way as you caught it between your palms. A slight look of uncertainty on your face.

“Aren’t the towers down?”

Both of them shrugged before Pope spoke. “Couldn't hurt to have it.”

You pondered on it for a moment before letting the thought go. It wasn’t long before you caught up to the boys, the two not even noticing your presence behind them over their own conversation.

“...super sexy island chick that can play guitar and loves dogs. And her mom’s a hotshot lawyer, dude! Do you know how many guys on this island alone would jump at the chance to hit that?”

“I’d jump at the chance to hit you.” You disrupted whatever direction that conversation was going in. “I don't even want to know.” You snarked when he stuttered to defend himself, their heads turning back, JJ blubbering like a fish with his eyes wide.

“Where the hell did you...”

“Just, sh.” You dismissed him with your palm, John B chuckling under his breath.

“It’s like, every girl who has a heartbeat you’re just like…” John B made a semi-sexual motion with his hands and let out some ancient, elderly groan.

“It’s not a big deal.” JJ defended, the topic of conversation dying as the three of you approach the end of the walkway.

“Is this us? Twenty-nine?” You piped up, pointing to the motel door that was scuffed up entirely, paint chipped and scratches all over.

“This is it.” John B declared, staring at the key in his palm. JJ knocked in a rhythm on the wood, pretending to be housekeeping with a high pitched voice.

“Should we try it?” John B looked at JJ for a green light, JJ saying something in Spanish as you looked around before giving JB a nod as your signal of agreement. The door creaked open as we stood in the frame. Needless to say, the room looked better than the exterior. There was a decent sized duffel bag on the bed closest to the door, it was clear to see that the room was actually occupied for a considerable amount of time.

“I’ll check the bag.” JB directed, using the flashlight to search through the bag. “Definitely over 50, he’s got New Balances…”

You shot him a dirty look that he couldn’t see. “I have New Balances…” You mumbled.

JJ was leaned over a map on the nightstand, scanning it curiously. “Maybe this is where they were fishing.” He declared, John B and you crowding around him on either side. “Right there?” He pointed with his finger at a spot on the map.

“No, that’s off the continental shelf.” John B argued.

“That’s the Big Swell. No one fishes there.” You informed.

JJ continued looking over the map for a bit as you saw John B lift a piece of paper that was ripped from the motel notepad, a series of numbers written on it. You couldn’t see what numbers they were exactly but they didn’t seem important as he sat the paper down and both boys backed away from the nightstand.

You used the flashlight on your phone to continue scouting the room. It was what you’d expect out of a motel room — chipped walls, dust particles visible at every turn, the faint smell of sweat and what was either mildew or mold. Or both.

“Oooh...” JJ could be heard from the bathroom.

“You find somethin’?” You inquired, walking into the space he was in and watching him rifle through a small black bag on a shelf.

“Just a dopp kit Bree won’t let me steal.” He whispered before peeking his head through the doorframe and pocketing a bottle of pills.

You swatted his chest, prompting him to clutch his chest like an offended old woman. “We aren’t stealing.” You scoffed and rolled your eyes. “Put those back.”

“Whoever’s it is won’t miss them. They’re probably dead somewhere-”

“We’re not taking anything, JJ. Just put them back-”

“You know how much these could sell for?”

“I don’t care-”

“What are you guys doing?” JB was standing in the doorframe, flashlight by his side as he eyed the both of you back and forth. You both pausing and looking at John B, then each other.

You rolled your eyes and brushed past him, heading for the main bedroom. John B followed, crouching down in front of a cabinet that held a safe before he began punching in numbers.

“That will literally take forever.” You reprimanded, eyeing him with confusion as you shifted your weight behind him.

“One, one, one, two?...” He ignored you as he continued punching in combinations.

“...Or try the piece of paper you picked up not even two minutes ago?” You told him as if was the most obvious thing in the world, face twisting as you threw your free hand out to the side. He paused in his number-punching, his head craning to the side before he stood up and looked at you.

“Maybe you are good for something.” He spoke absentmindedly, walking past you to get the piece of paper as JJ reviewed the map once again.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean…” You mumbled to no one in particular as he brushed past you once again to go back to entering codes into the safe, this time you crouching next to him, watching as he punched ‘61666’ into the keypad. You watched as the door unlocked itself.

Your eyes widened when John B fully opened the safe, revealing wads of cash secured with rubber bands, a folder, and a gun.

“I don’t think we should…” You started.

“Holy shit.” John B proclaimed in awe, picking up one of the stacks of money.

“..touch, any of that.”

“JJ, you’re gonna wanna see this.” The boy called the blonde over, waving the money behind him.

JJ made his way behind the both of you. You could hear his gasp of “no freaking way” before his hand was reaching to grab the one thing in the safe all of you knew better than to touch — the gun.

“Why would you do that?” You whisper-shouted with wide eyes, standing up alongside John B as JJ played around with the firearm.

“Dude, don’t touch it!” John B warned.

“This is a fucking spendy-gatt man! Blat! Blat!” JJ geeked like a school girl, pretending to shoot the gun at the wall. “Just take a picture of me, man.”

“You want me to take a picture of you? With a gun?” John B asked as if JJ was an idiot. Just then, you heard something hit the frame of the window above the nightstand, speed walking over to it and peeking through the blinds to see a frantic Pope and Kie pointing to their left, mouthing what you thought was the word ‘cops’.

“What is it?” John B and JJ said almost simultaneously as you pushed through both of them to peek out of the window next to the motel room door, spotting Deputy Shoupe and another officer making their way to the room.

“Cops.” You spoke monotonously. “Go. Now. Hide.” You urged as the three of you scattered like mice throughout the room.

“Kildare County Sheriff’s Department!” A manly voice boomed on the other side of the door when you decided to lift the window, urging the two boys to follow you out onto the roof as quietly as possible.

You could hear the officers enter the room seconds later, telling one another to look around. John B got a little too curious, peeking his head slowly around the corner before you grabbed the ends of his hair that poked out under his baseball cap to snatch his face away from the window.

“Ouch!” He whisper-yelled, hand going to the back of his head.

“What’re you, five? Stop peeking.”

The three of you waited, hearing the muffled chatter of the officers inside as now both John B and JJ attempted to peeked inside, little visibility with the blinds being closed. For some odd, unknown reason, JJ decided to try and retrieve the gun he shouldn’t have touched in the first place from his pocket, the metal slipping through his fingers and clattering against the roof you were standing on.

You all cringed at the noise, giving JJ a side glance and thumping your head against the brick wall.

Your heart jumped in your throat when the blinds were suddenly drawn up from the inside, Shoupe peeking outside of the window carefully. The three of you waited, anticipating the worst thing to happen until he spoke, voice deafened from the wall between you.

“No one’s here. Let’s go.” You allowed yourself to breathe a sigh of relief.

“WELL, THAT WAS FUN.” JJ spoke with a chipper tone.

“The cops took everything like it was a crime scene.” Pope spoke up. “Did you guys even find anything?”

“Did we find anything? No, I don’t think so…” JJ mocked, reaching into his pockets. All you could do was roll your eyes as he whipped out the gun and a wad of cash. “Oh, yeah, we did.”

“What the hell?” Pope said, anger in his voice. “Why would you take that from a crime scene?!”

“My thoughts exactly.” You reprimanded under your breath, glancing at Pope who looked at you for a brief second.

“Better than the cops having it.” JJ tried to justify, shrugging nonchalantly.

“Are you serious?” Kie added.

“I’m gonna lose my merit scholarship.” Pope worried, JJ pulling him into his side and putting the gun to his lips as he shushed him.

“At least you have us, right?” JJ tried to remedy to which Pope, as well as the rest of you, gave him a deadpan look, shoving him off.

“I’m living a nightmare.”

It wasn’t long before you’d made it back to the docks where it was now swarmed with emergency services. The coroner’s had a man’s body on a stretcher as they questioned another. You all watched on the sidelines with another group of teens as a middle-aged woman ran up to the body, cradling his face.

“Who’s that?” JJ asked.

“Scooter Grubbs. He was out during the storm.” A random blonde girl replied. “Check out this pic I got. Dead Body.” She mocked, shoving her phone into John B’s face.

“...What kind of boat did he have?” JJ piped up randomly, most eyes turning to him.

“Somehow,” The girl started. “That dirtbag copped a brand-new Grady White. Everyone’s out looking for it.”

BACK AT THE CHATEAU, POPE CAME THROUGH THE DOOR, FRANTIC AS HE JOINED THE REST OF YOU ON THE PATIO. “Okay, so we didn’t see anything and we don’t know anything. We need to have total and complete amnesia.”

“Actually, Pope’s right, for once.” JJ chimed in from his place on the chair farthest from the rest of you. “Deny, deny, deny…”

“Guys, we can’t keep that money.” Kie interrupted as if the thought had been plaguing her mind.

“Okay, not all of us can afford unlimited data plans, Kiara.”

“That’s not fair, JJ.” You added from your place next to John B, leaning against the post that held up the house.

“Coming from another person who can afford an unlimited data plan.”

“Why are you acting like we didn't live down the street from each other like, eight months ago?” You criticized.

“But you don’t live there now, do you, princess?”

“Don’t call me that." You warned, chucking a pillow at him as he dodged it. "You know I hate when you call me that-”

“Guys.” Pope stopped your childish bickering, allowing Kie to finish her thought.

“We have to pass it off to Lana Grubbs. Otherwise, it’s bad karma.”

You shook your head in disagreement. “If anything, giving her the money is bad karma. This whole thing is sketchy and those wads of cash literally scream drug money.”

“I agree.” JB finally spoke. “This is Scooter Grubbs we’re talking about. Same dude that’s buying individual cigarettes at the Porthole. One time, I saw this dude begging for change in the Save-A-Lot parking lot.”

“I can attest to that, I saw him doing the same outside of a Shopper’s once. He didn’t have a shirt on. It was disturbing.” You added absentmindedly.

John B threw his hands in your direction as if saying you were proving his point further. “We are talking about a dirtbag, marina rat who’s never had more than 40 bucks in his pocket and somehow managed to get a brand-new Grady White. Think about it—how does a marina rat get a Grady White, Pope?”

The boy sucked air in through his teeth, tilting his head to the side. “Prostitution?” John B shook his head in disagreement.

“Uh-uh. Square groupers, bro.” He claimed, using his hands for emphasis. “Flying under the radar, no aerial surveillance. They don’t do that stuff during a hurricane. Which means? JJ?” John B handed off the invisible mic to the blonde.

“They were straight smugglin’.”

“And I guarantee there’s a serious amount of contraband in that wreck.”

“For the record,” Pope began to tell the four of you in that overly-intelligent tone, fiddling with the wad of money. “If that is a smuggling ship with illegal contraband on it, it probably belongs to someone else. Someone could come looking for it. Taking it would be catastrophically stupid.”

“Right,” JJ added, taking the stolen stack of money from Pope’s hand. “But stupid things have good outcomes all the time.”

“But usually not in our case…”

“Not helping, Princess.” JJ quipped, head tilting in your direction. You took steps in his direction, smacking him upside the head and snatching the wad of cash from his hands, counting it as you spoke.

“Ouch- dammit!” He exclaimed, caressing the back of his head.

“I warned you once. Listening is fundamental.”

“We need a way on to the ship.” John B added, ignoring you both with that distant look in his eyes. “But for now we gotta lay low.”

“Right…and how exactly do we do that?” JJ inquired, leaning back in his seat.

Sharing a glance with Kie, you both looked back at the boy in front of you before speaking at the same time.

“Kegger?”

THE BONEYARD WAS CROWDED, TO SAY THE LEAST. With Kildare being such a small part of the Outer Banks, news spread quickly. The beach flooded with tourons, pogues, and kooks alike. Beer sloshing, girls dancing.

You’d all went your own sort of ways when it started to kick up — JJ chugging beer with some chick, John B chatting up another, Kie educating a group of girls, and Pope scaring off some poor girl with dead body talk. You’d just gotten off the keg, lightheaded as you stood back up the right way from where two strangers were holding your legs as everyone around you chanted, wiping the beer from your lips when Kie approached you with a snarl on her face.

“What is she doing here?” Your eyebrows pinched together, your eyes following hers to find what had her wound so tight.

It was no other than Sarah Cameron — stood on an old beach post with her loyal dog of a boyfriend, Topper, right behind her. You couldn’t help but internally groan, turning back to Kiara with an eye roll that set into an annoyed expression.

“God, why is she everywhere?” The brown-haired girl complained as your eyes drifted across the beach, landing on the puppy-eyed friend of yours whose own eyes were fixated on the blonde near the shore. Even from feet away, you didn’t miss the glint in his eye. But there was no way JB had a thing for Sarah Cameron, right? He knew how you and Kie felt about her and he didn’t like Kooks. There was no way.

Nudging Kie’s shoulder, you spoke again. “Better question is, why is John B looking at her like that?”

Kiara’s attention drifted to John B, watching him like he was watching Sarah. A look in her eyes you couldn’t quite decipher — somewhere between disappointment and betrayal. Your own attention was pulled back to the aforementioned couple who were steadily approaching the crowd of teens.

If this were a house party, you’d shun them at the door. Unfortunately, this was public beach and nothing could be done to stop them from joining in.

THE SUN HAD GONE DOWN AND WHAT ONCE WAS A KEGGER IN FULL SWING WAS NOW A BEACH FULL OF TEENS CROWDED AROUND BONFIRE. The four of you were sitting near one another, the only one missing being JJ.

“I’m just saying, it was ninth grade guys. Maybe she’s changed.”

“Ninth grade or not, Sarah Cameron is still a bitch.” You shot at JB who was suspiciously defensive of a girl who really only knew of through his job, Kiara, and yourself. The topic of conversation kept drifting back to Sarah throughout the night, watching her frolic and gawk at the crowd of people as if she’d never been to a party before. Topper glued to her side per usual.

You all watch from the side as Topper grabbed her hand, helping her up from the log they were perched on as it seemed they finally decided to call it a night just as JJ had come back with the beers he’d went to go refill for John B and himself.

John B stood up and approached his friend, ready to take the cup when Sarah and Topper walked by, gaining the attention of a drunk JJ Maybank who wouldn’t let them go unnoticed. If Kooks had one-hundred haters, JJ was the leader of them. If Kooks had no haters, JJ was dead.

“Wait, Sarah!” He stopped them in their tracks. “Can I interest you in a tasty Milwaukee beverage?” He slurred. Sarah looked him up and down before politely declining the offer. You, Kie, and Pope watched the interaction silently from your places in the sand. “What? Is it not fancy enough for you?”

“We were just leaving…” She sassed, throwing her hair over her shoulder.

“Y’know what?” Topper mused. “I’ll take it. Thank you, man. ‘Preciate it.” You could tell this wasn’t a genuinely civil interaction, the remaining three of you in the sand watching from the sidelines sparing one another a weary glance.

“That’s a nice gesture, Topper, but I didn’t ask you.” JJ retorted, the smile dropping from Topper’s face quickly. John B was already attempting to step in between the two. “If you said ‘pretty please’? Maybe. But you didn’t. So…”

“Oh, pretty please?” Topper shot back unbelievably.

JJ dismissed him, turning back to Sarah and once again offering the drink when Topper suddenly smacked the drink away, the beverage splattering all over JJ’s face. The beach of teen’s attention was suddenly pulled to the four of them in the middle of the beach as you, Kiara, and Pope stood from your spots in the sand.

JJ was quick to snatch Topper by the collar of his button-up before John B pushed him back in an effort to calm down his friend. He was speaking to JJ, words no one could hear until Topper shouted ‘dirty pogues’, stealing John B’s attention in a matter of seconds as the boy whipped around to march towards him.

John B pushed Topper’s shoulders back, the action not doing much. The three of you still standing figured it was time to step in, dispersing from your places and getting in between the four of them — mainly the three guys as Sarah stood off to the side. .

You saw it coming before you heard the connect, Topper edging towards John B before striking him in the jaw. “Hey!” You shouted, jogging in their direction with Kie by your side as you watched Topper kick your friend while he was down.

“Guys? Guys!” You heard Sarah shouting.

“Don’t make me drown you like your old man, alright?!” Topper spat. If you were any further back in the crowd that all watched like this was a professional brawl, you wouldn’t have heard it.

The statement obviously struck a nerve within JB, the boy finding strength in his state of anger to get up and tackle Topper into the shallow water. You usually weren’t one to condone violence, but JB was standing his ground and Topper deserved it.

The two boys circled each other, taking turns throwing punches. The odds were in John B’s favor, until they weren’t, Topper taking the opportunity to flip him onto his back into the water.

You couldn’t tell what was happening immediately until you finally registered what was going on. Topper had John B pinned by the back of his neck, face down into the shallow sea water.

“Topper!” Sarah shouted over and over, her whining making your fists ball.

“Sarah!” You turned to her. “Will you shut the hell up and get your psychotic boyfriend?!” All the girl could do was shoot you a mean glare, turning back to the sight in front of her and continuing her chant of Topper’s name.

“He’s drowning him.” You heard Kiara speak behind you. Your eyes scanned the beach for something, anything — landing on a thick piece of driftwood, you wasted no time in sprinting over to it, picking it up almost like a baseball bat. You could hear your three friends calling your name as you ran up behind Topper, wielding the piece of wood like a weapon, ready and fully prepared to knock his ass out with it.

You were feet away from the angry, rich blonde before JJ had beat you to it, holding a gun to the back of his head. You stopped in your tracks, the piece of wood falling to your side as your jaw went slack and your eyes wide.

“JJ!” Kiara yelled.

“Dude, chill!” Pope shouted, walking up behind his erratic friend.

“JJ! Put the gun down!” Sarah tried, finally deciding to actually step in with the rest of you. The blonde girl shouted you and Kie’s names. “Will you check your psycho friend, please?!”. You and Kie simply ignored the girl.

“We’re good! We’re good!” Topper surrendered, releasing John B’s neck from his hands. You, along with Pope and Kiara, wasted no time in rushing over to aid your friend, kneeling in the wet sand and salt water next to him as the three of you sat him up.

“Everyone listen up!” JJ continued. “Get the hell off our side of the island!” He yelled, shooting stray bullets to the sky. You flinched slightly at the unexpected, ear-ringing sound.

“JJ!” You yelled at him, louder than you had the entire night. The crowd of teens dispersing, running every which way in between the trees. You made sure Kiara and Pope could take care of your wounded friend themselves before shooting up from your crouched position and approaching JJ, snatching his shoulder back to face you before pushing his chest. “What the hell is wrong with you?! Do you have any idea what you just did?!”

“I was saving his life, okay?!”

“By firing a gun you stole?!”

JJ had no idea the trouble he’d just created and the argument didn’t go much further than that when the four of you heard a splash and turned back to find John B, who’d collapsed, unconscious, back into the water.

“I’M CALLING IT OFF.” Was the first word said between any of you. It was the next morning and John B had called you all together at The Chateau, the five of you spread out in the yard. There was a cloud hanging over the group, a tense silence. The only noise being a ball JJ kept tossing back and forth. “Peterkin said that if I stay out of The Marsh, she’ll help with DCS.”

“And you believed her?” JJ asked as if his friend was the biggest dunce in the world.

“Yes, I believed her, JJ, she's the Sheriff. All I have to do is stay out The Marsh for a few days and she’ll help me out.” He repeated. “It doesn’t help that your ass was the one shooting a gun!”

JJ scoffed, shaking his head side to side. “Y’know what? I should’ve let Topper drown your ass.”

“Yeah, because Topper was really going to drown me.”

“It sure looked like it. I mean, have you looked in a mirror?” JJ shot back, leaning against a wooden post of the outdoor structure. “They always win, don’t they, man? They don’t want us in The Marsh which means there’s something valuable down there.” JJ tried to reason, eyes pleading with the rest of you. “I understand why you don’t wanna go.” He pointed at Pope. “You’re the Golden Boy, too much to risk.” Then his eyes were on Kie. “And you’re rich as fuck, anyway. Why would you bother?” She ignored him, rolling her eyes as his own blue ones landed on you. “And you? You-”

“Don’t go there, JJ.” You warned him, eyes connecting with his, a serious expression plastered all over your face. You stared at one another, a bitter exchange without words. Then, he was looking at John B.

“We got nothing nothing to lose. And I know it didn’t use to be that way for you.”

“I don’t wanna talk about this.”

“I have plan John B, just listen,” JJ started, staring at the tense back of his best friend who wouldn't face him. “You got the key to Cameron’s big boat, right?”

“No, dude-”

“There’s scuba gear!” The blonde protested, standing right next to John B now. “We borrow that, go down to The Wreck this afternoon-” Your eyes met Kie and Pope’s as you mockingly mouthed ‘borrow’, the jab followed by an eye roll. JJ Maybank was never known to just ‘borrow’ anything. “And that’s what going to save you. You don’t see rich kids going into foster care, do you?”

“AND WE’RE SERIOUSLY LETTING JOHN B STEAL FROM THE LION’S DEN?” You questioned as the remaining four of you lounged around the boat. “I mean, what if he gets caught? I doubt Ward will just let him go.”

“He won’t get caught.” JJ exhaustedly reassured you for the millionth time as he unanchored the small motor boat from the dock.

“And how do you know that?”

“Well, judging by the lanky bandana wearing boy waddling towards us with his hands occupied by oxygen tanks, I’d say he did just fine.” Everyone’s attention was now drawn to John B, climbing one leg over the other into the boat, letting the tanks clank against the floor of the water vehicle.

You were the first to snatch them up, shooting JJ a mean glare for his sarcasm. It was only seconds before you scoffed and let your head fal back, zoning your sights in on John B. “Good job, you scored empty tanks.”

“What?” He proclaimed breathlessly, a look of sheer confusion written across his face as you continued looking at the meters on the tanks.

You held up one of them on display. “This one's a quarter-full. That’s only enough for one of us. And judging by the look on your faces, I’m going to assume I’m the only one here who knows how to dive?” They all averted their eyes. “Great.”

“It’s kind of a kook sport…” JJ mumbled. You supposed he was right but for you it was just a skill that your dad had spent years teaching you, being a professional diver himself. “Plus, how hard could it be anyway. You put the thing in your mouth and breathe.”

“Well,” Pope started. “If you come up too fast the nitrogen could enter your bloodstream and you could get the bends.”

“The bends? Like bend over?-” JJ tried to joke before being cut off, his body in a half bent position.

“The bends kill you.” You and Pope both corrected simultaneously, both with the same amount of annoyance in your tone. Shaking your head, you stood up with the semi-full tank in hand and made your way over to Pope.

“You’re the only person I trust to help me with the math on this.” You proclaimed. The boy’s eyes widened, nearly jumping up from his feet, a notepad and pencil in his hand that seemed to almost appear out of thin air.

“Yeah, yeah, I can help,” He stammered. “The boat’s about thirty-feet down. So, at that depth, it’ll take twenty-five minutes. Which means you need to make your safety stop at about ten feet. For two minutes.”

“Got it.”

“When you’re down there,” JJ started, key in hand. “Look for the cargo hold, stick this thing inside, twist and pull-”

“I know how to use a key, JJ.”

“I- y’know you have been very sassy today, little miss thing, and I don’t appreciate it, alright?” He started ranting in mock-offense. “That’ll be the last time I try to help you.” He muttered, pouting next to Pope. You chuckled before picking up the oxygen meter, trying to make sure you would have enough air to decompress. And you did, just barely.

“Hey,” Pope announced. “If we get caught in The Marsh, we’re basically screwed, so…”

“Is this your way of telling me to get my ass into the water?” His eyes looked around as if he were thinking deeply, a small nonchalant shoulder shrug before he was replying.

“Mmm...Basically, yeah.” You snickered at the boy before stripping down to your bikini, pulling the tank over your shoulders and the mask down over your face before jumping in. Once you were in the water, you gave one last look to your friends before letting the air fill your lungs and going completely under.

You started to make your descent, slowly. Making your safety stop at what you estimated to be about ten feet as Pope has advised. Stopping for those two minutes before continuing to dive further down.

The water was dark, foggy, and murky — a lot different from diving in ocean water. It was like walking through an abandoned mansion with only a lighter to see. Nonetheless, your eyes landed on the cargo hold within the sunken boat. It was a small struggle trying to fit the key into the hole with the water swaying your hand in different directions but you managed after a couple tries.

Twisting and pulling as JJ had directed, the cargo holds door came up, floating gracefully to the side, revealing what was inside. A black duffel bag and even in the water, it was still decently heavy. You couldn’t waste time examining what was inside with the amount of oxygen you were running on, so you started to swim your way back up, careful not to move too fast.

Following the length of the bowline, the boat came into view the closer you got to the surface of the water. But then so did another, a slightly larger one. You stopped, squinting trying to make out whose boat it could be but it was pointless. The meter on your tank told you that you had about a minute before you were out of air.

You waited for what felt like minutes but what had really only been about fifteen seconds. Your heart thumped out of your chest when you saw a figure standing on the edge of your friend’s boat through the water that was far too buff to be any of your friends. And you could’ve sworn it was Deputy Shoupe.

You were still but you didn’t feel still enough, as if any slight movement might make the man able to see through water. To see you. You couldn’t get caught in The Marsh. They couldn’t know Scooter’s boat was here. One wrong move and you could screw this all up. Despite your nerves, you looked frantically at the meter in your hand — fifteen seconds of air left.

And it just kept getting lower.

You were mentally screaming at whoever that figure was to get the hell out of here. Ten seconds. Then five. Four. Three. Two. One.

Zero.

You had no air left and your only option was to hold your breath and hope for the best. And maybe a little hope was all you needed because by the grace of God, the figure retreated not long before the boat was speeding away. You wasted no time in swimming towards the surface, bursting through the waves and snatching the mask off as fresh air filled your lungs.

You heard sighs of relief as your chest filled and your hearing returned to normal.

“Don’t scare us like that!”

“Scare you?” You breathed out, treading water while looking at your four friends. “I thought I was gonna die!”

“What’d you find?” asked Pope.

“I don’t know but it’s something.” You started swimming back towards the boat, throwing the bag overhand towards JJ as you climbed up the ladder.

“You good?” Pope questioned, concerned. “You scared the shit out of us. The cops were up here but we took care of ‘em.” So it was Shoupe, you thought as you plopped yourself down on the boat, wasting little time in shrugging the tank off of your back when you spotted another boat coming in your direction.

“Guys? Bogey, two o’clock.” You announced, breathlessly.

“Anybody recognize it?” Pope asked, prompting collective ‘no’s’ to sound out.

“What’re they doing here? The Marsh is closed…” John B questioned silently.

"Maybe they don't know?" You threw out.

“My vote’s on not sticking around to find out.” JJ advised, going straight for the bowline as fast as he could to unanchor the boat. John B began steering the boat before the anchor was even completely out of the water.

“Go into The Marsh. Go.” Pope commanded firmly. At that moment, the opposing boat followed the HMS Pogue and you could’ve sworn it sped up.

“They’re definitely following us.” Kie voiced worriedly. Looking back, there were only two men on the boat. Two faces you’d never seen in Kildare before.

“Gun it, JJ!” John B shouted. There was no doubt that you all were being followed at this point and you didn’t want to know what would happen if they caught up. Your hand was gripping the edge of the boat as it sped through the shaky waters, the small boat practically zooming past everything in sight but the two men remained on your tail. Suddenly, the man not steering the motorboat behind you pulled out something — a unmistakable object.

“Guys, get down!” Was the last thing heard and the only thing you could shout before a shot rang out in the air, a stray bullet clanking against the structure of John B’s boat but failing to puncture anything severe, everyone ducking except the boy himself.

“John B, get down!” Another shot followed, zooming right past your head. So close and so fast that you didn’t even see it, the only sign being the sound of wind breaking next to your ear and a stinging, burning sensation at the top of it.

“Jesus!” You shouted, slouching against the inside of the boat, smooshing yourself in between Kiara and Pope. Your hand went up to hold your ear, pulling it back to reveal a small amount of blood on the tips of your fingers. You doubted you got fatally shot, it couldn’t have been anything more than graze.

“Are you okay?” Kie asked as you drifted your own eyes to meet hers, a genuine concern swimming in her gaze. Your sights roamed her face for a moment before nodding and touching your ear slightly.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be fine.”

Then a third shot was sounding out. “Shit!” yelled Kie, her own eyes were focused on some netting laying in the boat. You watched as she got up and grabbed the material, throwing it over the back of the boat just as the fourth, and hopefully final, shot rang out. The boat that had been following you all spun out once it the net, the trap causing their engine to fail, sending you miles ahead of them in seconds.

You all stood up and stared back at the male figures disappearing behind you, chuckles leaving you all one by one until the boat was nearly shaking with triumphant laughter. You turned to JJ, giving him a victorious double high-five.

“Oh, damn,” His smile fell as his gaze turned to the left side of your face. “Did you get hit?” He asked, his hands reaching out to trail his fingers down the length of your neck, pulling them back to reveal the red substance decorating his fingers.

“Barely. I’ll be fine.”

“You’ll have a sick scar, though.”

You scoffed at this. “A girl can only dream.”

THE SUN HAD SET BY THE TIME YOU ALL HAD REACHED THE DOCK. The four of you had all but flew off the boat and onto the wooden platform, John B rushing to unzip the duffel bag you’d retrieved, still shivering slightly from your damp state. You’d thrown your t-shirt back on at some point, using your shorts to soak up the blood from your ear which made them un-wearable.

“It’s gotta be money right?” You expressed, shaking the remaining water from your damp hair.

“That or a couple of keys with street value from the low to mid-mills.”

“Can we please just open the bag?” Pope blurted quite aggressively. The group turning to him in shock and amusement.

“Wow, Pope. That’s a… rare outburst of emotion.” John B added.

“You guys are literally killing me with anticipation.”

“Same.” You added in your two cents. “I almost drowned for this.”

“We all almost died for this.” Pope cut in.

“Yeah, that too, I guess.” You dismissed him playfully.

John B finished unzipping the bag, revealing a metal container about the size of a human thigh. Anchoring the object between his knees, he grunted and groaned as he attempted to twist it open until it popped, allowing him to twist off the top and reveal…

“A compass?” Kie said unamused, almost disgustedly. Pope threw his hands over his head and JJ scoffed.

“Great job, everybody. We found a compass.” The blonde threw out. But John B saw something. He was looking at this object as if it meant the entire world to him, and that look prompted you to kneel next to your best friend and set a hand on his shoulder.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” You asked softly, eyes fleeting back and forth between John B’s watery gaze and the dingy compass.

“...This was my father’s.”

#SVN #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank #jj mayback imagine #jj mayback x reader #obx jj #obx fanfiction #jj maybank x you #Spotify #jj maybank smut #jj maybank imagine #obx jj x reader #obx jj maybank

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ozzgin · 8 months

Text

I was pondering on what horrors to write for Halloween and when I remembered how many times I’d hoped for Valak content…I ran and whipped out my Grimoire and started typing in delirious inspiration.

Yandere! Valak x Reader

Featuring the Infernal President and a blissfully unaware reader backpacking through Romania. Warning: NSFW, blasphemy, non-consent

[Horror Masterlist]

“Mommy told me something

A little kid should know

It’s all about the Devil

And I’ve learned to hate him so

She said he causes trouble

When you let him in the room

He will never ever leave you

If your heart is filled with gloom”

"Now, you can't really say you've visited Romania until you see at least one monastery! Most Romanians are very religious, so churches and monasteries are popular attractions for tourists and locals alike." The tour guide is awfully enthusiastic for a cloudy Sunday morning. You nod politely and follow the group, although you can already feel yourself become distracted.

You're mostly interested in the old castles and bucolic hiking trails that Transylvania has to offer. Religious places...not so much. Alas, it's part of the experience. You check the flyer containing today's travel plans and google the location mentioned by the guide. Cârța Monastery. Seems to have some ruins included, and you'll be right on time for the Sunday chorus service, huh. Maybe that's why they picked today for a visit.

You hurry along the cobblestone path until the first traces of a building come into view. Somehow you can't shake the feeling that something is off. You scan over the visible windows, wondering if someone is watching from above. Nothing. Once you lower your gaze again, you notice the tour guide vigorously waving his arm and encouraging you to enter the church with everyone else. You were at the very front of the group, so how long did you stare at walls? You flash an apologetic smile and rush inside. The wooden door closes with a grating creak and you fumble to the first available seat. There's a few coughs and shuffles and eventually the Liturgy begins. Your eyes wander until they find a clear window, so you entertain yourself with the sights outside. It's not like you understand the words of whatever is currently happening, and you're not religious to begin with.

"How long is this going to take?" you groan internally and switch your focus to your hands, intertwined and resting in your lap. The monotonous chants cause your eyelids to feel heavy and they gradually lower themselves until all you see is black. It's okay, you're not sleeping. It's just a short nap, until...huh...the voices of the singing men diffuse as if distorted by distance and now everything is quiet.

"Took you long enough."

You jolt awake. You turn your head to check if whoever is sitting next to you has just spoken, but the room is suddenly empty. You jump from your seat and the thud of your feet hitting the stone floor creates a cavernous echo that sends a shiver down your spine. Ah, could it be that you're dreaming? The candles of the chandelier flicker, as if startled by a breeze, and abruptly go out.

"I don't like waiting. Especially for mere humans like you."

The same voice as before reverberates through the chamber. It's deep and jarring, sounding almost unnatural. You don't like it. You tilt your head, afraid to find the source of speech but too curious nonetheless. It's a person dressed like a nun. For a brief second you relax your shoulders, assuming it's one of the people living here. But after one step ahead the figure becomes vaguely illuminated, and you can discern the features bearing on this creature's face. Blood drains from your face and you can feel the bile pooling at the back of your throat. A blasphemous deformity, oozing with blight and evil. From within the hollow, dark sockets, two yellow orbs glisten with raw malice. You realize you've held your breath until now as your lungs contract in a pitiful attempt to pump more oxygen. The movement brings back your senses and your flight instincts kick in. You immediately sprint for the door and use your elbow to slam it open, nearly collapsing to the ground. Your eyes squint under the flash of bright light.

As you pant for air you notice you're back outside. There's people taking photos and talking cheerfully, and inside the church your group seems to have gathered before the iconostasis, listening attentively to a hearty discourse from your guide. The liturgy ended. What on Earth did you just witness? Before you can ponder the event, you feel a tug at your sleeve. It's an old lady, short and comically hunched. She's dressed all in black, with a head covering that hides most of her face, though you can still see the deep wrinkles that cross her features.

"Oh? Sorry, I don't speak-"

"L-am văzut și eu. Diavolul, maică. Aici nu mai e demult casa Domnului. Pleacă cât mai poți, am să mă rog pentru tine."

Her voice is shaky and she seems in distress. She strokes your arm once before limping away hastily. You blink and spend a moment trying to collect your thoughts. There's no one else nearby to ask for a translation, so you can only hope she finds help somewhere else. You return to the group and hope you won't have to deal with any other adventures.

"This is the annex. You can still see some details in the arches." Your guide points around the pillars and mossy brick patches. You take out your phone for some photos and your arms tremble slightly.

"It's suddenly very cold here, don't you think so?" you remark to your neighbor.

"Really? I'm quite literally sweating right now" they respond, baffled.

"It's a shaded area, that's probably why."

"Or you're just that excited to see me again."

Your eyes widen. It's the voice. You blink, and you find yourself in the empty church once more. No, no, no, this isn't happening. No. You're dreaming. This is an absurdity. Some hallucination of sorts. You try the door handle, except this time it's locked.

"It's not often I become interested in a mortal. In fact, this is the only time."

The nun is sitting on a bench, hands together in a praying motion. There's a mocking grin on its face.

"Maddening, truly. Deplorable, disgraceful, outrageous. Humiliation would await me if they suspected my intentions with a perishable being like you."

"Who the hell are you?" you interrupt the erratic monologue. The nun stands up and locks eyes with you, instantly making you nauseous.

"The Sixty-second Spirit, President Mighty and Great. His Office is to give True Answers of Hidden Treasures, and to tell where Serpents may be seen. The which he will bring unto the Exorciser without any Force or Strength being by him employed. He governeth 38 Legions of Spirits."

"What?"

"Valac." the creature extends a hand, as if expecting a handshake. "At least that's how they introduce me in the Lesser Key of Solomon." The fingers spread out and you feel a gravitational force pull you closer. It chuckles.

The cold fingers sink into your back and feel like claws digging your flesh. You let out a scream of protest and try to push away without success. It hurts. The touch burns your skin and spreads out like a wicked plague. What would this fiend even want from you? You search your mind for potential meanings and explanations. Truth be told, however, you're not well-versed in theological fantasies.

"You can't just possess someone's body. I won't accept it. You don't have my permission."

The creature erupts in hysterical laughter and you feel your knees weaken at the sharp, grotesque teeth that creep their way out. Everything about it is vile, scandalous. Unholy.

"If you want to call it like that...Then sure. But for this kind of possession I don't need your input, I'm afraid."

Your limp body is picked up and sloppily thrown over the altar table. The impact of the hard surface against your stomach causes you to gasp. You try to turn your head and look behind, but the large, clawed hand locks around your neck and keeps you in place. You can only glance ahead. You can sense your garments being ripped apart with one swift move and shudder at the unexpected contact with the cold air on your bare body. The creature's other hand slides over your forms before stopping on your bottom, adjusting it. The realization sinks in and you begin to panic. Is this the time to say a prayer? You don't know any.

"Our Father..." you mumble, trying to remember the continuation.

"Go on. I'm sure He'd love to hear from you while you're being fucked on His altar. Send Him my regards."

He forces your hips upwards, exposing your intimacy. Without any further delay he thrusts his member in, painfully stretching your entrance around it. Tears well up in your eyes at the sudden discomfort. The iconostasis in front of you blurs and sways with each violent plunge into your frail body.

"Oh, God" you sob.

"God ends here."

#the nun #the nun 2 #the conjuring #valak #valac #valak x reader #valak smut #the nun smut #yandere #yandere x reader #demon x reader #ars goetia

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bkgml · 1 year

Text

katsuki taking care of drunk you!

you and katsuki were in a weird place.

you both know you want each other, (so does the entire dorm). you’ve just never confessed so you’re in a weird stage of being more than friends but less than lovers.

earlier today kami got an invite from one of his one night stands to a party at a local college. she said to bring whoever he wants, so he invited you, bakugou, kirishima, mina, and jiro. you were so excited, if you could get katsuki to have a beer with you, maybe he’d loosen up a little and you could talk about your ‘situation’.

until bakugou had the genius idea to be the designated driver. why does he have to be so stupid and responsible?

guess you’re drinking away your problems tonight.

you get ready with the girls, giggling and bringing multiple outfits to mina’s dorm so she could pick for you.

“yn! you should literally wear none of these!” she saying laughing.

“you want bakugou to take notice of you tonight right?” she asks.

“well i mean a little bit, but not just for him! i’m independent!” you yell and jiro whoops.

“you’ve been independent for too long yn! it’s time to take what you want! i think, you should wear…. this!” she says pulling a dress out of her closet.

the perfect little black dress.

“okay i’m with mina now!!” jiro! how could she betray you like this!

you laugh and hold the dress up to yourself in the mirror.

“alright, alright! but only cause i’m going to look good in this.” you say shocked.

the girls cheer and you all finish getting ready.

“what the hell’s taking so long.” bakugou grumbles to his friends in the hallway.

“relax, bakugou we’re here!” you say, walking down the hallway with your girls.

“wow! you guys look great!” kirishima says, proud.

“thanks kiri!” the three of you say together.

you all get in the car and head to the party.

as you pull up, you take notice of the massive place you’re going to.

“holy shit! this is going to be awesome! our first college party!” mina squeals.

“none of you little shits better get lost, or pass out, or nothing. we’re all meeting back in this car at midnight or you’re all fuckin dead.” bakugo warns.

a chorus of ‘fine’ sings as you all get out and head to the party.

you spend the night trying to forget your issues with bakugou, by drinking, dancing, drinking, talking to your friends, drinking.

“haven’t you had enough?” bakugou says in your ear.

“lighten up. it’s a party, remember?” you say, walking away.

bakugou grumbles and goes to find a wall to lean on, so he can stand there and glare at you and your friends.

some loser chick tries to talk to him, and he looks her way to turn her down as politely as he can.

but as he looks back, you’re fucking gone.

“what the fuck? i looked away for one goddamn second.” he says to himself. eyes scanning the party in search of you.

after a minute of searching he hears a guy ask you to go upstairs with him. he’s about to lose his shit before he sees you walking up the stairs with him.

he scoffs. are you joking right now?

“yo!! bakugou! is that yn? whys she going upstairs with that guy? thought she liked you.” kirishima says.

“yeah. so did i.” he grumbles.

“well are you sure she wants to be going upstairs with him? she had a lot to drink” kirishima asks.

fuck he didn’t even think of that. he didn’t hear you say yes.

he stomps towards you, he needs to make sure you’re okay.

suddenly he sees your quirk activate, the guy sent into the wall.

you turn and see bakugou. fuck you need out of here.

“katsuki!” you say, rushing towards him.

katsuki? his heart jumps.

“hey, hey, what’s goin on?” he asks with his hands on your shoulders.

“wanna go home.” you slur.

fuck you’re so drunk.

“yeah, come on.” he says while leading you towards the rest of the group.

“alright dipshits, let’s go.” he says.

“whattt, but it’s not even 11:30!” mina defends.

“we’re going. now.” he says walking away, pushing you along with him.

you guys make it outside before you’re running into a bush to hurl your guts out.

“shit. come on, yn. you alright?” he says, rubbing your back, soothingly.

you stand straight and wipe your mouth.

“i wanna goooo.” you whine, pouting.

“i know, let’s get you home.”

you all get into the car, katsuki guides you to the passenger seat.

“but this is kiris seat.” you say, feeling guilty for taking it.

“i know, he won’t mind though, okay? you’re so sweet for thinkin of him.” he runs his fingers through your hair and you lean into his touch.

you all get into the car. while katsuki drives he keeps an eye on you, squirming in your seat.

“katsuki, i dont feel good.” you whine.

the car goes silent. you called him by his first name? and he didn’t murder you??

katsuki glares at them for a moment before turning his eyes back to the road. a silent ‘dont fuckin say a word’ warning and the people in the car resume to their normal chattiness.

“i know you don’t, yn. we’re almost there, okay? just hang on.” he soothes.

you stop squirming and try to take deep breaths to settle your stomach.

“alright we’re here, get out.” katsuki says to the idiots in his back seat.

once they leave katsuki gets out and opens your door for you. you run past him and throw up in another bush.

“fuck, are you okay?” katsuki asks.

“i wanna go to sleep, katsu.” you mumble.

katsuki takes you inside and walks you to your dorm.

“where are your keys, yn?” he asks and you hand them to him.

he opens your door and steps inside.

“are you done throwing up for tonight?” he asks cautiously.

“think so.” you hiccup.

“go brush your teeth, kay? i’ll get your pyjamas.” he says and gently pushes you into your bathroom.

he looks around your room and guesses which drawer your pyjamas sit in. thankfully, he guesses right.

he picks some pyjamas for you and lays them on your bed.

you come out of the bathroom looking more refreshed.

“alright, you’re all set. see you tomorrow during your hangover.” katsuki says, turning on his heel and waking to your door.

“wait!” you call to him. he turns to you.

you walk to him and kiss him. hard. trying to start something you can’t finish. at least you used mouthwash.

“hey, hey, hey, no.” he says pulling you off him.

“please? i can’t do this waiting thing anymore katsuki.” you plead with him.

“i’m sorry, but i’m not doing this for the first time with someone who probably won’t even remember it in the morning.” he sighs, walking away again.

you run up to him again and wrap your arms around him, your cheek pressed to his back.

“i’m sorry. i made you upset.” you say.

god you’re so drunk.

he turns in your grip.

“i’m not upset, baby. i just don’t want us doing something we’ll regret cause you were drunk.”

you look up at him with wide, glossy eyes.

“will you stay the night with me? i don’t feel good and you’re so warm.” you plead.

he thinks for a moment. would you freak out if he was in your bed and you don’t remember why, maybe… but you trust him enough to believe why.

“okay, i’ll stay. get into the bathroom and change. i’ll wait for you.” he says, ushering you to the bathroom.

“promise you won’t leave?” you ask.

“i promise.” he pats your head and goes to sit on your bed.

thank god he wore comfortable clothes. you would probably have a harder time believing that nothing happened if he was in his boxers.

a couple minutes go by until you step out of the bathroom. you shyly walk up to him and sit in his lap.

you’re clingy when you’re drunk.

you wrap your arms around his neck and rest your head on his chest.

he laughs lightly and swings his legs onto your bed before pulling the covers over the two of you. you being completely on top of him, curled into a little ball to help settle your stomach.

he runs his fingers through your hair and you kiss his peck in response.

maybe he’ll let dunce face drag you two to a couple more parties.

part 2

#bakugou x reader #bakugou fluff #bakugou x yn #bakugou x you #bakugou katuski x reader

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tightjeansjavi · 2 months

Text

The Rite of Movement | drabble

“sleazy kisses in a back alley”

A/N: everyone say thank you to Lucien Flores for inspiring me to write pornstar!joel going a little…feral ;)

~word count: 2.2k~

Summary: it’s Tommy’s birthday, and you and Joel can’t keep your hands to yourselves for more than five minutes

Pairing | pornstar!joel x pornstar!female reader

Warnings: smut, mentions of the porn industry and other pornstars, porn with no plot litrally, intimacy, semi public sex, fingering, oral f!receiving, dom!joel, depraved filth, language, mentions of drinking and smoking, teasing, flirting, edging, established relationship, Joel calls you a dirty little slut in a non-derogatory way, sleazy makeout, cum tasting, Joel is a little horny shit, Joel is in his 40’s reader is in her 30’s, reader has no physical descriptions (only description is wearing a shimmery dress but nothing about the length/fit etc) readers nickname is baby love, +18 minors dni!

series masterlist

Every pair of wandering eyes in this DTLA, heady, nightclub are glued in a trance to your boyfriend. It’s Tommy’s birthday, and despite the fact that somehow you and Joel have ended up in the same state that you both loathed for conjoining reasons, it was cathartic that you were doing this together.

The original plan was for Joel to rent out a local nightclub in Austin for Tommy’s birthday bash, but Pornhub offered to fly the three of you out to LA, along with the rest of Miller-Co for a proper birthday celebration.

That's how you found yourselves surrounded by familiar faces in the industry, and plenty anew. You caught up with old costars, reminiscing on the short lived ‘good times’ during your era at Brazzers. It was a bittersweet and unplanned reunion.

The question of the evening was centered around yours and Joel’s relationship, and you weren’t one to bask in the spotlight or the potential for scrutiny. But you handled their prying questions with grace, after all, humans are naturally curious creatures.

How do two pornstars maintain a healthy relationship?

“Just like the key to any successful relationship: communication.” You responded with grace.

There were a chorus of murmured agreements that went around the circle you found yourself in. Joel was nearby, an arm’s length away, close enough that you could brush up against one another. He was wearing a silly, flimsy party hat, adorned in gold chains draped along his neck and a bright patterned shirt with almost all the buttons undone. He looked like a whole goddamn meal, and dessert, and the greenies in the industry were absolutely eating him up.

He was politely declining opportunities to film with this group of amateur pornstars that flocked to him like a moth to flame. He had recently begun to stray from filming with partners outside of you. It was a personal decision that he made, and you of course supported him through and through. He was beginning to feel overwhelmed from the already stuffy atmosphere, the numerous voices in his ear, the pounding bass, and the beading sweat pooling along his forehead, was just enough for him to politely excuse himself for some fresh air.

You felt his warm palm encircle around your covered hip, squeezing you gently through the shimmery fabric of the dress you were wearing. “M’gonna head out for a smoke, and some fresh air, baby love.” He rasped, leaning over close enough that you could hear him.

You leaned into his touch, head tilting to the side and painted lips brushing the heart shaped patch in his beard, leaving a lip print stain of sinful red against his tanned skin. “Okay, baby.”

Warmth encased espresso brown eyes flicker to your gaze, his skin is flushed, pink hues turning to blues and purples from the flashing strobe lights. His brow raises, lips quirking upwards, sending a gush of arousal to flood the sticky heat between your thighs. You’re not wearing any panties tonight, and he knows this.

You watch as his eyes shamelessly dip downwards, drifting across every inch of your skin that he has spent countless hours kissing, biting, licking, and worshiping. Every ridge, valley, and bump. Every beauty mark, every inch of softness under his touch. He already can picture the sticky mess between your thighs where just under an hour ago, his head was buried between them, feasting on you with your ass firmly pressed against the hotel bathroom sink while you messed up his perfectly slicked back hair with ravenous, desperate tug to his roots.

He meets your gaze once more after he has fully drunk you in from top to bottom. He reaches into his back pocket, pulling out his carton of cigarettes, flipping the top open with his thumb, feeling your eyes searing into his skin as he places a single cigarette between his plush lips.

“I’ll be waitin’ for ya, baby love.” He rasps, tilting his chin in a subtle nod. His hand that was still holding onto your hip, releases, and discreetly dipping under the fabric of your dress, ring clad knuckles digging into the soft flesh of your ass in a possessive manner that you only got a taste of on a rare occasion like tonight. “You know where to find me.” He added, departing from your close proximity in a suave manner that left you feeling breathless.

A warm tingle rolled down your spine like the condensation dripping down the edge of your glass. Your heart pounded to the heavy thump of the bass, and blood rushed in your ears as you watched him make his way through the crowd of sweaty bodies and exit through one of the nearest side doors.

You finish what is left of your mostly watered down drink, throwing the liquid down your throat and tossing the plastic cup in the nearest trash can. Your feet carry you towards the same exit door he left through minutes earlier. You waited simply to build up the growing tension and to flood your system with a wave of palpable suspense, and that insatiable itch that only he could fulfill.

And just like clockwork, you push open the heavy door, a gust of refreshing evening air blows over you, drowning out the heavy bass and overbearing voices as you step outside into the dimly lit back alley. The door swings shut, and the sole of your heels lightly scrape against the pebbled concrete.

You feel that electric buzz, the invisible string pulling you right into Joel’s vicinity.

And there he was, broad back leaned against the brick wall, hand cupped around the side of his face to block out any obstructing wind as he lit the end of the cigarette that was limply dangling between his lips.

He tilted his head back against the wall, inhaling the toxic smoke into his lungs, the lit end of the cigarette burning bright orange. He exhaled the smoke upwards in a gray cloud that dissipated into the night air.

His eyes locked onto you from a short distance away, and all it took for your feet to move again was the subtle flex of his pointer and middle finger curling at his side in a ‘come hither’ motion.

You find yourself wedged between his broad, jean clad thighs, your hands slowly sliding up the expanse of his broad, tanned chest, as his freehand moves to grasp your hip, pulling you flush against him. Your fingers toy with the gold chains adorned on his neck, twirling the metal in a flirtatious manner, “you have no right looking this good tonight, Joel. And upstaging your brother nonetheless?” You tut playfully.

The fabric of your shimmery dress bunches under his strong hands, gripping onto you like a vice. He chuckles, dipping his head down so he can rest his forehead against yours, “you don’t seem to have a problem with it, baby love. Took you all of five minutes to come and find me…” he trailed off, cigarette dipping down between his plush lips like fresh dew dripping down the delicate petal of a flower. “You want it that bad, huh?” He challenges you.

Smoke curls around your head like an ashy coil of a snake, wrapping and twisting, irritating your eyes, and fogging your mind. “Always want it bad, baby. Dripping like a fucking faucet between my thighs right now…” you blindly reach for his hand around your hip and guide it between your thighs.

“Switch with me.” He requests, fingers just barely dancing across your bare mound, thumb almost catching on your clit.

When you don’t immediately react to his request, he helps you, maneuvering your body from between his thighs, and pressing your back firmly against the brick wall. The broad expanse of his shoulders and chest crowd around you like a cloak as he leans in close, “Did you wear no panties for me, baby love? Couldn’t help yourself…hmm? Wanted to make sure I had easy access to you, and your needy little pussy?” He hums, taking one last drag from the cigarette before he flicks it off to the side. “Bet that everytime you close those pretty eyes tonight, all you could see was my head between your thighs, ain’t that right?”

One warm, calloused palm cups your cheek, thumb stroking gently across your cheekbone. He noses at your pulse point, soft curls tickling your cheek as he inhales a whiff of your perfume, groaning softly, lashes fluttering as he presses himself further against you.

“Always so fuckin’ wet for me, baby love. S’like your sweet pussy has a mind of her own…” he drawls, voice syrupy and low, sending a gush of wetness between your thighs. “She’s always thinkin’ of my cock stretchin’ her open, my fingers, my tongue, mmm…” he licks a hot stripe against your pulse point, kissing and nipping at the skin there. His freehand drops between your thighs, nudging them open as he slips his hand under your dress so he can feel you.

“Fuuck.” You mewl wantonly, melting into his touch like putty, “please, Joel. More—” you stumble over your words as his fingers spread you open, teasing and deliberate mininstrations that just aren’t enough.

“Please what, baby love? What do you want, hmm? Want me to keep talkin’ to you like this? You like that, don’t you? Think your pussy does…she’s dripping all over my fingers, naughty girl.” He tuts and tilts your chin upwards so your eyes meet his. He presses his forehead against yours, hot breath fanning your face, remnants of tobacco lingering on his tongue.

His eyes are like two black shining 8-balls, darker than usual, but all the more alluring. Your lips part, soft breaths escaping when he presses the pad of his thumb directly against your clit, “I want you to—shove your tongue down my throat, Joel. I want to taste your cigarette from the source. I want you to finger me in this alley, scissor me apart, and most of all…I want you to call me your dirty little slut.”

“Yeah?” He rasped, egging you on further, leaning in just enough that you could catch his lower lip between your teeth. “That’s all y’want, baby love? For me to call you my dirty little slut while you gush around my fingers? Mmm…say it again.” He nearly growls, rolling your clit between his fingers, pinching it gently causing you to whimper and arch your back against the wall.

“Please, Joel.” A whine crawls up your throat when his lips brush against yours, teasing you, edging you further as your walls clench and pulse around nothing but the salty air from the coastline breeze. “Call me your dirty little slut, baby. Do it.”

He surges forward, lips pressing against yours in a bruising kiss that is all teeth, tongue and no reserve: a sleazy makeout in a back alley, his skilled fingers prodding and pressing you open, slipping into your wet heat knuckle deep. The contrast of his thick digits clad in cool metal working you into a mess of moans and he has to physically steady you against the wall when your knees begin to buckle.

“That’s it, baby love.” He preens, mumbling against your locked lips, fingers scissoring you, shallowly thrusting into your gushing hole. Your slick drips and trickles down the side of his hand, glistening under the faint glow from the single streetlight. “Look at you, baby love. All pretty and gushing around my fingers like the good little dirty slut that my girl is. Your pussy sounds so gorgeous right now. You hear the sounds she’s makin?’”

You grip his forearm for support, nails digging into his flesh while your freehand is tangled through the back of his curls, keeping him right where you want him. You moan into the kiss, rolling your hips into his hand, wanting more—whatever he’ll give you. “F—fuck. Oh my god.” You cry, eyes rolling back into your skull, thighs trembling, quivering.

“Yeah, that’s it baby love. I got you right where I want you. Keep squeezin’ my fingers, jus’ like that, good girl.” He praises you, curling his fingers rapidly against the soft spongy spot inside of you that sends your hips bucking into his hand in tandem. “That’s it, fuck yourself on my fingers, my pretty, dirty, little baby love.”

You squeeze and pulse around his fingers, riding out your high as you cry out his name over and over again. There’s a soft squelching sound heard between your thighs when he slips his fingers out, coated in your creamy honey, glistening along his thick fingers. He audibly groans at the sight of you staining his skin, and you watch as he ravenously sucks his fingers into his mouth, winding his tongue around them so he can taste all of you.

“So fuckin’ sweet, baby love. All for me, right? That creamy little pussy gushes her sweet nectar all for Joel.” He rasps, pressing his fingers down along your lower lip, still wet with his saliva and your cum, “taste yourself, baby. Taste how fuckin’ sweet you are.”

You stare up at him, pupils blown, entranced with an endearing dumb look on your face nodding as you suck his fingers into your mouth, moaning at the taste. And in the midst of it all, somehow that silly party hat on his head didn’t fall off once.

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claimedcrossbows · 9 months

Text

Served! Sanji x Fem!reader

Slight anime spoilers/foreshadowing.

This is OPLA Sanji though.

You were laid down in your quarters trying to keep the vomit down after you had been sick the entire night. Your head was killing you and you were simply not ready for whatever chaos was happening downstairs, but you had a kitchen to run, so you slowly got dressed, and slowly made your way downstairs to absolute anarchy.

“Y/n! We’re out of crawfish and it’s tonight's specials!” Your little sister says immediately approaching you.

“How did we run out of crawfish?” You groaned.

“Rasha forgot to order more and the nearest port ship is still a day away.” She explains frantically.

“Substitute it for lobster in the mac and cheese, and 86 the Crawfish Etouffe Balls.” You demanded hoarsely your vocal chords still fried from vomitting all night.

“Y/N are you okay? You look awful.” Your sister says looking at your haggard appearance and your overall sweaty pale face.

“Great, now go do as I told you, and make it quick rumor has it a critic is dining with us tonight!” You say the last part loud enough to attract your team of cooks attention.

“YES CHEF!” A chorus of voices ring out as you nod and all but wobble your way to the fridge for some much needed seltzer water.

Of all the days for one of the most known critics on the grandline to come pay your restaurant a visit it just had to be today when you could barely stand up right.

Fortunately for you you had a great team of chefs under your command as you watched them all hurry about prepping and making numerous dishes that looked about as masterful as could be.

You were by far one of the best restaurants on the grandline, your restaurant resided on a small beach in a lighthouse where many ships sailing by frequented your restaurant when they were in need of a good meal and conversation.

And you were no doubt one of best female chef’s the grand line had ever seen.

At just age 7 you had won your local cooking competition taking home a wonderful gift basket of exotic spices that had eventually lead you to your well known name of The Spice Queen.

You specialized in Cajun styled cooking, but you could cook just about anything in any style, you were well versed in cuisine having read numerous cookbooks throughout your life, you even knew quite a few special recipes to help revitalize sailors who were in need of more than just a flavorful meal.

Many pirates sought you out after large scaled battles that left them in tatters, if anyone asked any of those pirates what saved their lives and healed their wounds, they would name you.

Which is how you got your second name, as The Crock Pot Doc.

Yep, one taste of your special famous soup was said to cure a man on his death bed.

But none of that mattered if you couldn’t pull off a perfect dinner service tonight of all nights. You had to make sure this critic was absolutely blown away and you weren’t about to let a little food poisoning stop you.

So you chugged your seltzer water and began mincing and julienning veggies.

That was until a loud bang echoed throughout the entire lighthouse followed by a bunch of screaming and crying.

You quickly put down your knife and made it to the dining area where you absolutely could not believe your eyes at what had unfolded before you.

“WE NEED THE CROCK POT DOC, BRING THEM,PLEASE HURRY!” A man in a straw hat yellled looking around the room of patrons and chefs who had also exited the kitchen to see what was happening.

You stepped forward trying to process the sight before you, a group of pirates had barged into your restaurant all with desperate faces and who you could only assume was the captain carrying a orange haired woman who looked to be on the brink of death.

��I’m her, what the hell is going on??” You asked trying to wrap your head around this and the current state of your dining room that has been nearly destroyed by their barging in.

The straw hat man hastily made his way toward you carrying the woman with desperate eyes.

“I’m Monkey D. Luffy, and you have to save my friends life.” He said shakily but with a determination you could respect.

You laughed in disbelief, this man trashes your dining room on a special night and expects you to just save his friends life??

“And why would I do that?” You scoff looking at the state of the girl who looked worse than you felt.

“Because I’m the man who will be king of the pirates, and I promise I will pay you whatever you need and more if you save Nami’s life.” He says unwavering.

A few of your cooks scoff and laugh, “King of the pirates? This kid?” One of your cooks laughs.

You frown, “I don’t work for free, especially not when I have a important critic frequenting my restaurant tonight, there’s a doctor village not to far from here maybe a day’s travel at the Drum Kingdom-”

“She doesn’t have a day!” Luffy stresses.

Your frown deepens, your about to protest before a wave of nausea makes you wince. “Look I don’t have time for this I’m sorry but you need to leave-”

“Madam.” A voice behind this so called Captain Luffy rings out and you look past the kid and sees a tall blonde man in a black suit stepping forward, his face tense but gentle as he addressed you. “I understand your busy, but she will die if she doesn’t receive some kind of medical attention and I hear your not only one of the best cooks on these seas, but your cooking even rivals most medicines prescribed by doctors.” He says as he walks up to you.

“And you are?” You ask raising a skeptical brow.

“Sanji, The best cook in all of the east blue and maybe the world Mam’.” He says confidently as he shoots you a wink.

You immediately laugh, “Wow you have a lot of nerve to say that to my face.”

His face drops as he immediately shakes his head, “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to offend you I just-”

“Well you wouldn’t be a good cook if you weren’t cocky, so there must be some talent behind your words.” You say crossing your arms. “Your Sanji, Chef Zeff’s prodigy I assume.” You say watching his eyes widen.

A small smirk crosses his lips, “Ah, so you’ve heard of me madam?” He says flirtatiously.

“Yeah, I heard a flirty handsome chef trained by Chef Zeff himself has been making his name in the culinary world as one of the best chef’s out here.”

“Oh really?” He says his smile widening.

“Yeah, but it looks like they only got the flirty part right.” You smirk back watching his face drop.

“Sanji’s the best cook on the grandline!!” Luffy immediately defends.

“Yet he can’t make a healing dish?” You interject.

Luffy grunts in annoyance, “Look we don’t have time for this Nami’s dying will you help us or not!?” He shouts angrily.

“N-”

“You say a food critics coming tonight right?” Sanji suddenly says.

You turn to him and nod, “Yes and I need to get ready-”

“You look sick, how do you expect to impress a critic and you can barely stand up right?” He asks staring directly into your eyes.

“How the hell do you know i’m sick?” You questioned.

“I know when a lady’s suffering.” He says gently.

You didn’t know how to respond to that so you just let him continue.

“So how about a deal, I help lead your cooks tonight and pull off an exsquisit meal to impress the critic, and you in turn heal my friend?” He says.

“And what makes you think you can make any of my dishes East Blue Boy?” You challenge, honestly intrigued by the cockiness of this man.

“I’m a fast learner mam, just give me a sample of what needs to be cooked and i’ll make it.” He says.

You were about to deny this foolish request until the sounds of numerous peoples stomachs gurgling suddenly caught your attention.

“Uhhhggg, Chef Y/N we don’t feel so good.” One your top chefs say holding their stomachs.

“Neither do I.” Chef Rasha groans.

“Oh no..” Another chef groans running out the room and into the bathroom.

“I feel fine?” Your little sister says looking at you in disbelief as more and more chefs ran out the room in distress as you watched your customers quickly flee out the front door.

You couldn’t believe this..your entire staff had contracted food poisioning.

You look between Luffy and the dying woman and then back at Sanji as your stomach churned even more.

Uhg.

“Fine, but my little sister will be your sous chef, she’s basically the mini version of me so listen to her directly got it?” You say approaching the blonde man who’s flirtatious smile made its way back onto his face.

“Anything you say Madam-’ ”And please stop with the Madam, Call me Chef, Y/N.”

“Chef Y/n, beautiful name, fits a beautiful woman.” He says.

Your stomach churns again as you quickly grab your little sisters chef hat and proceed to heavily vomit directly into it.

“Wow Sanji, your flirting literally made her vomit.” A man says placing a pitiful hand on his shoulder.

“Shut it Usopp!” Sanji hisses. “I’m going to have my friends help me considering your now understaffed, is that okay?” He asks looking at your concerningly handing you a handkerchief from his suits pocket.

“Fine, but don’t let that one” You say pointing to luffy. “Anywhere near the food.” You say getting a strange vibe from the straw hat boy just from the way he was eyeing your customers abandoned plates of food they had left.

“Trust me, I wasn’t.” He admits.

“Fine its a deal.” You say reaching out your clammy shaky hand that he immediately picks up and kisses.

Your face contorts into disgust as you take your hand back, just who did you let in your kitchen??

Hey guys wanted to do a little Sanji One shot I think this will be a two parter but I thought it would be so cool if Sanji met another incredibly talented chef who just so happened to be a woman right before we meet Chopper at the Drum Kingdom arc!!

#sanji vinsmoke #sanji #opla sanji x reader #sanji x y/n #one piece sanji #one piece #monkey d. luffy #one piece nami

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thewulf · 2 months

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Troublemaker || Dallas "Dally" Winston

Summary: Request -Hiiii! can you do a Dallas Winston x Curtis Sister Reader (maybe sodapop's twin?) who is soooo different than soda. She's a firecracker with a mouth on her that gets her in trouble? Dally finds himself repeatedly rescuing the Curtis sister reader, who always seems to get into trouble with her sharp tongue and rebellious streak... Read Rest Here

A/N: I kinda love this one deeply. Something about a troublemaker loving another one gets writing (alot) hahah hope you guys enjoy! Kinda OOC Dally at some points but idc, I love it!

Pairing: Dallas "Dally" Winston x Female Reader (Curtis Sister)

Word Count: 5.3k +

TW: choice words, fighting, punching, blood, general Outsiders TW

1. Clowns at the Drive-In:

The night was alive with the buzz of excitement at the local drive-in, the air thick with the scent of popcorn and gasoline. The flickering lights of the movie screen cast shadows across the rows of cars parked haphazardly, each filled with eager teenagers seeking a brief escape from the monotony of their everyday lives.

But for you, the Curtis sister, it spelled trouble. Perched on the hood of your twin brother Sodapop's car, you exchanged barbs with a group of Socs who had taken offense to your sharp retorts and fiery demeanor. Sodapop himself was inside the concession stand, chatting with a few friends, while your youngest brother Ponyboy was engrossed in a book, oblivious to the brewing confrontation outside. You’d never catch Darry at one of these movie nights anymore.

"You think you're real funny, huh?" one of the Socs sneered, his voice dripping with disdain as he loomed over you, his companions snickering behind him.

You merely smirked, unfazed by the hostility radiating from the group. "Funny enough to make you clowns laugh, that's for sure."

Your words were met with a chorus of jeers and taunts, fueling the fire of your defiance as you squared your shoulders and met their gazes head-on. But just as the tension reached its boiling point, a looming figure emerged from the concession stand, cutting through the crowd with a swagger that commanded attention. For Dally always had his eyes on you. Especially after your parents passed.

Dallas Winston, the epitome of reckless abandon and untamed rebellion, emerged from the shadows like a predator stalking its prey. His presence alone commanded attention, the faint glint of mischief dancing in his eyes as he sauntered towards the confrontation with an air of nonchalance.

As he drew closer, his leather jacket seemed to gleam in the dim light of the drive-in, the scent of cigarette smoke trailing behind him like a phantom. His gaze swept over the scene before him, taking in every detail with a predatory intensity that sent shivers down the spines of those unlucky enough to meet his stare. Dallas freaking Winston.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" Dally drawled, his voice low and dripping with utter irritation as he finally spoke, his eyes narrowing as he assessed the situation before him.

The Socs, caught off guard by his sudden appearance, turned their attention to him, their expressions shifting from hostility to uncertainty as they recognized the infamous greaser in their midst. But despite their feigned courage, there was an underlying sense of unease in their demeanor, a silent acknowledgment of the danger that lurked beneath Dally's cool exterior.

"This ain't none of your business, Winston," one of them muttered, his voice tinged with defiance but faltering in the face of Dally's imposing presence.

Dally merely smirked, a dangerous glint in his eyes as he stepped between them and you, effectively cutting off any further confrontation with his sheer presence alone. His posture radiated confidence, a silent warning to anyone foolish enough to challenge him.

"I think it is now," he replied, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down your spine as you watched from your perch on the hood of the car. “You made it my problem.”

There was a tense silence as the standoff continued, the air heavy with anticipation as both sides weighed their options. But before things could escalate further, Dally's gaze flickered towards the Socs with a silent warning, a promise of consequences should they choose to push their luck any further.

With a final, angry glance in their direction, the Socs begrudgingly backed down, their bravado no match for the steely resolve of the infamous greaser. And as they slunk away into the shadows, defeated but not defeated, you couldn't help but feel a rush of gratitude mixed with a sense of awe at the enigmatic figure who had just saved you from a brawl you couldn't have won.

After Dallas stepped between you and the Socs, a cocky grin spread across his lips, revealing that usual glint of mischief in his eyes. "Your welcome, sweetheart," he drawled, his voice dripping with arrogance as he turned his attention to you.

You bristled at his audacity, your temper flaring like a matchstick ignited. With a roll of your eyes, you shot back, "Don't flatter yourself, tough guy. I could've handled those idiots just fine on my own."

Dallas chuckled, unfazed by your sharp retort. "Sure, looked like it," he remarked, his grin widening as he leaned against the hood of Sodapop's car, the leather of his jacket creaking with the movement.

You scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest defiantly. "You know, not everyone needs a knight in shining armor to come to their rescue."

Dally raised an eyebrow, his expression turning contemplative as he studied you. "Maybe not, but it sure beats getting your pretty face smashed in by a bunch of Soc’s."

Your cheeks flushed with indignation at his comment, but you couldn't deny the underlying truth in his words. With a huff of frustration, you conceded defeat, albeit begrudgingly. "Fine, maybe I owe you one," you muttered under your breath, your pride refusing to let you admit defeat outright.

Dally's grin widened at your admission, a glimmer of triumph shining in his eyes. "You owe me more than just one, sweetheart," he replied, his tone teasing as he pushed himself off the car. and sauntered away, leaving you seething with a mixture of irritation and reluctant admiration.

While you watched him disappear into the darkness, you couldn't help but wonder what it was about Dallas Winston that both infuriated and intrigued you in equal measure. And as the night stretched on, you found yourself unable to shake the feeling that your paths were destined to cross time and time again, whether you liked it or not.

2. A Brush with the Law:

In the midst of your rebellious streak, you found yourself in a predicament that even your usually suave tongue couldn't talk your way out of. It was one of those nights where mischief seemed like the only way to break free from the suffocating grip of the mundane.

The evening began innocently enough, with you and a few friends roaming the streets in search of excitement. The city lights flickered like distant stars, casting shadows that danced along the pavement, teasing you with the promise of adventure. But as the night wore on, the allure of mischief grew stronger, pulling you deeper into its grasp with each passing moment.

It started with harmless pranks and playful banter, the kind of mischief that left a trail of laughter in its wake. But as the hours stretched on and the adrenaline surged through your veins, the line between harmless fun and reckless abandon began to blur. The world became a playground, and you were determined to make the most of it, consequences be damned.

By now, the cops knew you on a first-name basis from all the petty trouble you had caused. They had become all too familiar with your antics, chasing after you like a dog chasing its tail, only to watch helplessly as you slipped through their fingers time and time again. They had warned you countless times, given you more chances than you deserved, but tonight felt different.

Tonight, there was a weariness in their eyes, a sense of resignation that spoke volumes without uttering a single word. They were tired. Tired of dealing with your antics, tired of letting you off with a warning only to see you back at it again the next day. It was as if they had reached the end of their patience, the final straw in a long line of frustrations that stretched back further than you cared to remember.

But even in the face of their stern warnings and thinly veiled threats, you couldn't bring yourself to stop. The thrill of rebellion was a drug, intoxicating and irresistible, and you were hooked. It was a dangerous game you played, dancing on the edge of disaster with reckless abandon, but in that moment, it was the only thing that made you feel truly alive. You needed it.

As they cornered you in the dimly lit alley, their voices stern and faces etched with grim determination, the threat of spending the night in jail loomed over you like a dark cloud. Panic gripped your chest in a vise-like grip, squeezing the air from your lungs as you frantically scanned the surroundings for a way out. But the walls of the alley closed in around you, leaving you feeling trapped and helpless, like a mouse caught in a cat's claws.

Your mind raced with thoughts of the consequences awaiting you if you were to be taken into custody. You couldn't shake the image of your oldest brother Darry's disappointed face, his eyes filled with a mixture of anger and concern as he realized the extent of your latest misadventure. You knew he would be furious, not just at the trouble you had gotten yourself into, but at the worry and stress it would inevitably cause him and your other brothers. The fear of facing Darry's wrath was almost suffocating, a heavy weight pressing down on your chest as you grappled with the realization of just how badly you had messed up. In your reckless pursuit of excitement and rebellion, you had failed to consider the consequences of your actions, the fallout that would inevitably follow in their wake.

Just when it seemed like all hope was lost, a familiar figure emerged from the entrance of the alley, his presence a welcome relief in the darkness. Dallas Winston stepped forward with a confidence that bordered on arrogance, his piercing gaze locking with the officers' with an unwavering intensity.

"Easy there, fellas," Dally drawled, his voice carrying a hint of amusement that bordered on insolence. "No need to get your badges in a twist."

His words sliced through the tension in the alleyway like a well-honed blade, disrupting the somber atmosphere with an unexpected twist. The officers, taken aback by Dallas's nonchalant demeanor, exchanged wary glances, unsure of how to respond to his brazen defiance.

But Dally, ever the master of manipulation, wasted no time in seizing the opportunity to sway the officers to your side. With a casual shrug of his shoulders and a smirk dancing at the corners of his lips, he stepped forward, closing the distance between you and the law enforcement with a confidence that bordered on audacity.

"Look, we all know she's a handful," Dally continued, his voice smooth and persuasive, laced with an undertone of genuine concern. "But taking her in ain't gonna solve anything. Trust me, I've tried. You know what they’ve been through."

As he spoke, a flicker of empathy flashed in his eyes, a subtle acknowledgment of the turmoil that had plagued your life since your parents' untimely demise. He knew all too well the pain of loss, the ache of abandonment that lingered long after the funeral flowers had withered away. And though he rarely showed it, there was a part of him that understood the reckless desperation that drove you to seek solace in acts of rebellion.

The officers, their resolve waning in the face of Dallas's persuasive charm, exchanged hesitant glances, silently wrestling with their conscience. They knew the Curtis family's tragic history, knew the burden of responsibility that weighed heavily on your shoulders in the wake of your parents' death. And as they looked into your eyes, they saw not a delinquent, but a lost soul searching for a way to fill the void left behind by loss and grief.

With a heavy sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the entire world, the lead officer relented. His shoulders slumped in defeat; the lines of exhaustion etched deeply into his weary face as he stepped aside to allow you to pass. "Fine," he grumbled, the resignation evident in his voice, "but this is the last time."

His words hung heavy in the air, a somber reminder of the precarious balance between leniency and accountability that governed their duties as law enforcement officers. They had given you more chances than you deserved, turned a blind eye to your transgressions time and time again, but they knew that their patience was wearing thin. There was only so much they could overlook before the hammer of justice came crashing down with unrelenting force.

Dally, ever the opportunist, seized upon the moment of vulnerability with a triumphant smirk playing at the corners of his lips. He nodded in acknowledgment, a silent acknowledgment of their unspoken agreement as he draped an arm around your shoulders with an air of possessiveness. "Appreciate it, fellas," he remarked, his voice oozing with satisfaction as he guided you away from the alley, away from the looming threat of incarceration.

And as you walked side by side into the night, the weight of the world lifted from your shoulders, replaced by a newfound sense of gratitude for the tough greaser who had come to your rescue once again. You glanced up at him, the flickering streetlights casting shadows across his features, and offered him a tentative smile of thanks. It was a small gesture, a token of appreciation for his unwavering loyalty and unyielding support in the face of adversity.

As you looked at him, his cocky grin softened by a flicker of genuine concern, you couldn't help but wonder what it was about him that drew you in like a moth to a flame. His eyes, usually sharp and piercing, now held a warmth that caught you off guard, melting away the layers of cockiness to reveal a glimmer of vulnerability beneath.

But before you could dwell on it further, Dally's voice broke through your reverie, his words laced with a hint of amusement that conveyed the seriousness lurking just beneath the surface.

"You're quite the troublemaker, sweetheart," he remarked, his tone playful yet tinged with a note of concern.

You rolled your eyes in response, a smirk of your own tugging at the corners of your lips. "And you're quite the smooth talker, Winston," you replied, unable to hide the admiration in your voice despite your best efforts.

As the words left your lips, Dally's expression shifted, his smirk fading into a more serious expression. There was a weightiness to his gaze, a silent question lingering in the air as he studied you intently, his eyes searching for the truth behind your casual facade.

"Hey, are you actually alright?" he asked, his voice softer now, stripped of its usual playfulness. His concern was palpable, genuine, a stark contrast to the tough exterior he typically presented to the world. "This isn't like you, getting caught by the fuzz like that."

His unexpected tenderness caught you off guard, the sincerity in his question piercing through the layers bullshit you typically wore like armour. You hesitated for a moment, taken aback by the depth of his concern, before offering him a small nod of reassurance.

"Yeah, I'm fine," you replied, though the words felt hollow even to your own ears. You forced a casual tone, hoping to brush off the weight of his inquiry, the nagging doubts that gnawed at the edges of your mind. "Just got a little carried away, that's all."

But even as you spoke, you knew it wasn't just a momentary lapse in judgment. There was a restlessness inside you, a longing for something more than the mundane routine of everyday life, that drove you to seek out trouble wherever you could find it. And in that moment, as you stood before Dally with his piercing gaze fixed upon you, you couldn't help but feel a sense of vulnerability wash over you.

Dally continued to study you, his eyes reflecting a mixture of concern and understanding. He didn't press further, sensing that there was more to your story than you were willing to reveal. Instead, he offered you a small, understanding smile, a silent reassurance that he would be there for you whenever you were ready to open up.

"I get it," he said softly, his voice a soothing balm to your frayed nerves. "Just know that if you ever need someone to talk to, I'm here."

His words caught you off guard, a flicker of warmth spreading through your chest at the sincerity behind them. And as you met his gaze, you couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude for the tough greaser who had dared to care when no one else did.

With a subtle squeeze of his arm around your shoulders, Dally offered you a reassuring smile, a silent promise that he would always be there to watch your back, no matter what trouble you managed to find yourself in. And as you walked side by side into the night, the echoes of his words mingling with the sounds of the city, you couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude for the tough greaser who had dared to care when no one else did.

3. Escaping a Sticky Situation:

As the Friday night lights illuminated the football field, casting a glow of excitement over the small town, the air crackled with anticipation. It was meant to be a harmless prank, a bit of mischief to inject some excitement into the dull routine of small-town life. But what had started as a simple joke quickly spiraled out of control, and you, the Curtis sister, found yourself in a precarious situation.

The prank had been innocent enough at first—a bit of good-natured rivalry between the Greasers and the Socs. However, things took a dangerous turn when the Soc boys, their egos bruised and their tempers flaring, decided to retaliate with more than just words. They targeted you, singling you out from the crowd, their menacing glares and clenched fists leaving no doubt about their intentions.

Your heart raced with adrenaline, panic clawing at your chest as you frantically searched for a way out of the tightening circle of Soc boys. But as the situation grew more dire, Dallas Winston yet again emerged like a savior in the darkness, his presence a welcome relief amidst the chaos and looming threat of violence. By this point you were convinced it was your brothers who had him watching you for how else could he, quite literally, always be there to say you from these situations?

As the chaos unfolded near the stands, Dallas Winston's arrival seemed almost surreal. At first, his laughter echoed across the small courtyard area, a stark contrast to the tension thickening the air. But as he surveyed the scene, his amusement quickly morphed into a glare of righteous anger.

"Buncha tough guys picking on a little lady, huh?" Dally's voice cut through the chaos like a knife, his tone dripping with disdain as he confronted the Soc boys. His words carried a weight of accusation, a challenge to their masculinity and decency.

As Dally's words hung in the air, the Soc boys hesitated, their usual boastfulness faltering under his scathing gaze. But one of them, bolder—or perhaps more foolish—than the rest, reached out and laid a hand on your arm, his grip tight and menacing.

Instantly, Dally saw red.

With a feral growl, he lunged forward, his fists flying in a blur of motion as he unleashed a barrage of punches on the Soc who dared to lay hands on you. Each blow landed with a sickening thud, the sound echoing across the field like a drumbeat of fury.

The other Soc boys, realizing their mistake too late, attempted to intervene, but Dally was a force to be reckoned with. With a ferocity born of righteous anger, he fought like a man possessed, his only thought to protect you from harm.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity but was likely only seconds, Dally's onslaught came to an end. The Soc who had dared to touch you lay crumpled on the ground, bloodied, and bruised, but alive.

Dally stood over him, his chest heaving with exertion and adrenaline, his eyes blazing with a mixture of rage and triumph. The other Soc's had long since fled, likely for help. But he didn’t give a damn. His attention was now on you. And as he turned to you, his expression softened with a mixture of relief and concern, seeing you standing there relatively unharmed. It was when he saw the tears in your eyes that he knew he had to do something.

Dally's gaze softened further as he approached you with caution, the fire in his eyes dimming to reveal a rare glimpse of vulnerability. He reached out tentatively, his rough hand coming to rest on your shoulder in a gesture of comfort. His touch was surprisingly gentle, a stark contrast to the violence that had just unfolded moments before.

"Hey, it's alright, sweetheart," he murmured softly, his voice a soothing balm to the turmoil raging inside you. "You're okay. It’ll be alright." He attempted to console you as best as he could, however it wasn’t his strong suit.

But the tears continued to flow unabated, a testament to the fear and adrenaline still coursing through your veins. You tried to hold them back, to maintain the facade of strength and resilience that had always been your shield against the world. But in that moment, with Dally standing before you, all of your defenses crumbled.

Unable to contain your emotions any longer, you buried your face in your hands, the weight of the night crashing down on you like a tidal wave. You could feel the tremors wracking your body, the sobs tearing from your throat in ragged gasps.

Dally watched you carefully, his expression a mixture of concern and understanding. Without a bit of hesitation, he wrapped you in a warm embrace, pulling you close to his chest as if to shield you from the world's cruelties. His arms felt surprisingly comforting, a safe haven amidst the chaos that had engulfed you.

"Oh, sweetheart. It's okay to let it out," he whispered gently, his voice a soothing melody in the midst of your storm. "You're safe now, darlin'. I've got you."

His words washed over you like a gentle wave, calming the storm of emotions raging inside you. For the first time in what felt like ages, you allowed yourself to lean into his embrace, to find solace in the warmth of his presence. As the tears continued to fall, Dally held you close, his grip firm yet gentle. He didn't try to offer empty reassurances or false promises. Instead, he simply held you, a silent pillar of strength in the darkness.

The Unexpected Thank You:

As the weight of the night's events settled upon your shoulders like a heavy cloak, you couldn't help but feel a wave of vulnerability wash over you. The adrenaline that had fueled you earlier now gave way to a profound sense of exhaustion, both physical and emotional. And in the quiet solitude of the street, with only Dally's presence beside you, you felt the walls you had carefully built around your heart begin to crumble.

"Thank you, Dallas," you whispered, your voice barely above a whisper, tinged with a rawness you hadn't expected. "For everything."

Your words hung in the air, vulnerable and exposed, a stark contrast to the tough exterior you usually wore like armor. In that moment, you felt a sense of relief wash over you, as if a weight had been lifted from your chest. For so long, you had been carrying the burden of your troubles alone, too afraid to let anyone else see the cracks in your facade. But with Dally standing beside you, offering a silent anchor in the storm, you found yourself finally able to let go.

When you looked into his eyes, you saw something flicker beneath the tough exterior, something vulnerable and achingly human. It was a mirror of your own inner turmoil, a silent acknowledgment of the pain and loneliness that lurked within you both. And in that shared moment of vulnerability, you realized that perhaps, just perhaps, you were more alike than you had ever dared to imagine.

As Dally enveloped you in his embrace for the second time that night, his arms offering solace and refuge, a tender silence settled between you, broken only by the soft sound of your quiet sobs. In that moment, words seemed inadequate to express the depth of the emotions coursing through you both. But as you held each other close, your hearts spoke volumes, weaving a silent symphony of understanding and compassion.

"You don't have to be strong all the time, you know," Dally murmured softly, his voice a gentle caress against your ear. "It's okay to let yourself feel, to let yourself grieve."

His words resonated deep within you, stirring a bittersweet ache in your chest. For so long, you had tried to bury your pain beneath layers of confidence and defiance, afraid to confront the gaping hole that your mother and fathers absence had left behind. But in Dally's embrace, you found the courage to face your demons, to confront the rawness of your grief without fear of judgment or rejection.

With trembling hands, you clung to him, seeking solace in the warmth of his presence. And as you spoke of your mother, of the memories that still lingered like ghosts in the corners of your mind, you felt a sense of liberation wash over you, as if by giving voice to your pain, you could finally set yourself free.

"I miss her, Dally. I miss them," you whispered, your voice barely above a whisper, choked with emotion. "Every day, it feels like a piece of me is missing. Like I'm lost without her. She was my best friend and now she’s just gone.”

Your words hung heavy in the air, a poignant reminder of the fragility of life and the relentless passage of time. And as you gazed into Dally's eyes, you saw your own pain reflected back at you, a shared understanding that transcended words.

"You're not alone, sweetheart," Dally replied, his voice thick with emotion. "I may not have all the answers, but I'll be damned if I let you face this alone."

In that moment, you felt a surge of gratitude and affection for the tough greaser who had stood by your side through thick and thin. In his arms, you found a sense of belonging you had never known, a sanctuary from the storm of emotions that raged within you.

In the hushed intimacy of your embrace, the turmoil within you quieted, replaced by a sense of tranquility you had never known. But amidst the stillness, a storm raged within you, a tempest of conflicting emotions that threatened to consume you.

With each steady heartbeat, you felt the tendrils of affection wrapping around your heart, weaving a tapestry of emotions you struggled to comprehend. The way his touch ignited a warmth deep within you, the way his voice soothed the turmoil of your soul — these were sensations you had never experienced before, and yet they felt undeniably right.

As you rested your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, you couldn't shake the realization that your feelings for Dally surpassed mere gratitude or admiration. It was something more, something you couldn't quite put into words but felt with every fiber of your being.

In the quiet of the night, you allowed yourself to explore these newfound emotions, to sift through the tangled mess of your thoughts and feelings. And in doing so, you came to a startling revelation — you liked him, more than you had ever dared to admit.

But the thought of confessing your feelings to Dally filled you with a heady mixture of excitement and trepidation. What if he didn't feel the same way? What if your friendship was forever altered by your admission? Yet, as you glanced up at him, bathed in the soft glow of the moonlight, you saw a vulnerability in his eyes that mirrored your own. Perhaps, you thought, he felt the same way — a silent understanding that transcended words.

Summoning your courage, you took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what you were about to do. With a trembling hand, you reached up to cup his cheek, your touch feather-light against his stubbled skin.

"Dally," you began, your voice barely above a whisper, "there's something I need to tell you."

As your eyes met, you sensed an unspoken understanding passing between you. Without needing further words, he leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. It was a tender gesture, filled with reassurance and affection, a silent promise of his unwavering support and care.

But before you could utter another word, Dally's hand gently tilted your chin up to meet his gaze. His eyes bore into yours with a intensity that made your heart race.

"I need to tell you something too," he murmured, his voice barely audible over the soft night breeze.

Your breath caught in your throat as you waited, anticipation coursing through every fiber of your being.

"Doll," he continued, his voice husky with emotion, "I've been wanting to say this for a while now, but I ain't never found the right words. I reckon there’s no fancy way to put it, so I'll just say it straight."

He took a deep breath, steeling himself before meeting your gaze once more.

"I love you," he confessed, his words hanging in the air like a sacred vow.

Your heart skipped a beat at his admission, emotions swirling within you like a tempest. For so long, you had harbored these feelings, afraid to voice them, afraid of what they might mean for your friendship, for your future. But now, as those three simple words hung in the air between you, you felt as if a weight had been lifted from your chest, replaced by a warmth that radiated from the very core of your being.

You searched his eyes, seeking confirmation of the truth you dared to believe. And there, amidst the depths of his gaze, you found it — sincerity, vulnerability, and a love that mirrored your own. It was a revelation that left you breathless, a realization that this connection you shared transcended the boundaries of friendship, binding you together in a bond that felt unbreakable.

"I love you too, Dally," you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion, as if afraid that speaking the words aloud would make them disappear into the night.

In that moment, time seemed to stand still, the world fading into insignificance as you both basked in the sheer weight of those words. They held within them the promise of a future unknown, yet somehow certain in its inevitability. And as he pulled you into a tight embrace, you felt a sense of belonging wash over you, as if you had finally found your place in the world.

With his arms around you, you knew that no matter what trials lay ahead, no matter what storms threatened to tear you apart, you had each other. Together, you could weather any adversity, conquer any obstacle that stood in your path. For in each other's arms, you found strength, comfort, and a love that knew no bounds.

"Hey," he whispered softly, his breath tickling your ear as he held you close. "You don't have to say anything more. I'm here, and I ain't goin' nowhere."

For the first time in a while you felt a sense of peace wash over you, a profound gratitude for the man who stood by your side through thick and thin. With a heartfelt sigh, you nestled against him, finding solace in his presence as you stood together beneath the starlit sky. In his embrace, you found sanctuary, a refuge from the uncertainties of the world outside. And as you looked up at the twinkling stars above, you knew that your love would light the way through even the darkest of nights, guiding you towards a future filled with endless possibilities.

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a-case-of-attachment · 2 months

Text

Lucifer Morningstar / reader

Warnings: religious references, alcohol, stupid drunk decisions, hallucinations?, slight horror elements, questionable friends, no use of y/n, also don't sell your soul kids!

A/N: this is just a one shot, at least its supposed to be. I just liked the idea and it wouldn't leave me alone so here you go! Have my weird little story gremlin

It’s a relatively normal night when you sell your soul to the devil. Or at least it had started out that way. Admittedly it had been an accident and a drunken one at that. You hadn’t really expected anything to come from your friends stupid dare but it seemed the old and tatted book she had found in the back of a junk store had been the real deal and you were the one now paying the price for her curiosity. Quite literally it would seem.

On the last Friday of every month your normally quiet and relaxing apartment suddenly became the place to be, the small space crammed full of people and so noisy you could barely hear yourself think. Well, crammed might have been a slight exaggeration. There were six of you in total, somehow managing to fit on your small couch and armchair and not feeling like there wasn’t any room to move. Though there was only six of you they were loud though, their voices getting louder with every new bottle of wine that was opened and leaving you convinced this would be the one where Mrs Crouch from downstairs finally logged a noise complaint with the police like she was always threatening to do. You couldn’t really bring yourself to care too much about old Mrs Crouch from 3B though, four glasses in and having too much of a good time for it to be an issue.

It was somewhere after the XXXL pizza had been demolished and the fourth bottle of wine had been opened that a game of truth and dare had been suddenly suggested. It had been meet with a mix of groans and cheers, you very much not wanting to take part after the last time it had been suggested. You had gotten so drunk that you could hardly remember what had happened that night and as a result had spent most of the next day hugging the toilet and feeling sorry for yourself. You were just tipsy enough that it hadn’t taken much to convince you to play the childish game and soon enough the empty wine bottle had been set on the middle of the table and spinning towards its first victim.

It had all been standard stuff to start with, like run to the end of the hall and back naked, who did you actually make out with at your work’s Christmas party and down the pickle juice out of the jar. Childish and innocent enough that had all of you laughing and your neighbours shouting at you to “shut the hell up!” Well, it had been until it had gotten to your turn and then tings suddenly took a turn for the weird.

You weren’t religious, hadn’t been since your dad had run off either his secretary when you were a teenager. You had been though, and your mother still was, often calling up on a Sunday afternoon to complain that you had gone yet another week without going to church and that you were opening yourself up to the devil’s influence, starting with “those so called friends of yours. Mark my words their satanists, the lot of them and your letting them corrupt your soul. If you don’t repent soon, you’re going to end up in hell. Is that what you want, eternal damnation and suffering?” It reminded you of your childhood, listening to your local preacher damning all of humanity at bible study and the church run groups you had been forced to attend.

Your friends knew about you strict bible filled upbringing and it was often a point of their teasing so it shouldn’t have surprised you that when you picked dare they had managed to include it somehow though you would never have expected it to go the way it had. You had out right laughed when they had dared you to sell your soul to the devil, mockingly saying “oh please Mr Devil Sir, take my soul in exchange for another bottle of wine,” to a chorus of laughs from the rest of your friends and loud agreement as you clinked your mostly empty glasses together. It hadn’t stayed funny for long though, especially not when an old and tattered book had been pulled out from a long forgotten bag, the thing smelling musty and slightly like rotten eggs with an aura about it that had the hairs on the back of your neck standing up and goosebumps covering your arms.

No, you weren’t religious, but you did find the whole thing weird as the ritual was explained to you, your friends seeming uncomfortably eggar and already having some of the odder things the ritual called for. It seemed to much like it had been planned, no one questioning it as animal bones and weird herbs you had never heard of were pulled out of the same bag as the book like it was normal to carry them around. It left you feeling nervous, like you were breaking some sort of taboo that never should have been spoken about let alone acted upon. It hadn’t bothered anyone else as much as it had you, but you supposed that was the whole point of them giving it to you as a dare. It was just a bit of fun for them, a chance to make fun you because you used to go to church every Sunday and were still a little reluctant to take the lords name in vain.

You had said no to start with, instead opting for the forfeit because having to take a shot of the weird sludgy grey concoction you had all had a hand in making seemed better than messing around with the occult. The problem was that you had always been a bit naive, your upbringing leaving you isolated and lacking the knowledge that others your age had from just every day life. You had always felt like you were at a disadvantage and as a result you were eager to fit in, not wanting to seem like a prude or killjoy. The alcohol didn’t help, lowering your inhibitions and it hadn’t taken much teasing and cajoling from your friends to change your mind, snatching up the book and demanding to know what you needed to do whilst trying to keep your hands from shaking.

It had taken all of ten minutes to get everything set up, your poor wooden floor now supporting a pentagram with a weird array of symbols drawn in sharpie around it and every candle you owned now placed at every point of the pentagram. You had just a handful of seconds to worry about what your land lord would say if you couldn’t get the pen off the floor before your attention was drawn elsewhere, the clatter of someone rummaging through your kitchen cupboards to worrisome to ignore.

When everything was in place, and everyone sat around the drawn circle the nerves had come back tenfold. It must have been obvious how reluctant you were as the mix of herbs and various animal bones were thrown into one of your pasta bowls, along with a couple of odd looking things that you had no clue what they actually were. No one seemed to notice though, your friends laughing and joking as they passed around another bottle of wine. You had declined a glass when offered, suddenly feeling sick. Your mother’s words chose that moment to come back to you, her sharp angry insistence that your friends were damning you to Hell apparently now a fact. She was going to be so angry if she ever found out you messed around with this stuff, even as a joke.

Only one of your friends had seemed to notice your sudden queasy state, sitting down next to you on the floor and reassuring you that it was “all a bit of fun, yeah? It’s not like any of this stuff is actually real. Trust me, the only thing that’s going to happen is a whole bunch of nothing.” That had gone some way to easing your worry. Not that you believe in that sort of stuff because let’s be real, angels? Demons? A fiery pit of damnation or an eternal paradise of peace and happiness? It was all just made-up nonsense to scare people into doing the ‘right thing’ whatever that was and it was way more likely you were just a jumbled mess of atoms and electrons that returned to the either when all was said and done. Right?

Slight religious panic aside it took all of five minutes before you were butchering your way through several verses of Latin, your hands trembling slightly as you tried to keep your voice from doing the same. The pin came next, a simple pricking of your finger and a few drops of blood squeezed out, falling into the bowl that had been placed in the middle of the circle. You can’t help but be slightly fascinated by it, swearing you can hear each drop splashing as it hit the strange assortment of things already in there. A ridiculous notion but you would aware it to be true, each little drop followed by a gentle sizzle like it was hit red hot coals instead of bone and dried herbs.

Soon enough all that was left was for you to decide what it was you were going to ask for in exchange for your soul. It wasn’t real, you knew that, but you still hesitated, your pen hovering over the scrap bit of paper you were supposed to write it down on. Your friends had their own ideas, telling you to ask for a box or skittles or for the cutie from your local grocery store to ask you out on a date. They even suggested asking for money, enough that you would never have to worry about the cost of anything ever again. It was all frivolous things, nothing of any real value and even though it was just a game your couldn’t bring yourself to write down any of it, knowing a souls worth was more than a few material possessions. Instead, you had written something down that seemed impossible to you, something the devil would surely turn down if he was real. It was just as stupid and childish as the other’s suggestions but that hadn’t stopped you from writing down ‘to be happy’ before folding it up and setting the paper alight before anyone else could read it.

The burning paper had set whatever else was inside the bowl aflame, a dense white smoke curling up from the pot and smelling a lot like those new age shops that burnt incense like it was going out of fashion. The room fell silent, everyone watching the pot and seemingly holding their breath as they waited for something to happen. The flames of the candles flickered, like a gentle breeze had blown across the room and then…nothing. Nothing happened. Nothing changed and whatever weird spell that had fallen over the room broke, a couple of people bursting out into laughter about how serious everyone had been, already getting up and going after another bottle of wine whilst they teased one another. Not you though, you stay where you were, back straight and eyes wide as your heart thundered away in your chest.

Had it been nothing though? You could have sworn that as the candles had flickered you had felt a presence at your back, large and ominous as it pressed up against you. Like it intended to devour you whole. Something that had felt suspiciously like fingers had wrapped around your neck and wrists, long and burning hot like coals as their grip grew impossibly tight, your breath catching as your body stilled in fear. And then came the voice, carried on the strange breeze that had blown through your home and somehow sounding both light and musical yet somehow solemn as it had whispered “deal” into your ear, it’s hot breath causing shivers to run down your spine. It had only been a second, a fleeting moment but it left you shaken, the feeling like you had made a grave mistake washing over you. It wasn’t real, you knew it wasn’t. Heaven and Hell, angels and demons, they didn’t exist. It was just a mix of your upbringing and over active imagination playing tricks on you. It had all been in your head, no one else seemingly noticing anything. You were just being silly, that’s all it was.

It didn’t take long after your little make believe ritual for the others to leave, all of them suddenly tired or having plans in the morning. You didn’t really care, for once glad that they were leaving earlier than planned so you could get yourself to bed and forget this night had ever existed. No one offered to help tidy up, but they never did, almost always just leaving everything where it was. Maybe if you were lucky a glass or two would make it into the kitchen but you didn’t hold out much hope.

Once alone though that uneasy feeling started to creep up on you again and despite your best efforts you found yourself staring down at the pentagram like you expected a portal to open up and some demonic beast to pop up and drag you kicking and screaming down to Hell. The room seemed to get hotter, a weight settling around your neck and wrists, almost like you wearing a choker and bangles made of metal. The lights began to flicker, one after the other as the room filled with the crackle of electricity. Suddenly all the shadows seemed darker, more sinister, like they were crawling up the walls and spreading across the floor to get to you, their inky black tendrils looking far to much like claw tipped finger as they reach out for you. Your heart rate picked up, back pressed firmly against the door as your hand blindly searched for the handle. “Not real, not real, not real,” you chanted to yourself, eyes squeezing shut as your fingers brushed against the lock.

The loud slam of a door had your eyes flying open, a startled panic filled cry falling from your lips as you stumbled backwards, the door handle digging painfully into your back. Your fear filled mind struggled to keep up with what you were seeing or in this case the lack of what you could see. The room beyond looked just like normal, no creeping shadows or ominous presences to be found, the lights on and filling the space with a warm and inviting glow. Of course there was nothing there. It wasn’t real, none of it was. You just needed to sleep off the worst of the hangover you were most likely going to have and move on with your life. Chalk all this up to Catholic guilt and be done e with it.

Feeling embarrassed and stupid you pushed away from the door and started the arduous task of clearing away the mess that had been left strewn around your apartment, knowing that you wouldn’t have time to do it in the morning despite how badly you just wanted to forget it and collapse into bed. You avoided the satanic mess on your floor though, the heavy feeling around your neck and wrists getting worse the closer to it you got. That you wouldn’t leave till the next day when you would be better equipped mentally for trying to get the sharpie off the floor. If it would come off that is. If not, you would have no choice but to spend the last of your spare money on a rug to cover it up and hope your landlord didn’t want to look under it on your next inspection.

Feeling drained you finally started on your normal nightly routine. Though you checked the windows and doors were locked twice tonight, your paranoia getting the best of you. You would normally leave your bedroom door open as well but tonight you closed it, not wanting to see the shadows that lurked beyond. Slipping under the covers had felt like sweet relief, whatever fear and worry you had been carrying around all evening vanishing as you snuggled down into your pillows. It didn’t take long for you to fall asleep, the late hour and alcohol you had consumed finally taking its toll on you.

Somewhen in the early hours of the morning though the quiet and stillness of your home ended. The small bowl still in the middle of the pentagram began to smoke again, the candles that remained half melted at the points relighting all on their own. The red flames flickered and danced, casting long shadows that shifted and pulled together creating the silhouette of a man, with a cane and top hat. Silently the shadow moved through your apartment, your bedroom door silently opening with just a wave of its cane. You were so deeply asleep that you didn’t even stir as your bed dipped slightly under a new weight. You sighed softly as a clawed back hand gently brushed across your cheek, its sharp thumb nail dangerously close to your closed eye. The hand trailed down, nails not even pressing hard enough to leave behind so much as a red mark. They stilled at your neck, thumb brushing against the hollow of your neck. There came a glimmer of gold, a large decorative collar appearing around your neck, decorated with snakes and a large red apple at the front, a matching golden chain hanging from a loop at the front and leading straight into the shadows hand.

From within the shadow came the same disembodied voice from before, soft and slightly forlorn as it whispered “happiness huh? I hope that’s possible, for both our sakes.” Unaware of what lurked over you, you slept on peacefully, blissfully ignorant of the fact that you had been wrong and now, because of a stupid drunken game you were bound for all eternity to the Devil himself, no longer the one in possession of your soul.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin lucifer #lucifer magne #lucifer morningstar #hazbin hotel lucifer #reader insert #lucifer morningstar x reader #hazbin hotel lucifer x reader #lucifer x reader #lucifer x you #hazbin lucifer x reader

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fandomxpreferences · 1 year

Text

A Crack In The Glass (Part 4 of Heartbroke Bitch)

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Female!reader, platonic!JJ Maybank x female!reader

TW:angst, allusion to smut, drinking

Summary: You and Rafe are figuring things out and JJ is not happy.

Word Count:2k

Three hours later, you find yourself standing in front of the Pogues to drop the Twinkie back off. Your neck is hastily covered in concealer that you stopped to buy, and you can tell JJ and John B are suspicious.

"You were gone a while, everything go okay?"

John B is eyeing you carefully as you shift back and forth trying to hide your nerves.

"Yeah. Yeah, everything was fine."

He nods slowly and you turn to face Pope when you hear his voice.

"We're all gonna go surf then grab a bite to eat. You down?"

You swallow thickly and stuff your hands in your back pockets, trying to appear as casual as possible.

"Uh, I was actually going to have dinner with a friend. I'll catch you guys tomorrow?"

JJ frowns but nods nonetheless.

"Yeah, okay. Have fun."

You take off down the driveway where Rafe is waiting at the end in his Rover. You told him to park out of sight, not wanting everyone to see.

JJ turns to the group as soon as you're out of earshot with a disgruntled expression.

"What other friend does she have? We're all right here."

He's met with a chorus of shrugs and agreements, but no one presses the topic.

A short while later, you're sitting across the table from Rafe at your usual spot. It's a place only locals know about, notorious for fresh seafood. You've been coming here since your first date, and a small smile covers your face at the familiarity of it all.

"So…" You start and Rafe quirks an eyebrow.

"So…. What?" He asks with a small laugh, and you can't help but join in.

"What does this mean? Are we back together? I mean, it's gonna take a while for you to earn my trust but is this something exclusive or are we casual?"

Rafe doesn't even take a second to ponder your question; he already knew you'd ask this and his answer has been sitting on the tip of his tongue.

"I don't want anyone else, Y/N."

You nod and he reaches out to grab your hand.

"Okay, then we'll call it exclusive. Just don't get any ideas about us falling into old patterns. If you don't keep your promise, I walk."

He responds by squeezing your hand and the two of you fall into a comfortable conversation just like you always have. A half-hour later, your sentence dies in your throat and Rafe notices the sudden panic-stricken look on your face.

"Hey, what's wrong?"

His eyebrows are furrowed in concern and you try to block the side of your face with your hand.

"The whole gang is here." You whisper and Rafe moves to look.

"No! Don't turn around, you'll draw their attention!"

He looks back at you and you hate the hurt that crosses his chiseled features.

"You're trying to hide us?"

There's betrayal laced in his voice and you sigh.

"No, I just... Everything is so fresh and I don't want to explain yet. I wanted to give us time to see if this is going to work before getting everybody worked up."

He nods in understanding and you resist the urge to hide under the table. You peek over your hand to try and figure out where they're being seated and immediately regret it.

Your eyes lock with a pair of blue irises and your stomach drops. JJ looks excited for a split second before his gaze darts down to your hand interlocked with Rafe's and up to the face of the man sitting across from you.

His emotions change from happy to hurt and rage the second he clocks who you're with and tears prick your waterline. You knew JJ would be the least accepting of this, and him finding out in this manner is the last thing you wanted.

It doesn't take long for the rest of the group to catch on after JJ storms out and they all give you equally disgusted and sad looks before following after him.

Rafe grabs your hand as you leap to your feet and you peer down at him with watery eyes.

"Rafe, I have to go talk to him. I'll be back, just wait here."

You don't give him a chance to respond before taking off and he leans back in his seat with a heavy sigh as he watches you chase after your friends.

JJ's about to open the door to the Twinkie when you see him, almost tripping over your own feet as you try to catch up.

"JJ, wait!"

You're out of breath from running, your heart beating out of your chest from the sudden exercise and anxiety.

He stops with his fingers grasping the door handle and you come to a halt a few feet away.

"I can explain."

He doesn't face you, but you don't miss the scoff he lets out.

"I'd like to hear you try."

Your mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water as you try to form a sentence and you can tell he's losing patience.

"I'm sorry."

It's all you can muster and you see JJ's head drop.

"That's not an explanation."

Your hand runs through your hair and you try to figure out how the hell you can make him understand.

"I didn't have any intention other than to cuss him out. He apologized and he seemed so sincere, it took me by surprise. One thing led to another and…" You trail off and JJ spins to look at you.

His gaze is piercing as he stares into your eyes and you silently plead with him to try and see it from your perspective instead of the protective best friend.

"Did you sleep with him?"

His tone is harsh and he laughs bitterly when you avert your gaze.

"Fuck, you are so stupid. How could you possibly let him back into your life?! After everything he's done, all it takes is a fucking apology for you to spread your legs and take him back?"

You physically recoil at his words, hurt searing your chest. JJ has never spoken to you like this, and you don't know how to respond.

You vaguely register John B and Pope pulling on his arms and encouraging him to let it go, but he doesn't budge. His eyes stay glued on yours and you shrink back under his hateful gaze.

"That's not fair."

Your voice trembles, and any other time it would stop JJ in his tracks. This isn't any other time though, and the raw hurt is outweighing anything screaming at him to stop.

"What's not fair is me having to pick up the pieces every time the two of you fought or he went on a coke-fueled bender! You finally break away, and you go running right back into his arms. I'm the one that had to hold you while you cried, I'm the one who had to listen to you vent about all your relationship problems."

He's screaming by now and you can't do anything but stand there and take it as tears stream down your cheeks. The rest of the group just stands by staring at the ground, well aware that this ship has already sailed.

"I'm the one that had to force-feed you and shove you in the shower when you were so depressed because he dumped your ass. You almost killed yourself after he left, and it was all for nothing. This is fucked!"

You look at your best friend, his chest red and heaving as he processes the new information.

"It's different this time, JJ."

He shakes his head and takes a step forward, now close enough for his Cologne to fill your senses.

"No, Y/N. It's not. You're just too fucking cock dumb to see that."

There's venom dripping from every word and something inside you snaps.

"Fuck you, Maybank."

He nods and sucks his lip between his teeth before backing up.

"For your sake, I hope I'm wrong. Because I won't be there to fix you this time."

At that, he turns around and stomps over to the van where the rest of the group has now moved, and slams the door.

"Good, I don't fucking want you there anyway!"

You kick the door as John B drives away and watch as the tail lights fade into the distance. You take a moment to regain your composure before heading back inside to a worried Rafe.

"Everything okay?"

Your mouth is set in a hard line as you sit down and chug the rest of your cocktail.

"I don't want to talk about it."

He watches you as you stew in silence, deciding it's best not to pry. You'll tell him when you're ready, he knows that.

The rest of the date goes by relatively smoothly, Rafe always knows how to put you at ease. When the bill is paid and you're settled in the passenger seat, he looks over at you.

"Want me to drop you off at John B's?"

You mull over your options for a second and glance over at him.

"Actually, do you mind if I crash at your place? I just need to swing by and pick up a couple of things."

He puts the car in drive and his hand finds its home on your thigh.

"Of course."

When you finally pull up to the chateau, you groan when you see everyone is inside. You were hoping to sneak in and out but clearly, that plan has been foiled. You choose to take it in stride, strolling in the door like you didn't just have a knock-down drag-out fight with your best friend.

Everyone seems surprised to see you, and you give a small wave before making a beeline to your room. You gather up a few necessities and make your way to the kitchen to grab some of your staple snacks.

You frown when you see your shelf empty and turn to face your friends.

"Where's all my food?"

Everyone averts their gaze and you notice JJ munching on a bag of chips. Your mouth drops open when you see empty wrappers from all your food next to him and the last two cans of your favorite soda.

You march over and try to grab the bag from JJ's hand but he quickly dodges you.

"Give me my fucking chips!"

You lunge again and he pops another chip in his mouth while flipping you off.

"You are such a child!"

You huff when you realize he's not going to cave and storm out of the house. Rafe's eyebrows raise when he sees your change in mood, but doesn't ask questions before starting back toward Tannyhill.

Your mood has improved significantly in the time it took you to arrive and you lean into Rafe.

"You seem happy." He smiles and you nod while giving him a sweet kiss.

"I am."

He hums and kisses your forehead before pulling back.

"Does it have anything to do with me?"

You tap your chin and pretend to think as he smiles down at you like you're his entire world.

"It might."

His hand covers his heart with mock offense and you laugh loudly.

"It better have to do with me. What do you want to do?"

You hold up your duffel bag and wave it around.

"I figured we could have a movie and spa night. I brought facials."

You see the moment his eyes get a mischievous glint and know he's going to say something out of pocket.

"I can give you a facial."

Your nose scrunches up and you pretend to gag.

"Gross."

His head tilts back as he lets out a gleeful laugh and you shake your head at his antics.

"That's not what you said the other night."

Your mouth drops open and you smack him on his arm.

"Rafe Cameron! Shut up!"

@brooklynscherry-z @joselyn001 @writtenwordslover @craftyalmondghostflap @malfoytargaryen @dearreader03 @magnificantmermaid @disturbedbeautywrites

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron angst #rafe cameron #jj maybank angst #jj maybank x reader #outer banks fic #outer banks #outer banks imagine

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eliias-bouchard · 9 months

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which one would be best at minecraft

ooh uh. anyone from chorus group but especially to reinvent as new, not yours and does your kin endure. maybe bells of other ballads too

#my rw ocs #chorus local group #answered asks #i swear i had a mutuals tag lying around here somewhere

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scimitar-and-longsword · 4 months

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May I be permitted to talk about something I'm really proud of???

Ok so, I joined a local dance group last year. It's a vintage chorus girl group that does 20s-70s dance styles (think Charleston, 60s go-go, etc).

We're the resident showgirls at a monthly burlesque show, and for a local lounge/jazz/big band group here in socal. I have preformed more in this last year than I have in years. Honestly maybe ever??? We have easily 2+ gigs a month.

I'm coming up on my one year anniversary of joining this group and I am just so freaking proud of myself! Getting gigs as a plus size dancer is freaking HARD. Especially in the vintage crowd. But I've worked my ass off and I kinda just want to give myself a pat on the back lol (and the group I'm part of, cause not every group would pick a plus size dancer...)

Like wtf?? Who is she?? This woman has birthed two children?

I'm so embarrassed and I feel like this is so cringe but also I'm proud of myself so whatever: I have an Instagram for my stage persona and if anyone was interested in following.... you could... if you wanted.

Here it is

Mostly I just post random stuff there from performances. but if you happen to be local to socal you can also find out where we are performing.

Ok... anyway... as you were. *hides*

#lolo rambles #I know this is so far from fandom stuff lol #but I'm really proud of what I've been able to acomplish #ESPECIALLY as a plus size dancer #it's a stage name insta and I don't post personal info on there so I don't feel too weird about putting it here for anyone who is intereste #about me #dance #personal

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lizzie-is-here · 1 year

Text

lonely is a man without love

part iii- cairo

“i am a deserted sky, and you are the moonlight” - manoj muntashir

summary: you and marc head to cairo, and you make a shocking discovery in the form of a giant skeleton bird

wordcount: 4k

warnings: language, violence, vague references to the red room, drinking, slight pining, a saddening lack of steven

a/n: yuhhh posting this before my bday tomorrow so i can get crunk af. ALSO TAYLOR AND JOE? sobbing. but i hope y’all enjoy love y’all sm sm sm 🫶

taglist: @thefictionalgemini @ravenz-hope @undiscl0sed-d3sir3s @iateall-yourcookies @disregardedplant @sunflowers-4 @yellowumbrelllaaaa @bagsy-not-it @local-mr-frog @thescarletredwitch @jupitersmoon167 @creamecafe @stevenknightmarc @theluciansystem @kingtwhiddleston @spider-biter @mxltifxnd0m @sgt-morgan @no-dont-be-suspicious @onzayhe @namorslit @i-cant-write-for-shit

i’m sorry it won’t let me tag some of y’all 😭

previous part | series masterlist | next part

Marc pokes and prods for more intel on your profession the whole plane ride to Cairo.

Honestly, it’s more of a harsh interrogation at this point, with him making sure you aren’t working for any remnant of the Red Room that managed to stay alive. Once he’s satisfied and his temper cools, you explain why you were sent.

“Righteous” justice or not, he was a danger, killing random people all over Europe and shaking off hits that no normal person should be able to. And the team liked to keep tabs on enhanced beings.

“So the actual Avengers are worried about me? It’s not like I’m going after them,” he says.

You laugh, loud and obnoxious. “Worried? No, you misunderstand. It’s more of a public safety precaution. Just making sure all of our loose ends are tied.”

“Loose ends being…?”

“Hydra. The Red Room-“ You gesture to yourself. “Aliens. Things like that.”

“Yeah…” Marc says, hesitant. “‘Things like that’, sure.”

You lean over a bit, scanning the plane from your aisle seat to check for threats. All you see are tired passengers, dozing off or absorbed in the small TVs on the backs of the seats.

Once satisfied, you turn back to Marc.

“If you want to sleep, now’s a good time. Once we get to Cairo, we’re not going to have much time to rest,” you say, nodding to the TV. 3 hours away.

He eyes you, a bit suspiciously, but closes his eyes anyway. With a sigh, you stand up, snaking through the aisles to the bathroom. You grab your phone and tap a favorited contact.

“(Y/N)?”

“Tasha,” you greet. “Is it a bad time?”

Your friend shakes her head, holding up the phone to show the group. “We just finished a movie, what’s up?”

“So… Marc Spector is here. He has DID, and Steven Grant is an alter, not an alibi. Things are getting serious.”

She nods. “That explains a lot.” You’d been relaying your experiences to them for weeks, and they’d shared in your confusion. Her tone turns more stern. “How serious?”

“Cults, magic, something about a scarab? It’s out of my expertise.”

“Do you need backup?” Steve’s voice calls from the other side of the couch.

You shake your head. “No, it’s nothing I can’t handle. It’s just fucking weird.”

A chorus of laughter goes up on the other end of the phone and you smile, rolling your eyes when a knock lands on the bathroom door.

“I just wanted to update you. We’re heading to Cairo now, so…” You shrug. “I will maybe get some souvenirs.”

The knocking grows more incessant.

“Will you hold on? Your shits can wait!” you call. Turning your attention back to the phone, you sigh. “I’ve got to go. This person is going to kick the door down.”

Nat nods and mock-salutes you. “Have fun, stay safe. You can always call, (Y/N).”

With a brief goodbye, you wash your hands and leave, awkwardly waving at the small child who was the source of the knocking. Sitting down, you sigh, listening to the sound of air and propellers.

No sleep for you, you guess.

———————————————————————

When the plane lands and you rush off, you and Marc find the closest hotel and buy separate rooms.

Even after securing the room and stuffing a gun under your pillow, you still sleep lightly. A shattering sound wakes you, bright light from outside invading your eyes, and you curse under your breath as you clamber out of bed.

You slip out of your door and into Marc’s room, gun still gripped in your hand.

He’s sitting on the floor, head in his hands. A mirror is shattered.

“Are you gonna break more mirrors or can we start the day?” you ask. He raises a bottle.

Snatching it from him, you down the last of the fiery liquid and chuck the bottle. It lands somewhere on the ground behind you, brown glass joining the reflective shards on the tile.

He drunkenly laughs, looking up to where you stand.

Your hair is free and rustled, not like how you normally have it. Your hair is always braided or tied back, something he now realizes is a habit from your training.

There’s a gun in your hand, and he can see your finger on the trigger. Marc regrets waking you, partially out of guilt and partially because he’s once more been reminded that you’re a killer. Which reminds him that he’s a killer.

You’re just a much prettier killer. Much.

“Are you going to get up? Or are you going to stare at me like you want to fight me again?” you laugh. “Because it did not go so great for you last time-“

He waves a dismissive hand. “Yeah, yeah. ‘M gettin’ up,” he finally says, and you slip away, avoiding glass and heading back to your own room to dress for the day.

Light colors, thin fabrics. Anything to stave off the heat. Once you’re both ready, you and Marc head into the city.

You don’t mention the mysterious absence of Steven, who the vigilante is definitely suppressing. Said vigilante is too busy hunting down his target.

He shakes off the last bit of drunkenness as he leads you up a ladder, not really telling you where you’re going or why. It doesn’t bother you, per se, but you are curious as to how he knows where to go. Sometimes he glances at empty spaces, as if listening to something not quite there.

You have no time to ponder this strange behavior as you leap across rooftops and nimbly avoid obstacles that Marc barrels through.

Your question as to who you’re hunting down is answered when you see a group of men, with one being stabbed in the stomach right as you arrive. Great.

“Oh, shit,” Marc sighs. “You killed him? I needed to talk to that guy. About a dig sight.”

“I don’t think they can un-stab him,” you snort.

He nods. “True. Guess I’m gonna have to talk to you all instead.”

“You’re too late,” one of them growls. “You’re never gonna find Harrow.”

“That’s his name?” You audibly gag. “Eugh, that’s a shit name for a cult leader.”

The guy tosses his knife in the air, following it up by tracing the blade along the ground.

“Ooh,” Marc says. “What, are we dancin’? We fightin’? What are we gonna do?” You step back as one of them lunges, deciding to go easy on them and not use a weapon.

Slamming one against the wall is easy enough, though he gets up soon after and targets Marc instead. One of them, a kid, charges at you.

You disarm him and shove him on his ass, not wasting your time on a literal child. Whipping around, you grab the handle of a knife as it zooms past, a few inches past your shoulder.

“Seriously? Learn to aim,” you say to yourself as you toss the knife off the roof.

It’s going rather well for a street fight. Much more fun, albeit less challenging than any of your Red Room missions.

And then it all goes to shit.

Marc’s got a knife to a guy’s throat, but something changes. A brief moment of silence, and he slams the blunt handle on his head, hard enough for him to bleed.

You let him go to town fighting the other two, who are now much more scared of him. It’s only when he meets your gaze that you realize something is deeply wrong. The hairs on your neck rise.

That’s not Marc. Definitely not Steven.

Your suspicions are confirmed when he leaps from the roof and disappears into the crowd.

What the fuck?

You follow, sprinting down streets as you barely stay on his tail.

When you manage to catch up to Marc, or whoever, he’s staring down a cliff with two dead bodies on the ground. You don’t have to look to know that the third lies at the base of the steep drop.

“Marc? What the fuck just happened?” you demand.

He whirls around, fear in his eyes.

“I- I don’t know. That wasn’t me, or Steven. So what-”

The wind swirling interrupts him, and he stares off at a rusty car.

“And what is so interesting about the car that-”

“We have to find Harrow. What about the other gods?”

You furrow your brow. “What?”

A disembodied voice responds, “To signal with an audience with the gods is to risk their wrath-”

You’ve never pulled out a gun faster. Turning in circles, you find no source. No people, no tech. Your breath quickens, aiming the firearm at random.

“Okay, Marc?” you begin. “I’m all good with cults, and floating scarabs, and even some magic, but you are going to have to explain that voice before I start freaking out.”

The man sighs, glancing back to the air.

“I serve the Egyptian god Khonshu. I’m his… avatar.” The delusional nature of his statement is offset by how naturally he says it, so much so that you do a double-take.

“And you’re just telling me this now? Of course, of course, the first mission I go on after fighting a grape from space has Egyptian gods,” you hiss. “Don’t tell the public, Thor’s got plenty of fangirls that you don’t want.”

The voice sounds again. “I doubt they’d find the same appeal in me.”

You shrug, but when you turn in the direction it came from, you see it. And boy is it ugly.

An absurdly large bird skull, the body covered in mummification wrappings, and a large staff at his side.

“Cool. Cool-cool-cool. You were saying about talking to the other gods?” you mumble, trying to ignore the large bird thing.

“Yeah, what’s the worst that could happen?” Marc asks.

“Anger them enough and they’ll imprison me in stone,” the thing -Khonshu- says.

“That doesn’t sound too bad to me,” the man next to you says. You nod in agreement.

“You are very ugly,” you state bluntly.

Evidently unused to people disrespecting him, the god slams his staff on the ground.

“Not many mortals are allowed to even see my form, much less speak to me. It is a blessing.”

“Yes, well, I don’t feel very blessed.”

He turns his attention back to his avatar. “See how well you fare against Harrow without the protection of my healing armor.”

“All right, so what? Do you have any good ideas?”

“I have a bad one.” With that, he disappears.

You glance up, noticing the light dimming. You are met with a solar eclipse. So he can fully move the moon with no regard to its position or that the next eclipse was not for a good while? Huh.

Marc leads you down some stairs, past Khonshu as they talk.

“The gods all have avatars,” he explains. “They’re gathering now, but I don’t know…”

A wall begins to open itself, revealing a tunnel lined with glowing hieroglyphs. “... how to get there,” he finishes.

“I don’t fuck with small, dark, magic tunnels,” you say. “Besides, I don’t think I should join you.”

Marc smiles, visibly nervous. Resting a hand on his shoulder, you shrug.

“You’ll be fine, okay? Meet me here when you’re done, I will wait and see what I can learn about any leads.” It’s the nicest thing you’ve said to him, so he nods, steels his nerves, and heads down the tunnel. As soon as it shuts, you sigh.

“‘Egyptian mythology’,” you whisper to yourself as you type into a search bar. “I guess the black market is a good place to start.”

———————————————————————

You’re wandering through a marketplace when Marc finds you. The Red Room taught you to blend in perfectly, but he manages to spot you when he hears a loud laugh.

In your hand are a drink and a tangerine, which you may or may not have stolen.

“Can you find anything about Senfu’s sarcophagus?” he asks.

“Ouch, no ‘Hi’?” you tease before obliging. As you search with Stark tech assisting you, you glance at Marc. “It didn’t go well.”

“No,” he agrees. “They brought in Harrow, called me crazy, and denied my request.”

“Hmm, some council.” You finally break into a smile, holding your phone flat and projecting your findings. “Mogart. Some black market collector that is conveniently… 24 miles away.”

It takes a while to double-check your intel and find a boat, and the sun has set by the time you’re onboard. Sitting on the end, away from the other groups, Marc watches you, observing the cheerful passengers. A few young girls dance to the loud music, just enjoying the night as you look away.

“You know, I know almost nothing about you,” Marc says.

“I could say the same about you. Other than the file.”

He doesn’t balk at the mention of a debriefing on him, just smirks. “Yeah? Well, you know I work for an Egyptian god, I’ve got a British man living in my head, and the basics. All I know is your name and your-” He gestures at you. “-previous job.”

“You don’t want to know about the Red Room, I promise.” Your smile is a bit bittersweet. “It’s not pretty.”

“My past isn’t either.”

You hum. “The Red Room makes child assassins,” you say, avoiding too much detail. “And… I was cycled through the Black Widow programme three times. I was good at it, too.” That’s all you give up, gauging his reaction.

His gaze softens, not with pity, but with empathy. “How young were you? When you started- The training, I mean.”

The question manages to cause a lump in your throat. This is why you don’t like thinking about it.

You soften the truth when you manage to speak. “I don’t remember a time before it.”

A hand rests on yours. And the two of you sit in silence for a bit, quiet understanding lingering.

“And you?” you say, blinking away the small amount of water building in your eyes. “Did you always work for the bird?”

“No. But I was fighting for a while before I met him. ‘ve done plenty of horrible shit in my life even without him asking me to.”

“And I’ve done horrible things to get out of the Red Room. We have something in common.”

Marc shakes his head. “No, you… you’re out. Hell, you’re working with the Avengers. You’ve made up for it.”

If he knew what you’d done, he wouldn’t be so quick to absolve you. You brush that thought away.

“Well,” you begin, leaning back on the seat. “It’s never too late to start.”

The boat reaches the banks before he can respond or be further distracted by the rings on your hands. Or how your body twists and curves as you quickly jump onto dry land.

“Got an alibi?” you ask, watching Marc stash the duffel bag under the dock.

He hums, shrugging. “A few. Rufino Estrada,” he decides. “What about you?”

“I’m going in as myself. Obviously, not an Avenger, but…” You tie your jacket around your waist, allowing your t-shirt to hide many of your weapons.

On your belt, there are two guns and a handful of knives, but Marc’s eyes are drawn to your wrists. Gauntlets flicker red, electricity in them crackling as you check your weapons.

He speaks after you fire an experimental blast into the ground. “And what’s our story here?”

“You hired me as security, and you are in the business for this sarcophagus. You’re a reputable antiques buyer who previously had ties to Dreykov, the head of the Red Room. I’ve already sent that information ahead.” You flash a charming smile to the man, who still seems a bit on edge. “Mogart made a few small deals with him, so he knows how serious the Widows are. It’s a perfect alibi.”

You two approach a large track, with men jousting under bright lights as music blares from the speakers.

Schooling your expression as you approach a man, you tilt your chin up.

“Where is your boss?” you ask, voice much darker and accented than usual.

“Ma’am-“

“I sent a message earlier. We’re here for the sarcophagus.” The man immediately nods and rushes off as you lead Marc forward. “Don’t drop the act,” you whisper. “Let’s go.”

The guy introduces himself as Bek and guides you toward the track. “He’s excited to meet you. He hasn’t been able to speak to any of the infamous Black Widows after the Red Room fell.”

They were scattered across every continent on Earth, rebuilding their lives. Of course he wouldn’t find them.

“Excuse me a moment. Mr. Mogart will be with you shortly,” Bek says, slipping away.

You lean against the railing, the Widow Bites on your wrists glowing red at the movement.

“So what?” Marc starts. “This joker just puts on El-Mermah games in his backyard for fun?”

You click your tongue. “Ah, who knows? Rich people are weird.”

“Sir, Agent. Come in.” The man, dressed in a dark red robe, greets you with a more than relaxed attitude. “I hear you’re interested in my collection?”

Marc nods. “I hear you have Senfu’s sarcophagus.”

“And who told you that?” This is tedious, you think to yourself. Diplomacy and bargaining, it makes you want to heave.

“The best in the business.” Marc gestures to you.

Mogart seems convinced by this, and you begin to head toward a group of buildings.

“I hope you understand this is more than a collection to me. Preserving history is a responsibility I take very seriously.”

“No one asked you to do that,” you comment mildly, baring your teeth in a sinister grin when he frowns at you. “Yet, here we are.”

Mogart brushes off the thinly veiled insult with a chuckle. “I forgot how deep Widows cut,” he jokes. “How was the old boss before he died? May he rest in peace.”

“Pieces,” you correct, struggling to speak well of the man that previously controlled every aspect of your life. “Helicopter explosion. He… He died powerful and influential. What he would’ve wanted.”

Mogart doesn’t push further, thankfully, coming to a stop in front of a glass pyramid.

“If I may ask, why such interest in Senfu in particular?”

You have a fake reason, but he gestures for Marc to answer. Shit.

“I think that… I just think I would love to take a look,” he says. He’s confident, but it’s an awkward pause.

Mogart concedes. “Funny man. Feel free.”

As you enter the area housing said tomb, you glance at Marc.

“You need to let Steven out. He knows more than either of us and we cannot afford to blow this,” you whisper.

Marc scoffs. “Not a chance. All right, what do you see?”

“The burial practices,” you begin, recalling your research from earlier. “They’re in line with the Studenwachen texts.”

“The what?”

You roll your eyes, exasperated. “Apparently I’m the only one who studied. It means it’s real. But all of this is just instructions to guide the dead.”

“So?”

“No locations indicated.”

Marc glances up at the ceiling, likely listening to Steven. He turns back to you, voice hushed.

“Ok, will you give me a minute? I gotta talk to Steven. Keep him occupied.”

You nod, slipping away with a sigh of relief.

“Mr. Estrada needs some time alone,” you announce, watching said man ramble to himself. “He’s… praying.”

This doesn’t stop Bek, who storms in and grabs Marc’s arm. On instinct, the ex-Marine disarms him, also giving up your cover.

Guns are trained on you in an instant, and you raise your hands.

“Marc!” you shout. He spots you, and for a second you think he’s gonna shoot the guy and leave you to fend for yourself. Instead, he curses and gives up the gun.

“Do you really think I’m an idiot?” Mogart asks. “Get on your knees.”

Marc obliges, and the robed man sneers at you. “I really thought you were a possible ally.” A gun shoved against your neck forces you forward. “I used to be Dreykov’s customer, a friend, even.”

“You think I’d want anything to do with the man who ruined my life?” you laugh. “Dreykov was a coward. And I wish I’d been the one to kill him.”

“Hey-“ Marc steps in. “Take a look inside the sarcophagus. There’s somethin’ really, really big.”

Before Mogart can look, Bek speaks to him in French. You freeze.

“It appears we have a concerned third party here,” he says. “Get up.”

“Harrow,” you mouth to Marc, trying to find the zealot. He stands with two men, leaning on his staff.

“Whatever they’ve told you, I’m sure I can offer something much more tangible.” The scarab floats above his hand. “Why settle for a clue when you can have the treasure?”

Arguing breaks out as Marc snaps at Harrow, who simply turns to each of you. “You all have more in common than you know.”

“(Y/N), you think that ignoring the past will keep it from catching up to you. That missions can give you a purpose, but it’s closing in.”

You’re so taken aback by him knowing your name and reading you so well that you don’t hear another word.

“Do it. Summon the suit,” Khonshu says, appearing on a rooftop. “Give them what they deserve.”

You exchange a glance with Marc, subtly nodding to your gun, and then to the distracted guards.

Meanwhile, Harrow calls on his staff, using it to destroy the sarcophagus. By the time the cultish leader is gone, so is Marc.

Panic starts immediately, and you grin despite being surrounded.

“Well, boys. Looks like you’re in trouble.”

Mogart and Bek run as Marc starts attacking, throwing down curved blades as you grab your gun. Shooting down three guards is easy enough, but more are firing from the track.

“Here!” Marc covers you with his cape, blocking the gunfire in a way you don’t understand.

You catch your breath, looking up where his eyes glow through the suit.

“Can you buy me some time?”

“Absolutely.”

You run to the tomb, grabbing the tattered fabric. When you turn around, you come face to face with Bek.

Thinking fast, you throw shards of glass at his face and kick him in the stomach. He grabs a knife as you dodge his attacks, ducking in time for his knife to land in the mummy.

You take the advantage, slamming the grip of your gun into his nose. He tosses you away to grab the knife, but as he turns around, you fire off a single shot.

A quick death, it could be worse.

Running to the track where Marc is pinned down, you jump the fence. There’s multiple javelins stabbed through him, and you shoot a rider with another ready.

As you aim for the rest, however, you take a blow to the head. You hit the dirt, trying to rise as your vision blurs.

You can hear hoofbeats pounding in your head, only increasing the incoming headache. He’s got a javelin.

“Fuck that hurts,” you mutter, pushing yourself into a sitting position with your gauntlet trained on the figure. Even as Mogart heads for Marc, you don’t waver, especially when he sticks out the weapon to attack you at the last second.

Marc tackles you out of the way, enveloping you as he rolls to safety and tosses a last knife. It doesn’t miss.

Sighing in relief, you let your head flop onto his shoulder as you try to fight off the ache. He pats you on the back as his wounds mend under the suit. A luxury you don’t have.

“There you go. That’s it, deep breaths,” he mumbles, not really sure when you got comfortable enough with each other to sit like this.

He tries his best not to focus on the weight of you leaning on him, trusting him enough to rest, safely tucked in his arms. It feels nice, to have someone trust him like this. Marc hasn’t had that in a long time.

He coughs a bit and you pull away, leaving a cold, exposed feeling where your touch was. Shakily standing, you observe the bodies scattered on the sand.

“We should keep moving,” you say softly. “Don’t want them to catch up.”

Marc can only nod as he fights to keep from reaching for you.

“Yeah. We’ll keep moving.”

#marvel #marvel x reader #x reader #avengers #marc spector x fem!reader #marc spector #marc spector x reader #marc spector moon knight #moon knight system #moon knight x reader #moon knight x fem!reader #moon knight tv #moon knight #steven grant x you #steven grant moon knight #steven grant x fem!reader #steven grant x reader

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boredzillenial · 5 months

Text

Stargazing

Local ghost stories turn out to be true when a stranger joins you in the creek.

Themes: Western AU, Marc, F!reader (described with short hair), mentions of nudity

Wordcount: 1.7k

A.N.: Really letting my southern roots take over on this one so if you don't like reading southern accents this fic won't be for you. But for the rest of ya, save a horse, ride a cowboy 🤠

It'd been a long few days out on the dusty road looking for a new contract. You and your brothers, the five of y'all, had been doing your best to protect herds of cattle that roamed. Bandits, Cattle rustlers, and the occasional coyote or big cat usually kept things interesting.

Y’all hopped from job to job, herd to herd to keep busy. To keep you hidden as a man under layers of rough cotton, leather, and a wide-brimmed hat atop short cropped hair.

This kind of life, a mans life, suited the needs you and your brothers had to earn a living and keep you safe. Safe from y’all’s past, safe from the hands of abusive and grubby men who tried to cage you. The men who wanted a quiet little wife to birth their children and cook their meals.

Y'all made a pact. You, the brains of the operation, kept them out of trouble, found the jobs and set the terms of workin' agreements. Your brothers were your voice, the rough hands to close deals, the beards and hard stares who made sure to seal those deals you meticulously created.

Although the deal with this most recent family seemed particularly easy. Too good pay for too few head of cattle. A quick trip into the closest town told you why. You’d caught locals swapping ghost stories, and while you usually paid no mind to stuff like that these particular stories caught your attention.

There’d been trouble brewing a year or so ago here. Young bucks coming in to take what wasn’t theirs. Be it money, liquor, or even women. But one night, locals say something changed. That The White Rider rolled into town and beat the hell outta the first group of punks that happened to be tryin to snatch a woman on her way back home.

In the nights that followed out in the pastures you could’ve sworn, way out in the distance, that you’d seen a flash of white here and there. That you’d heard the distinctive sound of hoofbeats and hoots of bandits but they’d disappear with nary a scream in the night.

Once, you and one of your brothers plucked up the nerve to check out where the noise came from the next morning. Only to find an empty camp, and riderless horses.

Tonight however, was like most, one of your brothers stood watch over camp and the cattle grazing nearby while you made your way to the river. How long had it been since you bathed? Since you'd inhabited a lick of feminity? You couldn't quite remember.

You sighed contentedly as you went from the wide open field of camp to the dense brush and trees surrounding the water. Privacy, security to finally take off the layers of leather, dust and grit you called armor. To finally bathe and let your muscles go slack.

You carefully checked the brush and gazed at the opposite bank while crickets chirped around you. Their chorus fueled your confidence to strip down on the bank and wade into the water. A shiver shot through you at the sensation of the cool mud under your feet. Wading further into the mud and stone lined river, the tepid water lapped at your skin. You looked up and caught your breath. A blanket of stars dotted the night sky, accompanied by the thin crescent moon.

The last of your paranoia melted as you glanced around and heard the continued cricket song. You dunked under water. As you came up the cool night air wafted across your skin setting it to goose flesh. You leaned back and ruffled your short crop of hair to loosen the dirt and sweat.

A grin spread across your face as you relaxed and floated, staring up at the stars above. Here in this moment alone, you could just be you. Not a for-hire ranch hand, not a leader keeping your brothers out of trouble, not a woman keeping her identity a secret to protect herself, just you.

You stayed that way for awhile, floating on your back and staring at the stars. Your face and breasts poking out from the surface of the calm water. This was your domain, your safe place to quietly contemplate.

Quiet.... In a rush you realized you'd lost track of your melodic look outs. You sunk with a splash until the water reached your chin, franticly looking around to find what silenced them. Nothin, you couldn't see anyone or anything around. Shit.

You glanced at the bank where your dusty clothes still laid in a heap. If it was a coyote or puma you didn't want to get out of the water, naked and open to attack. If it was someone hidden in the brush.... If they've somehow slipped past your brothers... If they’d seen you strip bare…

You were frozen with indecision, unsure of what to do till a voice called out from the opposite bank behind you.

“Beautiful night ain’t it?”

You whipped around, keeping the water level to your chin. The man you saw before you confused you. He was clad in white, from his cattleman hat all the way down to his boots, turned offwhite from dirt and dust.

You backed away, careful to keep the dark waters around your shoulders as he took off his hat. Black curls fell to just above his collar, catching the sliver of moonlight. His face was, handsome to say the least. Tanned skin stood out against the white fabric.

Panic scrambled your thoughts, “Sure.” A pitiful attempt to throw your voice low.

“You don’t gotta do that ya know.” He chuckled as he took off the long white duster coat and set it across a large boulder next to his hat.

You squinted and tried again “Do what.” You snapped.

“I know whatcha are, I’m not gonna hurt you.” He chuckled, removing layer after layer until he was barefoot in just his pants and a thin white shirt. “Quite the opposite.”

“Opposite?” You growled.

“Well, I’ve been keeping an eye on y’all. Keeping bandits off your back. It’s nice what you’re doing for your brothers.” He shimmied on a rock and dipped his feet in the water, a warm smile spread across his face.

“Why… who hired you?” You said, eying him suspiciously.

“You wouldn’t know ‘em.” He paused for a moment and glared up at the slash of moon. “And I hope you never do.” His dark tone sent off alarms in your mind as his gaze returned to you.

“How enlightenin’…” You grumbled as you watch him. He scratched his head for a moment, then pulled his shirt over his head to reveal his broad, muscular chest.

“The hell you think you’re doin?!” You snap.

“Same as you, the road’s been long and I need a wash.” He smirks, dropping his pants.

Heat rose to your face as you took in his naked form standing on the bank. It took just a little too long before you averted your gaze, “Can’t you do that further off, down the river?” You grumbled.

“When there’s such great company right here?” He teased, “I’m alone most days, save for my own… brothers. Would love the company if you’ll indulge me.”

“Guess I don’t have much of a choice…” You sink up to your chin, watching him make his way further in. Seeing this man, naked under the moonlight as he came toward you…. It set something alight that you thought’d died.

“You ah, usually strip naked around strangers?” You try to awkwardly break the tension.

“I’d hardly call us strangers after savin’ your hide a few times now. But your right we could get better acquainted.“ He waded closer and held out his hand. “Marc Spector.” Your eyes flickered to his hand then back to his face, trying to gauge his motives. “I don’t bite, I mean I do if ya ask nicely but it’s a bit early for that.” He laughed.

You rolled your eyes and took another step back, “ugh men think they’re so funny.”

“And women think they’re so clever.” He smirked, withdrawing his hand as he dipped underwater. He popped back up with a smile and shook his hair out. “That’s better.” He sighed. “So, what’s got you hidin’ amongst your brothers and cattle huh?” He quirked up a brow.

“Take a wild guess.” You rolled your eyes and backed away further, treading water over a deeper part of the creek.

“Parents died young, your brothers aren’t the brightest so you take care of ‘em, and most men probably aren’t to you’re likin’. Am I close?” He ran a hand through his dark curls and rubbed the dirt off his face.

“Close enough.” You shrugged. In reality you parents were alive, but both of them were mean drunks and your brothers had planned their escape and dragged you with them.

“Ahh, you don’t like any men?” His voice lilted as he leaned back again and began to float. “I’ll never get used to how beautiful the stars are.” He sighed.

Your eyes ran across his smooth chest and stomach as it peeked out of the water, crosscrossed with long jagged scars and old bullet wounds. “I didn’t say that.” You said softly.

His gaze shifted to you, a soft grin played at the edge of his lips. “Really now?”

“You’re right, I don’t like most men. Their cruel, ugly, and most of ‘em don’t have much of anything happenin’ between their ears.” You smirk back at him.

“See that’s where you’re in luck. I’m not like most men.” He winked, his gaze shifted back up to the stars above.

This time you held your ground and narrowed your gaze. “Yeah right….”

“Don’t believe me huh?” He chuckled and shifted, swimming back to the bank he came from. Water sluiced down as he waded out of the water, down his shoulders, his back… You bit your lip as your gaze lingered across his ass, then down his legs. He turned to look over his shoulder, “How ‘bout I show ya?” He said with a smirk, and with a blink his eyes turned to a glowing white.

————————

Moon Knight Bingo Masterlist

Taglist: @moonknight-events @melodygatesauthor @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @ominoose @romana-after-dark @lunar-ghoulie @flowercrownonapegion @howellatme @mooksmouse @ahookedheroespureheart @beezusvreeland @auntiegigi @moonkxit @faretheeoscar

#moon knight #marc spector #moon knight bingo #moon knight fanfiction #moon knight x reader #western au

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sofasoap · 11 months

Text

Love at first sight - 3

Pairing: Rodolfo “Rudy” Parra x F!reader ( aka Mini MacTavish)

Summary: The realisation, the denial, realisation and heartache. Part I, Part 2, Part 4, Part 5,Part 6,Epilogue

Warning: M rating. not beta'ed and proof read

My usual thanking @saltofmercury, mother of Mini, for lending me the character :) Please go and check out her fics!

“masterlist” for Mini MacTavish expanded verse

“So, how was the date?”

“Seriously? You too? You are the last person that I expect to ask me that question. Didn’t take you as a gossiper.” you winced slightly as you slam down your coffee mug on the table harder than intended, rubbing your forehead and side eyed Ghost.

“It’s hard when everyone is talking about it, including Soap.” he pointed out.

“I thought you knew ways to shut my brother up better than me, Simon.”

You can see his slight smile as he brings his cup of tea to his mouth, ignoring your statement.

It’s been a few weeks since your, so-called date with Rudy, somehow two of you became the hot topic of the gossip session amongst Los Vaqueros and SpecGru.

No, it wasn't a date, Yes, I did go to his house and his sister dressed me up. I met his mum. yes she cried. Yes, We had a good time. NO WE DID NOT SHAG. By the end you are pretty much rattling off the answers out even before the others open their mouths.

You keep convincing yourself it was nothing but a fun night out, getting to know the local culture. New experiences. Getting to know your new friend more. Getting attracted to him. Falling in love with him. Mentally slap yourself to stop yourself furthering on that train of thought, you turn your attention as the screeching noise of the table and chairs being moved caught your attention, where a group of Los Vaqueros sitting around their Colonel, sharing a few drinks as they excitedly celebrating the latest success of their mission. And there’s Rudy, sitting quietly beside Alejandro as per usual, listening in to the conversation with a smile on his face.

“Why are you staring at him then?”

“What?” your head snaps back at Ghost, even behind his mask, you are sure his eyebrows are raised. This man is just too observant.

“I am not staring at him. I am just… “ you sighed. Can’t even find a good excuse for your behaviour. “ Just leave me be Simon. I have had enough teasing and questions from people the last few days, I really don’t need it from my brothers.”

Patting your head as a silent apology before standing up, in search of his other teammates.

You really weren't seeking him out intentionally, but you just can’t help it. Searching for his presence when you enter the room, searching for his honey brown eyes. He always returns it with that little soft smile as he spots you watching him. That little bit of comfort amongst the strangers. A little reassurance. It warms your heart.

Noticing a group of soldiers came behind Rudy, nudging him as they handed him a guitar, he shook his head at first, but after some encouragement from Alejandro, he shyly accepted.

You see how demeanour changes as he holds onto the guitar. Plucking a few notes as he tunes it, getting a feel of the instrument, he launches into an intense, fast pace melody. Another player joined in with a harmonica and improvised drumming on the table as the crowd started cheering and clapping to the beat of the music.

Fingers moving, hands strumming and slapping. Totally mesmerised with his playing and skills, another surprise hits you as he joins the chorus of singing, his resonant voice, easily recognisable above all others. How beautiful he looks when he sings, the confidence he exudes. The agile fingers moving along the fretboard of the guitar. This is definitely an unexpected side of him you have never seen before.

Suddenly, his eyes found yours, and followed you as some fellow medics pulled you in the middle of the room, where there were few people already dancing. Remembering what you have learnt from the ladies at the festival, and following others, you immerse yourself in the music, as you twirl and stomp your feet to the rhythm, flaring your imaginary skirt. Trying hard to ignore his gaze. Yet with every turn, you always see him, looking at you longingly, focusing all his attention on you, as if you are the only dancer in the room, putting on a private performance for him.

As the song draws to a close, you feel like you are suffocating, the need to get out of the mess hall, get away from the crowd,

Away from him.

Excusing yourself from your friends for needing to get some fresh air ,you half ran out the door, towards the back, into the shade of the building.

A light crunching footstep approaches a few minutes later as you crouching in the shadow, hiding your face between your legs,trying to settle yourself from the confusing and flustering state. You tenses as you turn your head towards the owner of the foot step, you notice Rudy approaching, holding a bottle of water, with concern showing on his face.

Shaking your head to decline his extended hand, offering to pull you up, pushing yourself up to a standing position, you murmured words of thanks after he passed the bottle of cooling water to you instead. He looks at you, wrangling his hand, all the confidence from before has suddenly slid off into the background, his nervousness and shyness making its way back out. You can feel he wants to ask you something, yet holding back, not wanting to break the little moment you two are sharing right now. You have a fair feeling about what he wants to ask.

That push and shove between the burning lust of pushing him into the wall, needing your body impossibly close to yours, his lips on yours, letting him know how much your body is desiring him, how you long for him as much he does to you. Accepting him and be damned the consequences and thought of the long term future.

And the rational part of your brain warns you, to walk away from him, to cut off any tie off from him. He’s just another passerby in your life, working together towards the same goal, eliminating the threats, winning the war against the cartels.

You unscrew the bottle of water, taking a few big gulps, cooling yourself down from the dancing session from before, and trying to distract you from the conflicting thought that is battling in your mind right now.

Closing the cap, you suddenly blurted out. “It’s better we stay as friends.” That’s for the best. Cut off any hope before it starts. But why does it hurt so much?

Too many sacrifices will be made. The different priorities. The distance.

“But.. friends can still keep in touch right?” he asked in a quiet voice, looking into your eyes, searching for that last little hope. But the sadness laced in his voice and the eyes, he knows what you mean behind the words. Both of you know this is probably a love that will go nowhere. Impossible by many means.

You try to smile, but it turns out to be more like a grimace as you try hard to hold back that ache. Breaking the eye contact, you look down, biting your lower lip between the teeth, tightening your grip on the bottle, trying to stop the tears that are currently welling up in your eyes from bursting from its dam.

He took a step forward, you heard him suck in a deep breath before tentatively putting his strong arm around yours, drawing you into his embrace awkwardly, trying to comfort you.

Instinctively burying your face into the crook of his neck, you finally let the tears flow freely. You only knew him for a few weeks, and even turning him down just now, you knew you would not fall in love with another person like how you fell in love with him, ever again.

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delimeful · 1 year

Text

the end of being alone (5)

warnings: illness, panic, trauma responses, arguing, mentions of triage & associated terms, mentions of death & grief, misunderstandings, stressful situations, first ever non-fluff installment of this fic tbh, cliffhanger

Something was wrong with the Human.

It was telling of how strange his life had become recently, that the realization was tinged with worry rather than suspicion in Roman’s mind.

Maybe it was foolish to lower his guard simply because Virgil was just a kit, but he couldn’t help it. He hadn’t anticipated that Human younglings would still be so… well, young.

It helped that even when the Human got frustrated or upset, he’d never gotten violent with one of them. Strong emotions affected him just as intensely as any developing Crav’on pup, but there were no violent tantrums or screaming matches or whatever the Human equivalent of clashing horns was.

If anything, he seemed far more prone to flee. The mere sight of their ship had consistently had a negative effect on the kid, but he’d always been more fearful than aggressive about his rejections.

Of course, that might have simply been because they’d never forced the issue. Neither did they plan to— after all, anyone who cornered a frightened child into an unwanted decision deserved all the comeuppance they got, in his opinion.

Virgil could be driven to lash out, he was sure, but then, so could any sufficiently stressed pup.

He wasn’t sure that the Human’s current behavior could be dismissed as stress or anger or any other mood swing, though.

Roman tried not to hover too obviously from the opening of the cave, knowing that a single step further would earn him a chorus of comedically high-pitched warning whistles from the Humlilts crowded around the kid.

They’d managed to encourage a fair number of the undersized fauna into visiting the local town again, but there always seemed to be a small herd within easy hearing distance of their adopted Human.

Logan theorized that they flocked to Virgil because the Human had unintentionally presented himself as a beacon of safety by scaring off most of the natural predators whenever he saw them. Patton believed that they’d seen the kiddo in need and adopted him into their group just as promptly as the three of them had.

Whatever the case, the critters had become quite attuned to Virgil’s body language, which made it all the more alarming that they were behaving so defensively now.

“Virgil?” he tried again. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

The kid made a snuffling noise that was alarmingly close to how he’d sounded while in tears, turning his face further away from the cave opening. “All okay. Go away please,” he said, the politeness undercut by the low whine audible in the words.

The Humlilts crowded closer, a few of them making echoing high-pitched whistles. Normally, Virgil would mimic the sounds right back, but the scrunched-up ball of Human on the ground didn’t make a sound. Roman’s tail scuffed against the ground anxiously.

“It’s okay if you’re feeling bad,” he continued hesitantly, exchanging a worried look with Patton and Logan, who stood a little further from the cave entrance, just out of sight. “You just have to— to tell us, so we can take care of you.”

Virgil flinched and curled up even tighter. “No, no. All okay. All—,” his wavering voice was sharply cut off by a ragged inhale, and then he was making these awful hacking coughs that seemed to vibrate through his whole body.

Roman couldn’t have stayed put if he’d tried. He barely had the presence of mind to flick a stalling handsign to his crewmates before he began carefully wading through the ankle-high herd, ignoring the defiant whistles and the feeling of tiny dull horns being rammed into his legs.

He didn’t want to agitate the kid’s undersized protectors, but those noises sounded bad. Going by the bioscan they’d gotten, Humans didn’t have any gill-lungs or alternative breathing organs. If something was wrong with the kid’s lungs, he could die.

Virgil’s coughs spluttered off into harsh breathing as Roman finally reached him, and his concern only grew as he paused over the kid, who gave not even a twitch to indicate that he’d noticed Roman’s presence.

Normally, the kid was practically hypervigilant whenever he was awake, even the smallest twitch catching his eye.

Mentally bracing for anything from tears to snapping teeth, he crouched and set the pads of his fingers against Virgil’s shoulder.

Only to immediately recoil at the feeling of unnaturally hot skin.

Horror filled him as he registered that Virgil himself was the source of that burning heat, his body generating a terrifying internal temperature.

Oh, stars above.

“Get the medkit,” he called back to his crewmates, already leaning in to scoop the kid into his arms, thankful that he was still small enough to be lifted with only a little strain. “The kid is sick!”

“No,” Virgil wailed weakly, flailing one arm a few measly inches. “No, no, no, noo…”

“I know, I know,” Roman replied, ears pressed so flat he could barely hear the soothing nonsense coming out of his mouth. “It’s okay, it’ll be alright, ghiva’al. We’ll make it all better, just hang on, okay?”

The Humlilts scattered underfoot as he practically charged out of the cave, knowing the path back to their ship by heart at this point.

“What’s going on?” asked Patton, shifting into a run to keep up with Roman’s hurried steps. “Is he alright?”

Roman couldn’t even begin to articulate how not alright the kid was, mostly because the situation had left him unable to articulate anything. The ability to open his mouth had fled him and he couldn’t even sign, not with his arms too busy being occupied with a possibly-melting Human child.

Instead, he shook his head sharply, and registered the preparatory bunching of Patton’s legs mere moments before the Ampen was kicking off the ground to latch onto the closest handhold on Roman’s back.

Roman growled, a snappish reprimand that went entirely ignored. The impact hardly rocked him– Crav’on were built heavy, and Ampens were decidedly not– but he’d barely managed to force down his prickling scales in time, and the last thing he needed right now was two crewmates in need of treatment.

Uncaring of the near-miss he’d almost had with a living spike trap, Patton hauled himself up to Roman’s shoulder with practiced ease and peered over at Virgil’s curled up form. The sight of the kid was enough to make all of his feathers puff out violently in alarm, an involuntary reflex that Roman didn’t have but deeply empathized with regardless.

Logan was waiting at the edge of the trees, a spot that was still mostly out of sight of the ship. The last thing they needed was to agitate Virgil any further while he was already in a rough state.

“Lay him down,” Logan ordered immediately, bioscanner in hand and the med kit open at his side.

Virgil twisted and fussed as Roman knelt to carefully transfer him to the ground, but none of the sounds he made seemed to be actual words, just fragmented little noises of complaint. His eyes were partially open, but they tracked movement with a distinct delay, only the scarcest traces of awareness in his gaze.

Patton was crooning at him, the slightest wobble in his voice, and had a firm grip on two of the kid’s fingers. Distantly, Roman knew that was dangerous, that any mishap involving an injured Human’s strength could unintentionally deal horrific amounts of damage, but he couldn’t bring himself to break their contact. Not when he was barely holding together himself.

“I am going to check your vitals,” Logan informed Virgil in the same steady tone as always, as though this was just another standard interaction. “We’ve done it once before, and this experience shouldn’t be different at all. I will place the scanner along your arm, and it will play its customary processing indicator tones, and you may feel a slight tingling. It will not hurt.”

He didn’t waver in his narration, his actions urgent but not rushed. If it weren’t for the way his lower arms were tucked painfully close against his sides, Roman wouldn’t have thought him perturbed at all.

The scanner let out a low tone, the kind that played for patients who were in critical condition.

Logan broke off mid-word, going completely still for a moment as he stared down at the readout.

“Get him on the ship,” he commanded, and this time, there was a barely-audible buzz to his words. “Now.”

Roman didn’t hesitate, desperation fueling every movement, but he couldn’t outrun the dread that had settled on him, seeping through the cracks of his scales like a slowly-rising tide.

Even with Virgil still warm in his arms, he could feel the heavy shadow of a familiar grief looming over him.

He wasn’t sure if he could survive it a second time.

—

Virgil hadn’t taken well to being brought aboard.

Logan had known this was a probable outcome, but he’d hoped that the child’s current condition would alter the odds. As dazed as he seemed, Virgil might not notice the change in scenery at all. If he did notice, it was possible that the Human’s unusual lethargy would prevent any of the more severe reactions.

It was possible. But that wasn’t what had happened.

Instead, Virgil seemed to have experienced all of his usual terror, with none of his conscious restraint. He’d writhed and fought all the way, making an awful, hoarse little scream that had eventually devolved into strained wheezes for air.

Despite the short distance to the medbay, Roman had gained several new bruises and a small fracture from the process. And that was with fatigue clearly weighing down the child’s every move. Logan had known that the adrenaline compound was potent, a key component of the Human survival instinct, but to this degree?

Most of Virgil’s energy seemed to have burnt out– who could expect otherwise, with his body straining under an immolating fever– but his fear remained. Every time he woke enough to register the sight of the ship’s interior, he was instantly lost to that mindless panic.

No words could get through to him. Even Patton’s attempts at comfort were violently rebuffed, no matter how gentle the Ampen tried to be. After the third close call, Roman had physically picked Patton up to keep him from creeping within arm’s reach again, expression pained.

Logan understood. They’d known that Virgil was afraid of ships, and they’d brought him onboard anyhow. It was to help him, yes, but it was still only a lesser evil. One that Logan had ordered.

As the only way to assuage his guilt, Logan focused everything he had into figuring out a method of treatment.

It would help if he’d had even the most basic idea of how Human sickness worked. They had Virgil’s baseline logged, but the bioscanner was… Suffice to say, it wasn’t helpful.

Some elements of the illness seemed almost familiar. Logan himself was familiar with involuntary thermoregulation, but his own was a stabilizing measure, a response to external circumstances.

The Human version of involuntary thermoregulation… Logan had logged everything: the extensive sweating, the mucus-clogged airways, the searing internal temperature. For all intents and purposes, it seemed like self-immolation.

No wonder Roman’s concern had escalated so abruptly. Just recalling the temperature readout made Logan’s spines flush with venom, a telling shudder of color that he was normally much too composed to allow.

If his body temperature had risen that high, it would have been fatal. His thermoregulation was designed for too-cold environments, not internally generated heat. His nervous system would’ve overheated and completely shut down within minutes.

Virgil had been like this for hours.

He hoped that the persistence was a good sign, that Human durability meant that they were able to handle their own cells turning against them, just another insane biological defense for the infamously unkillable Deathworlders.

Deep down, he feared that being durable meant that an illness like this would simply kill a Human slower. That any and all his attempts at treatment were only prolonging Virgil’s suffering.

He was pulled from his thoughts by the distinct sound of approaching footsteps.

Roman paused at the medbay’s entryway, entirely unsubtle about his check-in to make sure the two of them were alright. He’d taken to stalking around the ship, unable to sleep but seemingly equally as unable to remain at Virgil’s side.

“Like sitting a wake,” he’d muttered, before abruptly standing and all but bolting from the room.

Patton had gone after him. Logan wasn’t sure whether or not he’d managed to actually talk with Roman, but going by the lack of return, he suspected the Ampen had fallen asleep mid-stride somewhere and been carried to his room.

It was understandable. Logan himself had skipped his last two sleep cycles, and had imbibed enough deathbrew to concern a medical professional.

“His status is unchanged,” Logan said, the same thing he’d said on the last three check-ins.

Roman didn’t reply, expression stiff as he turned away to resume his pacing. They’d had a rather charged argument earlier about sharing information and trust between crewmates, and one didn’t need to be an Ampen to tell that Roman was still upset.

Logan couldn’t blame him. The uncertainty of the situation was terrifying, and he hadn’t been forthcoming with Virgil’s scan.

“The bioscanner doesn’t have a reference database for Humans. All of its readouts are based off of the data analysis of non-Deathworlder biological standards, and so the advice it offers is unlikely to be accurate.”

The words were all Logan had to offer when his crewmates had asked about the specifics of the scanner’s results.

It wasn’t reassuring, he knew. Neither was the fact that he wouldn’t release the grip he had on the scanner, an entire hand dedicated to keeping it close. It would have been foolish to completely discount the raw data provided, so he hadn’t deleted the readout.

That didn’t mean that either of his best friends needed to see it.

Sometimes, knowledge hurt. Logan had long since learned that particular lesson, but apparently he’d needed to weave it in a bit more firmly, because he’d been taught anew by the words that had blinked up at him from the Treatment section of the readout.

CONDITION: IMMINENT

SEVERITY: LETHAL

RECOMMENDATION: PALLIATIVE CARE

It was the sort of response that he’d only seen in medic training modules, the one that meant there was nothing that could be done.

“The bioscanner’s dataset isn’t applicable to Humans,” he repeated, despite the fact that there was no one else awake to hear it. “The results aren’t accurate.”

The words were all Logan had to cling to. They were what he continued to cling to, despite all recommendations otherwise.

Ulgorii were one of the longer-lived species of the galaxy, to the point that their ‘immortality’ was a common misconception. They had early life cycle stages, like most species, but they never really stopped growing. Height was associated with age and wisdom, to the point that those who chose spacefaring often spent a while being unintentionally patronizing to smaller species like Ampens.

Like many things about him, Logan’s standoffish nature was an outlier amidst his species. For most Ulgorii, close connections were easily formed and maintained regardless of culture clash– frequent mind-sharing tended to give one an appreciation for new perspectives, after all.

After joining the intergalactic community, they’d learned just how unusual their lifespan was. They’d also learned more than their fair share about loss. It was accurate to say these two things were connected.

There was a saying about it, now. ‘Amidst the stars, new friends shine brightly– and burn out quickly.’

Logan had been off-planet far before he’d become a spacefarer, but he’d gotten around to taking the required classes eventually. He remembered the mandatory training on handling grief and loss, and letting go of attachment.

It didn’t matter. They weren’t relevant to the situation, because Virgil was not a lost cause. Their kid was not a lost cause.

Logan wouldn’t let him be.

#sanders sides fic #humans are deathworlders #ts virgil #ts roman #ts patton #ts logan #wibar #teoba #the end of being alone #my writing #writing #forgot it was sat whoops #this is part 1 dw guys everything will be fine

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