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biblio-smia · 6 months

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part one | part two | part three

every piece of you wants to stay, especially as abby looks up at you with big eyes and pouty lips, her small fingers holding onto yours like a lifeline.

"i'm sorry, sweetheart. tonight's not a good night."

abby gives you a heartbreaking look but she lets you go, sputtering out a reluctant, "okay."

there's a different look on mike's face (though you suspect it's in a similar strain) but you offer him a smile and a soft kiss on the cheek before he steps back inside and shuts the door behind you.

though regret settles in his chest quickly and only intensifies with each unanswered ring of the phone as he tries to calls max. mike groans as he hangs up the phone, glancing at abby with the realization that he's out of options. abby catches on, too, a glint in her eye as she smiles.

"i will work, and you will sleep..."

it's almost 7 pm. usually, you'd be eating dinner by now. before your few days of solitude, you'd be laughing and talking with abby while you did. now, for the past half-hour, you'd been standing in the door frame of your kitchen, trying to decide whether or not you should eat by yourself or drive over to mike's.

the landline ringing pulls you away from contemplating the very difficult decision.

"hello?"

"hey," mike's voice greets you and you feel your heart flutter. "are you busy tonight?"

you lean against the wall, twirling the phone's cord around your finger. "hmmm, i don't know. are you asking me out?"

mike is quiet for a moment, shocked silence - he'd almost forgotten how easily you make him blush. "not tonight, baby, i'm sorry."

you can hear the smile in his voice and you can't seem to frown.

"no, it's something more... serious. can you come over? it'll be easier to explain."

"give me ten minutes."

mike groans. "ten minutes too long."

you laugh, giving him a sweet bye before hanging up, picking up your keys and giving your kitchen a quick glance. really, at this point you should just move in.

you've barely arrived on mike's doorstep when the door swings open. you're in mike's arms before you can say anything, your arms wrapping around him like it was a natural instinct. mike's face presses into your neck, intoxicating himself with your scent. your presence is a comfort and your arms give mike the sense of safety he's been chasing for years.

mike sighs into your shoulder and you pull away to press a kiss on his cheek.

"something's wrong?" you guess.

mike nods, his arms pulling you close again for just a few more seconds before letting you go (not completely, though - his hand finds yours instantly).

abby's in her room and mike drags you into his. you take a seat on his twin size bed and he follows, making a dip in the mattress that makes your legs press against each other.

there's a book and a tape recorder on mike's bedside table. your eyes wander to the space above mike's bed, where something previously taped has been ripped off.

okay, it hasn't been that long since you'd been in here...

"okay," you nod, ready to listen to whatever it is mike has to say. you're patient as he hesitates, only momentarily, before he finally tells you a few very important details he'd left out from your last conversation. like how he's been reliving his childhood trauma for the past month or so.

you really try not to be upset. you hear the desperation in mike's voice as he tells you that dream... whatever-ing at freddy's has gotten him closer than ever to figuring it all out, finally. his hands shake as he pulls out a folded up paper from his back pocket. you could recognize abby's art from anywhere.

"and look! i... i don't know how, but they're connected, somehow. the kids- they posses the robots and they can talk to abby! they told her about garrett. they know something."

"mike." your hands are on his, urging him to slow down.

"look, i know it sounds crazy." mike's gaze is serious as he looks into your eyes, pleading for you to not think he was a total nut case. "i want you to come with us tonight."

"mike-"

"no, i'm serious. you can see for yourself." and mike is looking at you so desperately.

you sigh. "okay."

mike looks like he’s still ready to convince you, not expecting you to agree so easily.

and then his hands are on your face and he’s kissing you like his life depends on it.

“i seriously-” mike says breathlessly between kisses. “don’t know what i did in a past life to deserve you, but you are… amazing.”

and so you keep your grievances to yourself. you’re really not sure if you’ve gone one step forward or taken two steps back but mike is pulling you into the kitchen to have some of the soup he’s made and there’s really no time to gather your thoughts.

but there is time for the worry you've been feeling for mike to come back tenfold.

abby is somehow more excited than mike to hear that you’ll be tagging along tonight, jumping up and down and thanking you as if you’d just told her she'd won the lottery.

she’s still buzzing in the car and mike’s hand stays steady on yours as he drives. his face is grim as he looks ahead, his eyes occasionally rising to glance at abby and falling on you at a red light (mike would've completely missed the light turning green if it weren't for your hand squeezing his).

but that feeling in your chest only grows and it's starting to make you feel sick. you’re really not sure what you’ve just agreed to.

mike pulls into the front of freddy’s, parking line long since faded. it’s your first time, but even you can point out the cop car not quite fitting in with the rest of the picture.

“vanessa’s here,” abby comments.

"yeah," mike nods, slinging his backpack over his shoulder.

"my friends talk about her sometimes," abby begins softly as you come up beside her, taking her hand.

"really?" you ask curiously. "what do they say?"

"that she's nice."

"abby," mike starts with a huff. "if i asked you to wait in the car, would you?"

"no." abby smiles before turning to you. "come on!" if her legs weren't so small, you're sure she would've lost you as she dragged you along.

"abby, wait!" mike calls uselessly.

"guys, i'm back!" abby announces as soon as she enters the large party room. "and i brought someone special!"

"abby."

"hey, vanessa!" abby is unstoppable, pulling you until you're on stage, right in front of her... friends.

"abby!"

you're frozen, standing there as you watch the giant mascots come to life, seemingly without anyone controlling them. they tower over you, large bodies whirring as they turn towards you. their expressions were limited, but you could tell by the way their eyebrows pointed and their mechanical eyes squinted that they did not like you.

"guys, it's okay!" abby assures before leaning in to whisper something. she giggles, and the animatronics... relax, returning to their normal expressions.

"okay, that's seriously freaky," you admit under your breath, watching as abby smiles and laughs with the mascots.

you stay by abby's side, reaching out to wrap a protective arm around her, eyes never letting any of the animatronics out of your sight.

there's a tug on your sweater and a look in abby's eyes you know too well.

abby presents to you, mike, and vanessa a rough blueprint for a fort made entirely by crayon. when abby reveals that she wants to build a fort for all of you, including the animatronics, you can't help but give her a look.

she doesn't seem to notice, caught up in all the excitement, but you catch mike's eyes and know he's sharing your sentiments.

"abby, look," mike starts, hand on abby's shoulder. "now, this is all really fun and exciting, but these things are big, and they could be dangerous, so i think we need to lay some ground rules, all right?"

"we're gonna watch our fingers and our feet," you add warmly.

"vanessa, what do you think?"

it's quiet as the two of you look up at her - mike has told you that vanessa knows a lot about freddy's (though he suspects she knows more).

"i think we could use the tables for the fort." vanessa smiles at abby, hanging back as abby runs off. mike's eyebrows furrow in confusion, but vanessa only throws him a triumphant look before joining abby.

"everyone, follow me! come on."

it's definitely a unique experience, building a fort with animatronics possessed by dead children. but they lift and build alongside you and soon enough, they're more endearing than terrifying.

you catch vanessa trying to bring a table over by herself, quickly placing yourself on the other end and helping her lift.

"thanks," she says quietly, tight smile over her lips. "so, you and mike...?"

"together," you confirm with a nod. "for a while." there's a bit of awkward silence and you really can't tell if there's something you have to clear. "if you were interested-"

vanessa laughs, but you don't give her a chance to confirm or deny.

"-he's pretty... clueless when it comes to those things." you offer a smile and vanessa shakes her head, mouth open to say something when a stray chair catches your eye.

"hey, careful," you stop abruptly before vanessa can trip. she looks to her right and kicks the chair away with her leg.

"thanks," she smiles.

"yeah." you smile right back.

"okay, they're kind of cute," you quietly admit to mike after bonnie's little fall.

"seriously? you too?" mike frowns and you can't hide your laugh.

"what? i'm just saying, i get why abby likes them so much."

mike shakes his head, disbelief in his face as abby waves the two of you over.

"i mean... they're still just kids, right?" you whisper to mike, voice holding a hint of sadness that you try to shake off, tugging mike along to congratulate abby on her genius engineering.

"i like it in here," vanessa calls from her spot on the other side of bonnie.

"me, too," you admit, fingers lightly interlaced with mike's.

"me, three," abby grins. "but... i think it's gonna rain soon."

"sounds like we need a roof," vanessa smiles as she sits up and you can't help but appreciate how she got along with abby. "i'll go see what i can find."

"we'll, uh... we'll come with you," mike calls, pulling you up from your spot so suddenly you almost fall on bonnie. "sorry!" you whisper, patting his arm gently.

"yeah, i take it back, this place is creepy again." you shudder as you enter the storage room.

"what are you looking for, exactly?" mike inquires as vanessa begins digging through a bunch of boxes.

"tablecloths!" she responds like it's obvious. "they used to keep 'em back here for big events."

"right. and remind me how you know that?"

"mike." you warn.

but vanessa won't answer the question and you can feel you start to suspect her knowledge of the place, too.

"found 'em." vanessa smiles as she begins digging into a box and pulling out some fabric.

"god, what is that thing?" your gaze lands on a very creepy looking piece of metal slouched in the corner.

"one of the older models," vanessa comments casually. you stare at her, watching her fold the fabric to make it manageable, barely even glancing over. no, that definitely wasn't common knowledge.

"don't!" vanessa's urgency makes you jump, your head turning to see mike almost stick his hand somewhere it definitely didn't belong. "i wouldn't do that. they're spring locks. they're on all the older ones. they were designed to keep the animatronic parts in place, so that, uh, a person could safely wear the suit. they tend to be pretty unstable. let's see..."

vanessa picks up a broom to demonstrate, sticking it right where mike's arm would've been.

the metal snapped it in a split second. the visual makes you and mike both cringe.

"like i said. unstable."

"is there anything else you'd like to tell us about, vanessa? cause you seem to know everything about this place." mike's words throw no direct accusations, but his tone does. "and what'd if abby'd come in here? what if she'd found that thing?" mike's voice rises and he's on vanessa's tail, forcing you to follow.

"you're the one who brought her here, mike, not me," vanessa spins around. "what i can't wrap my head around is why."

and mike has no choice but to share what he'd told you earlier. e sighs, glancing at you as he begins his confession.

"all right, look. i think that they know who took my little brother. i can't explain it, but when i'm here, i feel closer to garrett. my dreams are more vivid, and it... it's like i can almost..."

"change what happened?" vanessa offers and you're positive she knows something. not even you reacted this calmly.

mike nods.

"did you ask them about this?"

"yeah, i tried. i don't think they like me very much. but... they do like abby."

and that's when it all clicks. you remember your phone call with abby, how mike refused to take her with him. how something about that conversation with mike hadn't sat right. you'd thought it been the whole dead children possessing giant robots then, but you realize what it is now.

"so that's what this entire thing is about? using abby to solve this?" your arms cross now, eyebrows furrowing as you turn to mike.

"okay, i'm not using her, i just asked her to ask them-"

"mike, you said yourself this place is dangerous-"

"yeah, and we're watching her."

a silence settles on the three of you as you realize that, no, you aren't.

you lead the way as the three of you pick up the pace on your way out of the storage room, vanessa and mike picking up their discussion.

"mike. you need to drop this."

"i don't really see how that's any of your business."

"i'm tellling you, you need to let it go."

"who the hell are you?"

"just someone who's trying to help."

you burst out of the dark storage room, eyes trying to find abby in the dim light.

"abby!" you cry, watching her get closer to bonnie - a hand coming up to string his guitar.

"wait, abby, don't!" vanessa cries, but all of you are too late.

sparks fly and abby's on her back, unresponsive when you get to her.

"abby? abby!"

her eyes finally open as she coughs and you breathe a sigh of relief.

"what happened?"

"it's okay, abby. you just had an accident. you're okay." vanessa pulls abby up into a hug - away from you and mike and you watch as his face falls. "i'm so sorry."

vanessa helps abby up and you take abby's hand. "alright, princess, we're gonna get you home."

you have a feeling the argument between them isn't over, so you open up the backseat for abby and get in with her, letting her wrap her arms around one of you and use you as a pillow.

you were right - it wasn't over. though it really wasn't an argument as it was mike getting yelled at and it makes you guiltily reminiscent.

but you don't move into the passenger seat even as mike gets it, already letting him know you're gonna have your own talk once you get home.

"she looked so angry," abby comments tiredly, her head resting against you as you soothingly run your fingers through her hair. "why does everyone always look at you that way?"

mike sighs quietly and you swallow thickly. "let's try to get some sleep, abs." you say quietly, a hand coming up to rub her shoulder.

really, all you did was blink. your eyes flutter open and see the sun has risen during the short drive from freddy's. you're warm, whether it's from the sun's rays or mike's gentle hand on your leg. you're still half-asleep, not really hearing what he's saying, only able to notice how beautiful he looks with the sun shining on him like that.

you almost forget you're upset with him.

mike carries abby in and you let him tuck her into bed (something tells you he needs it more than you do). your feet quietly drag on the carpet, turning into mike's room and pulling on something cozier (and that doesn't have the dingy, lingering scent of freddy's).

you're lingering in mike's door frame, only a few feet away as mike exits abby's room and closes the door quietly. your arms are crossed and you might be frowning as mike bites his lip. you know he knows. you don't trust yourself to even sit on mike's bed, the temptation almost impossible to resist even out of the corner of your eye, so you make your way down the hall to the dining room and mike wishes he could watch you walk around in his clothes under different circumstances.

you sit in the sunlight, silently, and mike thinks he'd rather you yell at him than this. he picks at his cuticles, ripping at a hangnail until it's gone, a little red spot slowly taking its place.

birds chirp brightly outside as you gather your thoughts. you don't want this to be like last time and you're trying really hard to be patient with mike. you can't imagine what it's like to lose a sibling, but he could've lost another last night. wasn't that enough to snap him into reality?

"mike," you begin and mike hopes he never hears you say his name like that again. "i would never ask you to let something like this go," and mike sighs at the familiar request. "but it's becoming... too much."

mike looks up at you now, eyebrows furrowed, ready to be angry. "'too much?' what does that mean, 'too much?'"

you're careful with your next words, taking mike's hand softly, reminding him that you do love him.

"i mean, we got lucky. abby... abby could've gotten seriously hurt."

"okay, it wasn't like i forced her, she wanted to go."

"and you were against it until you realized those... things liked her!"

mike pulls back, his jaws clenched.

"you don't understand."

"so help me, mike. help me understand, because i'm really trying to."

"finding the man who took garrett is the only thing that matters to me!"

"so abby doesn't matter?" and mike falters. "i don't matter?"

mike's heart churns and his head drops. "that's not what i..."

"yeah," you sigh, crossing your arms. it's quiet again and mike can't manage to look at you.

"mike," there it is again. "this is becoming an obsession."

mike scoffs. "it's not-"

"yes, it is! tell me mike, how many nights have you been going there for the past... month?"

mike can't answer. he truly doesn't know. he's still trying to think of a response when your hands are on his face, forcing his eyes to look at you. your fingers sweep over the bags that have taken the spot under his eyes for a while now, wishing you could rub away the dark hues. you thumb over the hair on mike's face - he hasn't shaven in a while, but he hasn't taken care of himself in longer.

"you haven't been yourself, mike. this was the problem the first time. i'm just.. worried, alright?"

mike's heart sinks as he starts to see all of the stress on your face, too. your tired eyes and the small frown on your face. something in him aches and he regrets ever dragging you into this.

your eyes catch the time and you sigh as your hands drop mike's face.

"i have to get to work."

"w... work?" mike stammers. why would you agree to tag along if you had work in the morning?

"call me if you need anything. please." you press a kiss to mike's cheek before taking off, leaving mike to sit there in silence.

he sighs, rubbing his eyes. his body is exhausted but he can't rest. not until it's finished.

"hey, it's mike. i need your help."

that night, you linger in the living room. mike hasn't called, but you just can't shake the feeling that something's not right. you take a seat on the couch, that awful sense of dread in your stomach keeping you from doing anything else.

you're not sure when the exhaustion catches up, but when you wake up it's dark outside and you're not sure if the ringing you heard was just in your head.

and then your answer machine begins to play a bright voice you could recognize anywhere.

"my friend's taking me to freddy's! i don't know where mike went but i'm mad at him... what? okay! i have to go-"

the message ends abruptly and your hands feel clammy as you replay it.

it takes a few more minutes and more than a few deep breaths before you race to your car, fingers fumbling as you get in and hit the gas.

something's wrong. you can feel it.

you're barely in the parking lot of freddy's before you're out of your car, panting and having no idea how you'd made it without getting pulled over.

you approach the entrance and consider yelling out mike and abby's names on the off chance they'll pop out and assure you everything's okay. but before you can get too close, a figure is running out towards you, pulling you towards the side of the building and out of sight of the cameras.

"vanessa?" you're surprised to see her outside of her uniform, holding something that looks dangerous and with a frantic look in her eyes. "vanessa, what's wrong?"

her eyes fall on you as she tries to even out her heavy breathing and she looks wild.

"they've got abby."

"w... what do you mean? they like her, right? they won't hurt her?"

vanessa shakes her head quickly, her eyes teary and her voice quivering. "mike, he..."

"vanessa, please."

"they want to make her like them."

your heart's in your throat as you follow vanessa through the vents, dust and anxiety making it hard to breathe. you feel like you're going to be sick and you would push vanessa if you weren't sure that she was going as fast as she could. the vent cover is already off, making it easier for the two of you make it to the party room. bonnie and freddy are down on the stage, but you and vanessa are crouched and quiet, trying to listen for where abby could be over the sound of your own heart pounding.

foxy doesn't notice as you come up behind him and vanessa electrocutes him, your arms immediately fishing for abby as she screams.

"it's okay," you assure quietly, pulling abby in tightly, the relief you feel so intense tears almost slip out of your eyes. "you're okay."

"foxy!" abby calls out as she backs out of your arms, eyes sad for her friend.

"we're gonna get you somewhere safe so we can go help your brother, okay?" vanessa says worriedly, eyes checking over abby as her hand rubs her shoulder. her eyes fall on you and you nod, picking abby up and listening to vanessa's directions towards somewhere safe.

though there's not much you can do but chase after abby once she spots her brother on the floor, unconscious. you're on your hands and knees, eyelashes fluttering hazily, not quite able to process seeing your boyfriend bloodied and bruised. not quite able to fathom what it'll mean if he doesn't wake up. abby's screams don't quite reach your ears as her small hands try to shake him awake.

"mike, please." you don't even recognize the sound of your own voice, so desperate and shaky.

at last, mike stirs, weakly twisting onto his forearms.

"the drawings," he chokes out. "the yellow rabbit hurt your friends. show them what really happened."

mike's weight is on you as the two of you stumble through the dank hallways, lights flickering and mike panting. "here, here," mike directs and you pull him into a control room. mike stumbles as he reaches for a box, steadying himself against the dusty wall as he grunts, flipping the switch from off to on. you're not sure what it does but your arm is around mike again, pulling him out of the room as quickly as you'd gotten in.

there's a layer of sweat on your face as you push past a door, the last door that finally leads you back to abby.

she calls your names as she runs over, away from the man who's been behind it all. you let mike catch his breath for a second as you pull abby close, the three of you watching as the yellow rabbit is finally punished.

lights begin to fall, shattering the instant they hit the ground.

"alright, we gotta go." you scoop abby up, mike using you as support as you try to navigate your way out safely. you bite back a gasp once you see vanessa on the ground, pale and unresponsive.

"okay, okay." you set abby down and you and mike crouch down to each sling one of vanessa's arms over your necks. mike stumbles, almost falling as he tries to stand and your face tightens with worry.

"hold my hand," you instruct abby. "hold tight. don't let go."

the animatronics are dragging the yellow rabbit somewhere, but you can't spare any attention, focusing on not dropping vanessa and making sure mike is still upright. you're almost at the exit when the ceiling starts to come down, your own panting mixing with mike's pained grunts as the four of you finally make it outside.

"abby, i need you to open up the car for me, okay?"

abby nods and grabs your keys, running up ahead to click the button on your keys. the lights blink and she opens up the back for you and mike to sit vanessa in. you strip yourself of your sweater, laying it over vanessa as abby climbs into the opposite side. "hold her tight, alright?" abby nods, clicking her seat belt before holding onto vanessa's arm. good girl.

you help mike into the passenger seat, kissing the top of his head as he continues breathing irregularly, holding his side and gasping.

you're not the best example for abby as you skip your seat belt, shoving your keys into the ignition and turning them quickly. you peel out of freddy's, trying to remember the quickest route to the hospital. you're way over the speed limit, but not an ounce of you cares.

"keep putting pressure on it," you manage out, hands sweaty against your steering wheel. mike holds himself steady against your dashboard and your eyes constantly bounce between the road and mike, so distracted you almost drive on the curb as you pull into the hospital. it's okay, it's okay, you repeat to yourself as you head straight for the emergency room.

it'll be okay.

mike is cleared first. it's been a few hours and abby's asleep in the chair next to yours. the pounding of your heart kept you awake, tired eyes waiting expectantly each time a staff entered the waiting room.

finally, someone called you over.

"he's awake," the lady with the clipboard says with a smile and you gently shake abby awake. she's still half-asleep as the two of you are led to one of the hospital rooms, bright daylight shining in from the window making your eyes hurt.

but then you spot mike, raised up in his bed and awake and breathing and the weight on your shoulders is gone.

"mike!" abby cries happily, running over to throw her arms around her brother.

"careful, abs," you say softly, though you're barely containing your own excitement.

"no, no, it's okay. i can barely feel a thing," mike assures, pulling abby up into a tight hug.

you come up behind her, the tears you've been holding for hours finally finding their way out, relieving some of the pressure in your chest.

"hey, come here," mike says softly, his arms, still so strong, pulling you close. abby digs her way in again, head resting against your back until you pull her in, too. "i'm okay," mike whispers just before you all let go.

"yeah," you nod, wiping your face before abby can see. "you're okay."

the ride back home is exciting, the three of you making a stop for abby's favorite fast food before you make it home. abby is reluctant to let go of mike as you all trudge in, but her little eyes are closing and she'll wake up with a sore neck if she falls asleep on the couch.

you go straight for mike once she's tucked in. you're pressing him against the wall as you kiss him, careful not to hit any of the bruises on his face. there's no argument from him as his hands find your hips, his thumbs pressing softly into your skin. the both of you are trying to articulate your feelings through the desperate kisses you share, lips swollen and breathing heavy by the time you're finished.

but mike's had something on his chest for a while now, too.

"you were right," he breaths out, chest still heaving from the kisses. "about everything. i was stuck in the past and i wasn't focusing on what was right in front of me," mike's hands are on your face now, making sure you're looking at him (as if you could tear yourself away). "you and abby are the most important things in the world. and i... i love you."

your eyes are wide as you glance from one of mike's big brown eyes to the other, watching him watch you desperately. his eyes stay steady on yours, his fingers slowly thumbing over your face.

"i love you," he whispers again, reveling in the feeling of the phrase slipping off his tongue. "i love you." one more time, just for good measure.

and then you're grinning so wide, your face suddenly warm under mike's hand. your hands are on his, pushing them a little to catch mike in a kiss, completely different than before - this one's slow, the two of you dragging it out as long as you can, each trying to engrave the other in their memory.

but that's not where you want to live. so you pull away and cup mike's face in your hands, forcing him to be present with you again.

"i love you, you idiot. and i'm gonna make sure you know it every single day."

mike nods as he buries his face in your shoulder. he thinks he's crying and you might be, too. there's so many words he wants to say, but he can't quite figure out how to string them together. there's promises to for him to make and to see through, but for now, mike settles on one phrase, repeated into the material of your shirt. he's not even positive you can hear him, but he knows you know.

"i love you. i love you. i love you..."

final part!!! yay!!! i'm still not sure what to call this little mini-series, so let me know :p. & if you want any bonus content for them... requests are open! <333

(also, i am ignoring aunt jane because i have NO IDEA what happened to her in the movie)

#mike schmidt #mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt x you #mike schmidt fluff #mike schmidt angst #fnaf x reader #fnaf #fnaf movie #five nights at freddy's #v + mike #v writes

506 notes · View notes

wisteriagoesvroom · 9 days

Note

Blind Date x Forgotten First Meeting AU landoscar

Hilarity of slightly mutual friend groups so they assume the other is the other half of the blind date (they aren’t 😂 friends assume they are too different to work) even tho they don’t *know* each other but one of them (A) remembers a very young encounter/friendship that really struck a cord in A and has been on their mind forever but assumes B has completely forgotten or it wasn’t as profound or B doesn’t realize the other component is A (would be funny if B talks about the friendship/encounter around A at some point but has no fucking clue the person B is talking about is right fucking there 😭😭😭)

As I was writing this it definitely felt like lando would be more B and oscar more A but I trust this in your hands wiz 🧡

Feel free to ignore blind date aspect if it flows better another way ✌🏻

Idea for very young encounter totally not ripped off from an episode of Bluey: they meet at a campsite locale to one of them as little kids and spend the entire week just getting along like a house on fire but eventually the week ends and the other has to go back to his country and they are too young to keep in contact. Bluey episode totally not for reference cause it’s really really cute 8 minutes 😭😭😭 https://www.bluey.tv/watch/season-1/camping/

-brooke <3

brooke/ @scuderiabs my friend i literally sat on this for so long cus i genuinely wasn’t sure what else i could add to your gourmet ask right here.

but! on the night of the blue suit oscar debut, it’s perfect because either of these would work beautifully… especially if oscar or lando met again at a friend’s wedding (alex albon’s is always gonna be my default setting for romcom-at-the-wedding AUs).

and obviously we gotta have some supporting visuals so here you go:

and ahoy… maybe a glimpse into this world.

snippet below:

————

“I didn’t think it was you.”

“Why?!”

“You look… the same. But different.” Oscar says, tapping the rim of his glass.

The evening light’s dipping into darkness, sky going blue and sooty. Yellow candlelight casts soft circles on Lando’s face. The years have been kind to him. He’s handsome, in a way that endears easily, draws people close to him in a way that works well for Alex’s large contingent of groomsmen.

“How different?”

“Older.”

“Well you look exactly the same as you did when I kicked your arse at tennis. Remember the instructor?”

“Yeah. Thomas was never subtle about the cigarette breaks behind the shed.”

“Pretty funny when your serve hit that citroën though.” Lando shakes his fists in the air dramatically.

“Arrêté!” Lando adds, in a poor imitation of Thomas, the very harried summer school tennis instructor.

Oscar snorts with undignified laughter. One of Alex’s stern Thai aunts looks at him disapprovingly.

“Sorry.” Oscar mumbles. This is far too much emotion for a communal setting. A flush creeps up his neck, and he wonders if he’s getting a food allergy. Maybe it’d be easier if he disappeared to the bathroom to play tetris on his phone and stay inconspicuous like he’d planned after all. Or maybe he could walk into a wall and take refuge in an ambulance.

“I think I saw a tennis court out there earlier.” Lando says, sipping his gin and tonic. There’s a sprig of boysenberry in Lando’s that somehow perfectly matches the cheery boutonnière on his brown suit. Oscar’s not sure how Lando got the bartender to do that up as a special, because it was presumably off menu from the carefully curated wedding drinks. (Probably Lando’s bizzare Prince-Charming-via-Clapham-Common act, and god knows the charm offensive has been working on him too. Nonetheless, it’s really the least of Oscar’s priorities at the moment.)

Because Oscar is looking at Lando’s face. At the quizzical slant of the other man’s brow. He’s watching as Lando leans in curiously, knee just microscopically close enough that they could touch. Though Lando stops just short of doing so, as if sensing that Oscar needs to come in willingly.

Oscar knows Lando has been flirting with him all night. Saying look at you in that amused voice, finding excuses to clink their glasses together far beyond the wedding toasts were over, with flimsy excuses to do so (“god save the queen!” “she’s long gone, mate.” “then god save us all!”).

They’ve also been reminiscing about that one summer camp from over a decade ago. From when they’d lost touch, and all the things that have happened in their lives since. Life in Australia, life in England. Finishing Engineering school. One dropping out of college to pursue music. Births and deaths and having to pay taxes now.

And of all the millions of possible places, of the skipped stops and lost connections in the world; of all the phone numbers and emails and social pages they’ve near-missed, they’ve met again, right here.

Oscar remembers summer sun. Shouting across the net, knocking elbows. Chocolate and marshmallows stuffed into a baguette, sticky on his hands. Dogeared detective novels passed back and forth. A blur of curly hair streaking past him, both of them jumping headfirst into a lake, surfacing to take in huge lungfuls of air.

“You fancy a rematch?” Oscar asks, sipping the last of his drink. He’s not sure if he’s talking only about tennis.

But he doesn’t break eye contact, and hopes Lando understands what he’s really asking.

Lando’s gaze stays steady at him.

A corner of Lando’s mouth tips up into a smile.

(Cicadas hum outside. It’s summer, again.)

“I thought you’d never ask.”

#landoscar #mclaren #twinklaren #op81 #ln4 #814 #814m #f1 rpf #prompt fill #drabbled this thinking it’d only be snatches of dialogue but it appears I have many thoughts about the two of them re-meeting at a wedding #thanks Brooke for the prompt <333 #if typos exist I ask that you simply ignore them as it’s been a v e r y long day

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sqeyungs · 1 year

Text

hunter, ft. ranpo edogawa cw. horror themes, cursing, mentions of blood & wounds a/n. been getting back into idv recently and i have ranpo's skin and ideas came to mind☝️

the weather was cold, yet somehow humid at the same time. maybe it was just the fact that you had been working your ass off trying to get those damn generators to run. with more than a couple zaps from misplaced wiring keeping you on your toes- not even to mention the one out for you two. the hunter.

the one that managed to rip both atsushi and dazai away from your grasps. it had been hours. hours of evading the entity that ranpo had felt so stumped on- and that wasn't exactly the most helpful place for the detective to be in this scenario.

with sweat dripping down your temple, you had only hoped the male was somewhere safe and far away from that monster right now. you weren't sure when you'd been separated from him, yet it happened, and it couldn't have been less than an hour at this point. luckily this would only be the second to last generator to finish. neither of you could help the fact that at sometimes hiding seemed better than running away from your foe. how you had even got yourself stuck in this situation; you weren't sure.

the only thing keeping your exhausted, not so clean body moving was finding ranpo and getting the hell out of this shit show. the ding went off when you finally finished up the current generator and as soon as it did you found yourself running far. you weren't in the best state, with more than just a couple cuts and bruises, but you couldn't stop now. not when you were so close.

it was when you approached a new, hardly touched generator that you heard twigs snap in the distance which made you flinch worse than you would rather admit. you cowered, crouching in a corner created by the space between the generator and the brick wall behind it, covering your mouth and closing your eyes tight as you could. you bit on your lip so hard you think you may be tasting blood now. you wouldn't be surprised. the weather along with how filthy you felt would be the explanation for your already chapped lips.

you couldn't die here... no. not when you don't know where your black-haired ally was or if he was safe. though, you couldn't manage to open your eyes or even move. you swore you almost yelled out a lung when you felt a hand cusp around your wrist, but that second hand was quick to keep your hands in a position where you couldn't open your mouth.

"don't make a sound," the voice whispered. the voice was one of familiarity, one that even at these times was able to calm your still growing nerves. your eyes opened with slight hesitation to see the one you've been so worried about. his eyes scanned over your features, and you swore you saw something welling up in his brown eyes which usually were closed or at least a little more enthusiastic than at the moment. "i'll fix everything. i always do, right?" he spoke, a fake chuckle following after his rhetorical question.

he looked around the surroundings before helping you off the muddy ground to gesture you to follow him as quietly as possible. as you walked more you soon heard the clanking of a nearby generator, one that was already halfway done! you would let out a sigh of relief if your teeth hadn't been so harshly clamped together. though you now felt more relieved, it soon dissipated due to the overwhelming pain all over your body. maybe it had been your adrenaline keeping you going, not your will.

without a sound from either of you, you two began to work on the last generator. you'd become much more paranoid yet much more careful in the process. not nearly as many misplaced cords or mess ups as before. not when you had ranpo at your side once more. where atsushi and dazai had went... you had only hoped they managed to find their way out. though you hadn't explicitly seen their demises you could only assume so from the sounds of terror you heard from the man-tiger earlier.

yet, you had a newfound hope. maybe it was just your reunion with the man but you wouldn't question it. you noticed your heartbeat suddenly increasing and it caused you to pause in your tracks. it was near.

"come on, we're almost done then we'll be safe, y/n," the boy tried to ease your nerves and coerce you back into working on the sparking generator. he knew why you paused in your tracks, in fact, he'd realized it was getting closer moments before you. he didn't let it stop him. you both needed to finish so you could get out and he couldn't let anything get in the way of safety.

you spotted it, out in the distance. your eyes began to well up in fear. no, no, no, no.. it couldn't happen again. you had already been locked up in that damn chair once which you were lucky enough to have atsushi at your service then but you couldn't go back. it could not happen again.

your heartbeat steadily increased as well as your rapid breathing and ranpo knew he wouldn't be able to snap you out of your trance while he was so focused on the generator. he took a deep breath, realizing just how close you two were. only ten more percent left to go and you were home free. he couldn't just ignore your rising panic though. "y/n."

you didn't even flinch at his call, not a single reaction. you were too focused on watching the hunter's every move since it would be after you at any second now. what then? what would you do? what if it-

"y/n," the detective repeated, now separated from the generator and pulling you to crouch down in front of him, hiding behind some barrel. "we're so close. i told you i would fix it, but you can't give up now. not when we're so close," he said. typically, he wasn't the type to give out free pep talks but for the first time he felt truly threatened in a life-or-death scenario and he wouldn't let said scenario take you away from him.

"i won't let it get to you again, but you have to help me."

#sqeyungs #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs #bsd #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #bsd x reader #ranpo #ranpo edogawa #ranpo x reader #ranpo edogawa x reader #identity v #idv #identity v x reader #idv x reader #idv x bsd #idv ranpo #ranpo idv

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the-cookie-of-doom · 8 months

Text

Out of the Shadows: Chapter 1 (Excerpt)

Chay looked around his childhood home for what would probably be the last time. All in all, nothing had really changed. It was just the same as it always was, without a piece of furniture out of place. He wasn’t moving, packing up his belongings in boxes for somewhere better; only leaving, with only what necessities he could carry, the few things he couldn't part with, and the cold resolve to replace anything else. Bitterly, he thought of the credit card Porsche had all but thrown to him, thought, it's not like money is a problem anymore. He could buy whatever he wanted now. All the money in the world couldn't get him what he wanted.

Chay looked at the couch where he had laid with Kim, that final day before his life came crashing down around him. The blanket was still there, bundled up at the end. He could just make out a glittering ear cuff half-way lost between the cushions.

Only six weeks. That’s how long it’s been since Chay’s life was irrevocably changed. Only six weeks, yet it felt like a lifetime. The memory of a boy sleeping on his idol's chest, confessing his love, asking if it was returned, unabashed in his certainty that it was—felt like it happened to someone else. Like Chay was watching it happen to a character on screen, his head tilted, curious to see how it would turn out. Would he cry when the protagonist was rejected? Would his heart seize with fear when the boy was abducted, would he be on the edge of his seat, waiting to see if he was killed? Would he be cold, uninterested, a casual observer? Would he care at all? Did Kim?

Chay didn’t stay long, just long enough to pack a bag with his school uniforms and some casual clothes, gather his laptop. He stopped only to glare at the pictures of WIK on his wall, illuminated by golden string lights. Angry, hurt, angry, he started to rip them off the wall, then stopped himself. He clenched his fists around the ruined pictures until a thumbtack dug into the flesh of his palm. He threw them on the ground. Turned his back on the wall. WIK—Kim—wasn’t worth the effort. Chay would never see this room again, what did it matter if the shrine to his idol remained? Kim couldn’t hurt him anymore.

He tried to leave Kim's guitar in the corner of his room.

He couldn't.

He tried.

But even if it had come from Kim, his cruel hands had never strummed it's cords. Every note came from Chay's soul and Chay's hands, and Kim wouldn't take that away. Chay wouldn't let him.

Chay locked the front door on his way out, and kept his key. They weren’t selling the house. Porsche never would, not after all he’d done to keep it. He didn’t even know Porchay was leaving. Chay hadn’t known he was leaving until he woke up that morning, alone in an empty house, the walls closing in on him, and he realized he couldn’t do this anymore. He didn't know where he would go from here—not back to his brother, to the mafia den he called home—but he would figure it out. Somehow.

He tried. He really did. For Porsche. But this wasn’t Chay’s home the way it was for his brother. There was no warmth or love. Not even family, anymore. Every time Chay returned to it's empty rooms, all he could think about were the debt collectors that Porsche was never there to meet, always too busy with whatever odd job he’d managed to pick up, trying to make ends meet, and that wasn't all.

Chay remembered the beatings they gave Uncle Thee—who wasn’t even family, yet did damage only family could do—when they came to collect. He remembers his own kidnapping, snatched right from his front lawn, taken from the happiest moment of his life to the worst. He remembers the blissful days spent with Kim that still didn’t feel real, cooking, writing music, laying his soul bare for a man who could never return such pure, naked honesty.

Porchay looked at the house his brother loved and saw nothing but the things he’d lost.

#cookie writes #kimchay #porchay kittisawat #kim theerapanyakul #kinnporsche

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ridingtorohan · 7 months

Text

Content: Spoilers for AC1-3 and the events surrounding Lucy. A paragraph pushes it to PG-16 with reader lamenting wanting Desmond with direct references to the below verse. AU: Alpha/beta/omega verse Alpha Desmond, Omega female reader. Cross-links: ao3 A/n: Written 2018, formatted but not edited 2022. This first section is written non-linear.

Desmond had been something of an urban legend back at the Farm- he wasn't someone you knew personally, but now was someone you couldn't imagine being without. Surviving the Eye didn't change that fact- but it leads to something else.‏‎

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ WHAT LIES WITHIN YOUR EYES ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ part I (you are here) ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ───※ ·❆· ※───

It had only taken two days for them all to reach a general agreement about the place. William had held initial reservations about the Manor and Shaun had all but complained the entire way there. Rebecca had spoken earnestly about the idea, voice chipper as she twirled the headphone cord around her index finger with a face-splitting grin. Desmond hadn't particularly reacted to the suggestion- but nobody really pressured him into giving one either.

The Davenport Homestead hadn't felt particularly welcoming - but only in the sense that it was unlivable, hostile to everyone by proxy. Every other building other than the Manor was rundown and barely more than splinters held together by nails, a crude mockery of the fine establishment it was supposed to be. It also felt like home though, enough like the Farm that the three of you had once lived on, with the wooden walls and trees that dotted the horizon, so thick it was a wonder that it hadn’t overtaken the buildings itself.

It was almost hard to believe that the Manor still stood as it did, forgotten by the civilized world as it was. Your lessons spoke of the siege during the 1920's that ripped the Assassins from it. As Desmond traced his fingers fondly along the stair railings and the faded paintings in the basement, you found your tongue stilled. You wouldn't do anything to hurt him and with part of his mind still living as Connor, it might not have turned out well for him if you brought it up.

Connor was the reason why you all ventured there - he had never left the Homestead, not even in the end. Where else did he have left to go? Rebecca swore up and down that the Templars weren't interested in the place since the siege and even Shaun begrudgingly admitted that as a former Assassin stronghold, it would be able to support them. William had relented and admitted to wanting any artefacts left behind but you had a feeling that it more likely had to do with Desmond. You all had agreed to be there for Desmond.

Desmond was … different since the Temple.

All of you had expected him to die - and each time you think of it the fear clogged up your throat and made your hands clammy. His resoluteness was the worst of it - even back at the Farm he had been calm and flippant but that had been something different. None of you spoke of it - of how he almost hadn’t made it out alive.

Somehow, he had saved the world. It was only right that the four of you saved him. When one was haunted by ghosts, the ghost had to be put to rest. Connor's body would help with that - all the missing years from his daughter's conception to his death.

What the four of you couldn’t tell was if it did help more than hinder - Desmond had been quiet since they arrived, barely gave more than one-worded answers or a shake of his head. You had all opted to leave him be and while you didn’t know what it was like to be stuck inside your head, not to the degree that he was, you didn’t leave. Not too far anyways.

You wished you could say that you had always been close with Desmond - that you had always looked up to him and that you only knew the concept of love through him. The truth of the matter was far from it. As a boy years your senior, he was in a separate training class from the Farm. Even then, there was the matter that you weren’t really from the Farm. From a sister branch, your family moved there to help pater out the bloodline and prevent too close of inbreeding. Assassins tried to teach the people of the world and the truth of it, but it is a hard and bitter pill to swallow and not many acclimate to the lifestyle.

No, you hardly knew Desmond. You met him once. Before. He had been a withdrawn boy even then, pock-faced and pudgy but from your limited interactions with him he had never been unkind to you. Your memories of him were foggy at best.

Months and years after the fact, Desmond became something of an urban legend at the Farm. They spoke of rebellions against his father, of a short temper and quick comebacks. He had been the only one foolish enough to leave. In the end it was later transcribed to be bravery.

Desmond told you once of what Juno and Minerva offered him - save the world or damn the world. How the world would have burned but the lot of you would have been safe, trapped in a place separated from the rest of Earth by time and otherworldly constructs. They’ve lied once before, he had said and in the same breath, I couldn’t be a leader to anyone. And that was enough to know that he had thought about it, even for just a moment.

You had thought of how he had been the first to leave from the Farm of their own volition. How the Assassins tried to tail him and lost him somewhere in Kansas, something perceivable due to lack of credentials but no small feat compared to how many Assassins came after him.

Desmond had been the first but he hadn’t been the last. The rest of the younger members took a chance of their own. Stories came back that some were captured and tortured for information or lost at sea, the fact remained that he had started a revolution of his own. His kindness had not gone amiss at a desolate place like the Farm. Even before his ancestors had left their imprints on his mind he had been a leader. He just hadn’t realized it.

You hadn’t told him that, not when he had looked at you with woeful eyes. Self-belief was a difficult thing to nurse.

Some days, it wasn’t Desmond that spoke to you. The horrible thing was that it was difficult to tell when the slip happened. On occasion he would slip into another language and the lot of you would work to soothe him out of the Bleed, but other times none of you had caught onto it until he would have a slight misstep and fumble or even dazedly ask what happened. Those were the days that you would end up holding his hand or sitting close to him, fingers always a constant on his skin when you could. There was a sense of dreaded hopelessness about the situation where all you could do was reassure him of his own presence there - his name in every other sentence or a newspaper detailing the events. Anything to keep him in touch and rooted here with you.

Perhaps it shouldn’t have been a surprise that he had kissed you. Perhaps it was his own fumble with reality, his own tightened grip on his sanity. Certainly not one of his ancestors at any rate - there was enough tentativeness to not be Ezio, it simply wasn’t like Connor to do that, and from what you knew of Altair he wouldn’t have kissed you like that, it would’ve likely just been another task for him. You had sworn it was Desmond who did, who leaned down and breathed you in and pressed his fingers to the back of your nape and tilted your head up.

Desmond hadn’t been your first love, hadn’t lain out that foundation for the rest of your life. You had every bit of belief that he would be the last. What you felt for him was slippery - intangible and messy and so horribly painful and bright. A thunder in your veins and the tension in your skin - it was easy to get lost in him, to believe with full conviction that you would not object to anything that he wanted.

The problem was that Desmond did not want easily. You both knew the Farm - knew of how easily and firmly its own code could constrict someone. You hadn’t known you had been a prisoner of a cult in near everything but the walls and name until you had left with William.

It hadn’t been much of a choice on his part - you were one of the few who hadn’t left after Desmond, let alone died on the initial rescue mission. The Creed advocated for freedom but it was difficult to believe in it when it encroached upon everyone there, where the only law you followed was the Tenets that still stood.

Desmond was a pushover to an extent. Even with all the rumours that followed after him after his departure, all the rebellious streaks that was supposed to have happened … it all seemed moot when in comparison to the young boy that you had known. He had followed after his father in the end, had gone through the rigorous training and submitted himself to that way of life. Until he hadn’t anymore. But even then, he had hung low and out of sight, only caught by a foolish mistake. He had been admirable in that, that he had lasted for years without being found out by the very people who specialized in stealth.

He had not objected to the Animus though, hadn’t uttered a word of regret or denial concerning his own impending death. You could recall his resolution back in the Temple, his tired voice and knitted brow. Even as he faced death, he had not turned his back on it. Every time he was told to get in the Animus, he eventually did. He hadn’t even protested when they all came to the Manor the second time, when Rebecca had brought it up to him.

There was nothing but the sound of silence and snow in the stillness of winter. There was no other choice, not when they had made it and followed through on it. None of them were keen on traveling once snow blanketed the ground. Spring was still a few months off especially in the frontier. Desmond had a tendency for cabin fever from what you knew, had reportedly been out of sight every night back in Italy. He had been adamant about leaving to face Cross and Vidic himself, to collect the power sources and carry on his way.

Desmond had sworn he wasn’t capable of being leader and yet the four of you had agreed willingly. William had come as a surprise to you given his accompanied alpha status, the very same as his son. The fights that you had witnessed between the two of them hadn’t been pretty. Desmond had wanted to confront Vidic. Shaun and Rebecca had no conflicts about it in the end, resigned themselves to the best option.

You hadn’t spent long in the field yourself, could not argue that this wasn’t the best course of action. Your work was better covering your tracks and finding signals on the web - all proven moot when in comparison to the likes of Rebecca. You hadn’t been worth much now that both you and William had met up with the group but while it had been the two of you it had suited the both of you just fine.

Somewhere along the way, the five of you had unwittingly become a pack, had every dynamic of one that completely functioned. Lucy had been the alpha of the last one, the head of the group. Here, it had fallen to Desmond and he wore it exactly like how he settled into his genetic memories. Easily and seamlessly. Even with your heart in your throat, you had offered no protest to him going to Abstergo.

You had cared for Desmond in your own way, had admired his steadfastness and determination until he had nearly killed himself for it. Your first introduction to him was to a boy with a face with a frown and the second was to someone equally as desolate. His sleep had not been peaceful, comatose and unresponsive to the world.

“Get him in the Animus” William had said and Desmond was strapped in. Even when the Animus went on the fritz and tried to deny his mind, when he had outright flatlined more than once, he had remained strong. When Desmond chased after Vidic, stood tall on that skyscraper, mic attached to his shirt, you could hear the wonder and awe in his voice. While you couldn't see his face, you could see what he did. Despite the grainy feedback, you saw where he stood at the end of everything.

It’s it beautiful? He had said. With your heart permanently glued to the inner lining of your throat, you had agreed. Desmond had stopped to admire the view and you had done it with him. Until it had been time to go, time to kill and move on and go go go go go.

None of you could stop, not even for a moment, not for some sight seeing or to catch their breaths. But the memory had implanted itself in your mind, solid and true. You had understood then why Desmond had left. And when Desmond took a Leap of Faith afterwards, you had inadvertently fallen with him.

Desmond had not forgotten your agreement. Even when everyone else had ushered him to hurry on, you had spoken in positive response. Even when the threat of the world hung around all your shoulders - and the doom it had spelled for him - he had pulled you aside on the rare occasion that he had been lucid and handed you his phone.

“You had liked the view too,” he had said with a worn smile and half-lidded eyes. It was not something that you had easily forgotten either. You were all but deftly reminded of his unfailing kindness and selflessness then. How he had taken the time to take a picture just for you.

“Thank you,” you had said. It was almost all that you could. He had smiled, something far more genuine that only solidified the feeling in your chest. He had clapped a hand to your shoulder and was ushered back into the Animus.

The situation between you two had shifted then. Because alphas and omegas were historically known to generally get along you had to endure nearly a dozen of Shaun’s ribbing comments already. It had been senseless banter and shameless teasing before, implications present in the edge of his voice. It was not something that could be ignored anymore, not anything that you wanted to let go of.

You didn’t want to replace Lucy, nor could you properly. She had been an alpha. You had known of her importance to the group, how hard her absence and betrayal had hit them. William hadn’t tried to replace her, even as another alpha he could sense her own placement there.

Lucy was a sore subject, a soft whisper if even that. You knew she had been close to Desmond but the truth hadn’t hurt before. If you could even call this feeling hurt- you couldn’t envy a dead woman, couldn’t chastise her for her own wasted opportunities and lament about what could have been between the two of them.

But in a way, you had taken her spot. She had tended to Desmond and now you did. The wedge between you - the wall formed by your arrival with his father had began to dismantle. Desmond didn’t necessarily need to be cared for, he could stand on his own and effortlessly carried the weight of the entire group. The admiration you had felt for him shifted since the phone, since returned to him so he could fiddle with it and record some audio clips you believed, had settled into something warmer and more wanting.

You couldn’t help him entirely, not in the way that mattered most or most effectively. You would like to believe it had been enough.

You were not entirely obtuse in your feelings for him - Rebecca had eyed you plenty a time over the edge of her computer. Shaun for his part had tried to arrange it so that the both of you were together. William pretended it wasn’t happening and perhaps for that alone you were thankful. Desmond, in his own way, had not remained oblivious either.

Rather, it had been Desmond-as-Ezio who had caught on. As Rebecca had told you, Ezio was a flirt through and through. While Ezio knew the ways of sex like the back of his hand, he knew love even greater. He had always fallen hard and fast. You had known it was Ezio at the forefront of Desmond's mind by the way he had watched you and curled his vowels.

Shaun had translated once, had remained stone-faced for far longer than you thought he would, before he said that Ezio suggested you tell him. “I have known love and I have lost it,” is what Shaun had translated. “Do not lose your chance.”

Time waited for no one. When Desmond had stood before the pillar and said his goodbyes, begged them to leave, to let him be to his fate, you thought to ask him to stay. Desmond pressed his phone into your hand and pulled you into a hug in the same motion.

He smelled of alpha-sweat-blood-dust-cold metal-whiskey-cinnamon-home-home- home. You hadn’t wanted to let him go. “I should have kissed you,” you whispered out. Instead, Desmond had let go of you - and leaned in to do exactly that.

Hours later, when the rumble of vehicles threatened overhead, their position compromised, you all struggled to gather what you could. You all had left him there to stand before his end. The end of the world had not come - but neither did Desmond leave. Time was wasted sitting there, incapable of mobility after most of your items had been packed - none of you had wanted to touch Baby, not yet. You feared you would still feel his warmth there, that if you so much as touched anything that belonged to him you would break down and cry.

Desmond had came out of the Temple and you had done exactly that anyways. “It didn’t need to be me,” he had say in way of explanation, eyes a swirl of that familiar glint of gold before he blinked, voice full of disgust, rigidness, and resignation. “It was my blood. It has always been my blood.” Then he had tucked himself in the back of the van right next to you and pressed his chin to the flesh between your shoulder and neck.

He Bled regularly as you drove along. William cursed up a storm each time he regressed and you could only clutch him tighter each time that he did and with every harsh motion of the van. You had almost lost him. You all had.

Even if you all hadn’t tried to Bleed Connor out of his system, the drive back was well worth it. The tires hadn’t survived and all of you had cricks in your neck but it had been enough. The Manor welcomed you all well enough but Desmond most of all.

Perhaps it had been the Connor inside of him that reacted, that still saw it as his den. Unlike his other ancestors, Connor had no proper pack of his own, not outside of his children, Achilles or even for that odd encounter with Shay. He had found solace in the Manor and so had Desmond.

William spoke of leaving after spring, of reports about a modified Animus and how Abstergo hunted one of their own. You had read the reports yourself but you had Desmond in your mind’s eye and so that was all that William’s comments had remained - comments. Even as an alpha, he couldn’t dictate what the pack chose. No one dared speak of going their own separate ways despite what the eldest seemed to imply.

Even with nearly two years as William's accomplice and with a reliable bond, it couldn't compare to what you shared with the others. William had not asked you to leave with him though, not then. For all that he had done wrong, from what you knew, it was a saving grace. You would not have picked him.

Connor was never an aggressive presence with Desmond though. The younger Altair, when he bled through, was a downright terror and an equally as young Ezio was too rambunctious, Connor had never mucked up much trouble. So when each Animus session with Desmond that lead him closer to the end that was written for Connor, you had seen less of him. It had been almost February when Desmond had whispered into your skin with a slur to his words, “He’s still there. Just resting.” Desmond ended up telling the others but you had been the first.

William eyed the van then and you had seen Shaun’s mouth form words of his own to comment but Rebecca had only smiled and clasped her hand to Desmond’s own. “You’re doing good, Desmond.” And he had softened and sent her a smile of his own and everything seemed right in the world, a little more sturdier.

Desmond did not want easily. He always put everyone else’s needs above his own, always followed their rules and their dictations. Even lost in his own world he obeyed the commands rigorously trained into him. He still chose his own meal if given a choice, still wanted to watch a surprisingly high quality movie on Rebecca’s computer with you - but he didn’t contribute to the discussion of where to go and what to do. He had fought so hard for his own life and it was barely with a fumble that he slipped back into that same old mold.

You remembered the day of when he had been found to have disappeared. How it had happened without warning. Ages past the fact had twisted the story, had stated that he had been found missing and his mother had crudely screamed and woke the whole household. The stories went that he had rallied up a small group of fellow recruits and taken a few with him after burning down an old outhouse. That he had threatened to leave numerous times before and successfully done it and that he would leave for good. That he took a car and blasted out of there with the radio on full blast.

You remember the truth of it. It took near four hours after wake up for anybody to even notice. It wasn't unusual for Desmond to venture out to the forest or to go horseback riding. There was no screaming or crying fest, nobody hollered or threw things. You knew well enough that Desmond and William had fought the night before. There had been no border patrols or guards or even gates.

He had simply walked out and never looked back, hitchhiked and bussed as far away as he could. Nobody had expected for one of their own to walk out - hadn’t expected that anybody would want to. Desmond had already been gone long before he had run away, it was just a matter of his physical body getting the memo.

It had been a quick and quiet affair with nary a word from him then. While you doubted that he would leave the four of you there, that he would so quickly up and leave, you knew well enough that history repeated itself. Desmond’s genetic memories proved that time and time again. You feared that the man you loved wasn’t the one you thought he was.

So every so often, when that same feeling niggled at the back of your mind, you went looking for him.

You found him in Connor’s old room. Relief had came in with a sloppy tidal wave. A shudder passed through you the moment you stepped through the doorway.

All of you slept in the living room, had set up that room to be the most hospitable during the cold months. The fireplace had kept you all warm enough and if it hadn’t, Desmond would be there at your back, holding you to his chest. Even then, there were moments like these that he was separated from you, far away both physically and mentally.

He turned towards you at the sound of your cleared throat. Shaun’s words from Ezio haunted you. You almost lost him. “Desmond?” you asked, voice shrill in the slow trickle of the air. You sneezed twice at the dust that floated around. He had drawn a mattress up there and even placed it atop the bed frame still present. Not Connor’s, you knew, but old enough. You touched your hand to his blanketed shoulder.

“Yeah,” he sighed and ran a hand up his face. “It’s me.” It … hadn’t been what you were going to say, let alone ask. You frowned.

“Why are you up here alone?” you whispered. The bed creaked beneath you as you sat beside him. His blanket was drawn up around his shoulders, huddled around his head like a hood. There was an edge of sleepiness to his eyes and a few creases around his mouth, bruises beneath his eyes. Desmond hadn’t slept well since Abstergo, since the first Animus session. That or it was literally his genetics. He has been tired long before that.

Desmond let out a slow exhale of air. Not quite a sigh. Desmond never sighed. Your frown deepened. “I’m thinking,” he confessed, eyes not on you. He’s focused at something on the wall. You almost thought there was a painting there once, a long time ago. His focus slipped and he instead shifted his hand to rub at his eyes. “Didn’t realize I spent so much time up here. Are you doing okay?”

You thought about how to answer that. For someone who had the whole world on his shoulders, you’d almost have hoped that he’d take some time to himself. You retracted your hand to tug at his own, to stop his restless fingers and to soothe him with small strokes of yours across the back of his hand. “I’m worried about you,” you said truthfully.

“I’m okay.” The reply hadn’t come as quickly and selflessly as you thought it would. There was no conviction in the words. Your fingers stilled. His flesh was so warm, so present - you didn’t want him to leave you. But you didn’t want to be selfish either, didn’t want to cage him down. “I’m about ready to go. Dad was saying something about Egypt, I think.”

“You listen to your dad?” you joked, eyebrows raised. There was a soft huff of an exhale from him, never quite a laugh but almost. Almost.

“I try not to,” Desmond said with a light tone of amusement. He turned his hand around, palm against yours before he twined your fingers with his. He let out a hum of consideration, mouth twitched at one corner. It was the most display of emotion that you had seen from him in quite a while.

“I don’t think he appreciates that.”

“Yeah, probably not. But he can deal with it,” he quipped back just as easily. You reflectively sent him a smile and the tension eased out of his arm, hand going lax against yours. He was always so tense, so rigid, so prepared for the worst to come yet. You hoped that wasn’t the case - you’re not sure you could handle the rug being pulled out from beneath the both of you.

Desmond’s smile stilled at the sight of your frown and with another exhale he let go of your hand to grasp at the corner of his blanket to drape across your shoulders too. It meant that you had to draw closer towards him, not quite sprawled into his lap as you would have hoped for but at least hip to hip. Not even that was necessary. You just liked to reassure yourself that he was there.

You echoed his exhale, drew it out into a sigh. “How are you really, Desmond?” There was a slight twitch in his eyebrow at that, at the pronunciation of his name. His expression lacked confusion though which was more comforting than you had expected.

“Tired.” His posture wavered and you worried he’d pitch to the side but instead he just pulled you closer towards him, one leg draped across his and his shoulder almost awkwardly pressed against your sternum. It was usually a hesitant fumble between you two to find an appeasing position for the both of you and eventually he settled to wrap an arm around your waist and let you rest your head against his chest. “We aren’t … happy with how things have turned out here.”

You stiffened against him involuntarily. ‘We’. Desmond had a penchant of referring to all the memories and voices inside his head as a collective ‘we’. Rarely did he refer to himself in the singular tense. It was just fortunate that he had been referring to himself for the most part.

Desmond drew away from you - and despite your initial thought, it wasn’t to get a better look at your expression. He drew a couple pillows from the headboard, shot a load of dust through the air in the process and positioned it up behind himself. He tugged you down beside him as you dragged the blanket with you and made sure to toss it over his socked feet, tucked your knees closer towards your body and curled towards him. “Why? What’s wrong?”

Desmond let his hand rest along your head and began to casually thread his fingers through the strands. There was a frown present on his lips again, deep enough to pull the scar across his lip tight. There was a shadow of a beard on his jawline, dark against his skin. He looked so aged from this position. You wanted to ease his burden.

“Achilles had entrusted this house to him,” Desmond spoke up finally, something sharp and jagged in his voice. His hand had stopped all motion in your hair. “It was-,” a pause as he searched for the right word, a violent lurch of his eyebrow as he knitted it and a hot breath of air from his nose before he relented with, “Connor’s house. When I was in the Animus, I - as Connor - had helped repair it. We had built this place, the entire Homestead. It was made by my hands - to see it like this...” His voice trailed off into silence.

There was a vacant glaze to his eyes, a ripple of uncertainty and fractured lifetimes. Desmond may have been with you in the room and that may have been his heartbeat beneath his hand but he has left you alone all the same.

“Desmond.” It was on the fourth time that he turned to face you, a couple pronounced blinks to his gaze as he seemed to focus on you. You raised your hand from his shirt to his face, cupped his jaw and let your thumb rest along his cheek. “Desmond, what you and Connor built was … was amazing. It still is. It’s just a little run down, that’s all.”

“It’s forgotten.” The impact behind his words had you falter for a moment. He didn’t say anything after that but he waited all the same. You bit your lip, wondered how much time he would give you to think of how to respond to that, to the tone of his voice.

“This is more than just about the house, isn’t it?” you asked him. Desmond didn’t immediately respond but his eyes didn’t trail from your face, insistent on staring into yours as he processed it. He closed his eyes, lovely brown obscured by the dark of his eyelashes. His head settled deeper against the pillow.

“Connor lived and died in this house. His wife lived here with him until she left. She took the kids. Connor had nothing left. Nothing but an old rocking chair and this house. And now here it is in ruin.” You wondered then if he would cry, if this would be what finally broke him.

You had heard that he had been unhappy when Monteronigirri had perished to flame and blade, when little to no one had been spared. You wondered if the memory was buried somewhere deep inside him, if it settled there as an unscabbed open wound. If it pestered him day in and day out. Ezio had years to get over the tragedy, if he ever did. Desmond didn’t have the luxury. It was still a fresh ache to him. To reopen the wound with Connor and his unlucky end ...

“You remembered it,” you told him. “You’re here right now. Connor isn’t alone because .. he’s with you. You’re with him, and I’m with you. We’re all with you, Desmond. We’re not going anywhere without you.” You were firm to implant his name there, to affirm his hold on reality. You all had thought that if he relived Connor’s memories it would help soothe the Effect, that Desmond could go back to the life that he had before, that he could live unhindered and unburdened by it. Anything for it all to be easier for him.

“My Dad talked about Egypt,” there was a slight scoff to his voice. (I’m losing him.) “Why don’t we just go? I’m just holding you all back, this isn’t anything-”

“No.” You moved both hands to cup his face and he stared at you with impassive eyes. Desmond has not wanted much. He gave up a lot before, to get all of them to the end, to get them knowledge otherwise lost. He was willing to give it all up again with just a word. He would. “You’re keeping us all together, Desmond. We’re your pack, don’t you understand? Yours.” You leaned up to kiss him and your knee knocked against his before you settled your leg on the other side of his waist. He didn’t respond at first, let you pepper his face with kisses. Gradually, he seemed to react, upturned his face to return the gesture, to press his lips against yours. His hands settled along your hips, thumbs pressed into the clothed skin there. Your mouth lingered a fair deal more but it was him who dragged his tongue across your lip, had you shudder in response.

You could feel him smile against your skin, felt the uneven skin of his scar catch on you when you allowed him at your throat. You could feel a pattern begin to emerge in the light rubs of his thumbs, something almost like dialect. His kisses were slow, languid and light, a butterfly touch if you had ever felt one. You let out a breathy sigh of his name and he paused then.

“Desmond?” you prompted him and sat back on your knees, a leap in your chest, worried that you had overstepped a line.

“Just thinking,” he promised, a few seconds too slow. There was an upturn to his mouth, an appreciative look in his eyes. His hands hovered along your hips though and you knew that there was no use pushing your luck.

Desmond would likely relent if you pushed him to have sex with you now, if you begged him with a breathy tone to let you take his knot but you also knew that his heart wouldn’t be in it. That he might not want it. You couldn’t push him like that, you didn’t have it within yourself to.

“You think enough for four people,” you said pointedly and made sure to throw in a grin for good measure. You threw your leg off of him, tried not to let your disappointment surface in your scent. He had your neck exposed to him, he had already likely caught your arousal and anticipation in it alone. You weren’t disappointed in him though, never him.

“Hm,” there was a lighter turn of his mouth then, something pleased and adoring in that gesture alone. Even though he just had his tongue in your mouth and his lips and fingers on your skin, it was his smile that made you flustered. Go figure. You averted your gaze, tried to ignore the wider spread of his lips. “Definitely smart enough for four men.”

You swatted your hand against his chest as you collapsed next to him, made sure to draw your legs tighter together before you tugged his arm down and settled down against it. “Definitely,” you relented. Desmond’s look was appreciative and genuine, fond to the very end. “Or at the very least ripped enough for them.” You reached out a hand to pat against his stomach and then there was the laugh that you missed so much.

At some point, Shaun had started a running joke about Desmond being pudgy. He had been in his youth, sure, but most children were. Being on the run and doing a bunch of parkour promised at least some muscles. You grinned wide enough for the both of you when he rolled onto his side, albeit with a little bit of struggle with his trapped arm beneath you.

“Thank you,” Desmond said after a moment. “For trying to help.” You shifted enough for him to draw his arm out and he flexed his fingers experimentally, a falter to his earlier cheer as he stared at his hand. The very hand that he had supposedly clasped onto the Eye.

“Of course.” You told him. You leaned forward to press another kiss against his lips, let it linger and rest against the swell of his mouth. He inhaled your exhale and let his lips move against yours, calm and pleasant. When he pulled back, it was a wonder you hadn’t confessed to loving him. It would have been terribly easy. But the truth of the matter was despite your fear and insecurities, you knew that you had nearly all the time in the world - and isolated in the Manor as your pack was, it very well could have been.

Suddenly, you knew, that if this was what the end of the world had been like, you’re fairly certain you wouldn’t have minded at all.

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whats-it-mean · 6 months

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I loveee your writing <33 Could I req fuuta with a reader who somehow convinced es to get them a bass and they just. Randomly play and it's loud and he always tells them to stop but they never do??

Fuuta's bass player blues ☆

Fuuta Kajiyama x Reader

A/N - TYSM!!! this prompt is soo silly!! i feel like he would like guitar-bass type songs considering his songs… that epic guitar solo in salamander?? hello?? also so fun fact i dont know shit about music or instruments btw and asked my friend so if this is innacurate uhhhh,,,,,,,,,,,, no it isnt

C/W - None !!

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

For some reason, despite how unreasonable and problematic it most likely was, Es was unable to find a written rule stopping you from requesting an instrument, and Jacklope had been too busy eating when they asked him about it to really care- and so now, in prison, you had your hands on a fender bass guitar, along with the included amp and cords you had begged Es for.

The moment they reluctantly gave you all the required equipment, you were practically bouncing off the walls with excitement, sprinting to the cafeteria area at full speed.

By the time you arrived, unfortunately not as fast as you’d originally hoped from the weight of the amp, you could see Yuno and Mahiru chatting away near one of the vending machines. Through one of the windows, you could see Shidou and Kazui taking a smoke in the spot Es had set aside for them to use, and most importantly, right by the entrance, Fuuta sat, silently chewing away at a grilled cheese at one of the tables. This was it. Your chance.

You zipped around the cafeteria for a moment before finding a plug. swiftly shoving the amp’s cord inside before turning the volume up all the way. Whilst you fumbled with the cords for a moment, Yuno glanced up at you- meeting your eyes for a moment before a devious grin spread across her face, and suddenly both her and Mahiru were off distracting a certain redhead as you connected the amp to the bass.

The moment you had everything set up, you tugged the guitar strap over your shoulder, spared one glance over the volume gauge to make sure it was as loud as could be- and then raised your hand into the air, pic grasped between your fingers.

“Fuuta! Check this out!!”

Said boy snapped his head in you direction, confused until he spotted you standing triumphantly on a table with a sick little grin, and he deadpanned immediately. Yuno was already struggling to hold in her laughter and you brought your hand down, strumming at the bass with unreasonable speed as the volume blasted throughout the prison. You could barely hear his protests and complaints with how loud everything was turned up, but kept playing nonetheless, most likely to Es’s dismay. They would probably get a pay cut. Do they even… get paid..?

You blinked, and suddenly the redhead was walking towards you, face contorted in annoyance as he huffed something about how pathetic this was, barely audible. You simply grinned, jumping off the table you’d been using as your own little stage and walking right up to him, guitar pic still in hand as you played.

He scowled at you, crossed his arms, and went to pull down his mask. “Give it a rest, will ya? I’m tryna eat here-”

You smirked. “Can’t hear you!!!”

And by tomorrow you were doing the same thing in the same spot- probably for many days to come until Es found an excuse to rip it away from you. But that would be a while yet, and Fuuta was to easy to annoy to pass up such an opportunity.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─── End

#⤥ mairu writes !#milgram #milgram project #milgram fanfic #milgram fanfiction #milgram x reader #fuuta x reader #fuuta kajiyama #fuuta kajiyama x reader #fuuta kajiyama x you #fuuta x you #self insert #self insert x canon #self insert fanfiction

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blakeblueboi · 1 year

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Hiccup held his breath. His heart was thundering almost as loud as the storm that was threatening to rip his hut off its foundations outside. He couldn’t stop his hands from shaking. However hard he tried, he could not stop himself from trembling against the wooden divider that separated his workbench from the main room and door.

That door that now was wide open and letting the rain pour in from outside. Lightning crackled through the gaping doorway and cast a long, menacing shadow across the floor. The man, or- whoever- whatever it was, was standing stiff in the doorway.

He knew it hadn’t been seeing things. As much as he wanted to believe he had been. He knew what had seen at the Northern Markets wasn’t just his imagination. At first he’d thought he’d seen a hunter wearing the skin of a night fury. It had been unmistakable. The black skin, the subtle stripes, the slightly smooth texture. He’d pursued the hunter, naturally of course because if this man had killed a Night Fury then he might be able to find out just where he’d done it.

To be honest, the sight of the skin had made something inside Hiccup’s chest constrict. Not that seeing any dead dragon didn’t make his heart ache but- this was different. And not just because it had been a Night Fury skin either. It was Toothless’ skin. He’d thought he’d been going crazy. Surely, because Toothless had been right next to him the entire time.

But Hiccup was sure it was. He couldn’t explain it. But he just knew.

It wasn’t until he’d caught a glimpse of the hunter’s face that the hair on the back of his neck stood up and his blood ran colder than ever. By all accounts and all reasonings, it shouldn’t have been possible. No, it couldn’t have been possible... and yet-- The sound of a boot stepping on one of the squeaky floorboards roused Hiccup from his racing thoughts and threw him back into the situation at hand. One... two, three... four.. five, six... Hiccup felt like he was going to vomit. Or pass out as the slow, limping steps came closer and closer to his little hiding spot. They were somehow louder than the thunder and rain outside.

Seven, eight... nine... Nine. Nine steps. Hiccup’s heart was suddenly in his throat and boomed in his ears in time with the stalled steps. The man has stopped walking. The steady and pitter patter of water droplets found his ears before he registered just exactly what that meant.

With an agonizingly slow turn of his head, his eyes didn’t meet the wall but the black scaly skin of a dragon he knew was still alive. He followed the scales up and up, over where it was bunched up and tied together with a black cord. Up a pale freckled neck, over the cheek bones that were scarred light sickening pink and finally... to a pair of acid green eyes.

You guys have no idea how persistent this thought has been in my head for the past weekkkkk. I love thinking of this boy being scary as hell. Anyway, this is part of a very elaborate and confusing thing that I’ve been thinking about lately where Hiccup thinks he’s been seeing his Doppleganger when in reality it’s himself from another timeline. Don’t have all the details yet but this would not like me rest until I drew it. And of course I’ll find a way to make this Hijack, you know I will XD

Should I call it the Doppleganger AU? Enjoy!

#villain hiccup #doppleganger au #httyd #how to train your dragon #hiccup horrendous haddock iii #hijack eventually #my art #My writing #hijack

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afyrian · 23 days

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chapter 1 masterlist

"NO!" Ben charges at the maze doors, his eyes locking on Minho, "MINHO! Alby! Don't do this!"

His voice rattles Minho, Ben's eyes wide with betrayal written in every tear. Pupils sharp, Minho stares right back at him, unable to move his attention. "You can't do this to me!"

Ben reaches the towering doors; however, they're too tight a fit for him. Loose bits of concrete fall to the ground as he lets out another scream. Nothing, not the changing, not even a griever's sting, could cause quite a scream to rip from his lungs. Cause him to want to rip his vocal cords out and hope that something may give him a saving grace.

He pounds against the maze walls, writhing in pain as the concrete bruises his hands. The mossy vines rub against his forearm, the only thing sending a calming sensation through him. His lungs fill half way before he needs to let a breath out, panic now setting in. "Please!" Ben's voice becoming too hoarse for his pleads to pass through the wall.

It's quiet, his arms and feet growing tired. "Please..." his eyes water, body sliding against the concrete doors until he's on the floor.

Tears drip onto his hands, the dirt on his hands finally showing as it mixes into a muddy substance. He brings his hands up to his face, laying down against the concrete flooring. Bits of rocks poking into his back and legs. When he lifts his hands from his eyes, the sky has started to grow dark. Shadows merge with the rest of the emerging darkness and Ben's situation truly dawns on him.

No one has ever survived a night in the maze, nor found a way to escape. How could he possibly be the first? His heart beats quickly as he grabs ahold of the bag that they had thrown to him. While sitting up, he opens the bag and starts digging through the items. There's some fruit, veggies, and granola wrapped up. A couple bottles of water hide behind the bundle of food. Rope and other materials make an appearance alongside a note in an inside pocket.

Ben scrambles to open it, looking at the lined paper like it's the last thing he'll ever see. The feeling of the thin paper between his fingers is the only thing keeping him grounded. The feeling of the glade. Of every time he's flipped between the pages of a notepad, talking to Minho about his time in the maze. He stares down at the note, lip trembling as tears fall onto the paper.

His name is written at the top as if it's a decree for his head on a spike. The signature style of the sloppy b only leaves him to believe that Minho wrote it. Ben furrows his eyebrows, thumb running along the paper as he reads. The lines of pain and torture hit his heart harder than anything any of the other gladers could've written.

The mini map at the bottom of the page, uneven and poorly designed, is what sends the ink blurring. There are small notes etched alongside the locations, showing how the maze will appear the next day. Minho used a pen to write what Ben had already knew, took the time to sketch something out in the case that his mind can't think straight.

Ben leans the back of his head against the concrete doors. Letting the paper slip from his fingers and lay against the ground. He finally looks up at his surroundings, watching as the darkness over takes the maze. The only lights in sight are the ones somehow carrying over the maze doors. Flickering from a supposed bonfire. However, the shadows of those dancing and playing aren't there. It seems, there's a somber feeling inside and outside the maze.

A clicking noise echoes down the maze halls, Ben's breath hitching as the sound carries through his ear drums. He hurriedly grabs the paper, crumpling it in his hand before stuffing it into the backpack that the gladers supplied. Ben throws the straps around his shoulders, clipping the clasp across his chest. His shoes slide a little against the slick spots of the concrete flooring as he runs forward.

"Oh shuck," Ben whispers to himself, reaching a spot in sector two that he's not totally familiar with.

It branches in two directions, one left, one right. Click.... Click... The noise grows louder as Ben pulls the paper from the backpack, looking at the locations of the walls. Ben's jaw clenches before taking a right, hand stuffing the paper into his front pocket. His heart beats quicker with each step and each turn he takes.

He takes a turn quickly, stopping in his tracks as he spots a griever a ways down. Its body moves unnaturally, the fleshy parts thick and overtaking the space of the hallway. His eyes can't seem to move from it and the stingers that carry the same venom that sent him through the changing. Air audibly leaves his mouth, body stuck like a deer in headlights.

Ben swallows a thick ball of mucus, lips trembling at the sight of the thing. He takes a step back, staring the griever down. When he takes another step back, he steps on a dried out ivy branch, a thick crack resonating in his ears. However, he isn't the only one who heard the nauseating sound. The griever's body moves in his direction, spinning like a ball.

He breaths heavily, spinning in place and running down the hallway he had just come from. With every noise it makes, he loses track of where he is within the maze, every turn he takes contradicts his knowledge of the maze. Especially with the thought that every turn he takes to escape will reveal another griever ready to rip his head from his shoulders.

He takes a final turn, one that should've carried some forethought. When he looks up, all he can see is a hole in the ground and a large wall blocking him from running elsewhere. He looks back, listening to the sounds of chittering and clicking getting ever so closer. Even the sounds of the sloshing, gummy body sticking to the walls and flooring echo through his ears.

Ben's always been a runner, always on the balls of his feet. Even if it's just a bonfire night, he still jumps back and forth between his feet. Now, though, he feels stuck to the floor. His body weighing down at his senses overwhelming him. The sight of the distance of the hole, the sound of the griever taking another turn, the smell of dirt and vines.

Even for a second, he wonders if this is where he's meant to be. If he's meant to die on this hill, if he deserves it. Something in his mind clicks as he hears the paper crinkling when he turns to look towards where the griever is coming. Minho made a map for a reason, left a note for a reason. This isn't the end of Ben's story, he isn't going to let it be the last chapter.

a/n: my first miniseries here!! i hope you all enjoy

#his time isn’t finished #the maze runner #the maze runner fanfiction #the maze runner fanfic #tmr #tmr ben #the maze runner ben #tmr fanfic #tmr fanfiction

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agirlwithtoomuchf-ingtime · 2 years

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Bait - A Mikael Mikaelson x Reader Smut

A/N: Hello! This will be my first post on here and let me just say that this particular story was not planned at all lmao. I know Mikael isn't exactly a favorite, but I tend to fall for the least-favored characters for some unknown reason. I know he's terrible, but he's somehow still attractive to me. Anyway, I hope that you enjoy this smutty goodness. I look forward to posting more :)

Warnings: heavy smut (minors dni please), explicit language, spanking, light choking, lots of biting, some bleeding.

Word Count: 6.1k (I really went off)

Being bait for Niklaus and Elijah was by far one of the worst ideas you’ve ever agreed to.

“You’re a fucking coward!” You roar, jabbing your finger into the Original’s chest.

“In what world does anyone blame a child for their wife’s infidelity?!”

Mikael clenches his jaw, an ever-present murderous look shining in his dark eyes.

“Shut up, bitch. You have no clue what you’re talking about.” He hisses, looking down at you with angry glare. You sneer at him.

“I may not have been there when it happened, Mikael, but I have been there for the aftermath of the trauma you’ve left behind and that is enough information for me.” You spit through gritted teeth. You didn’t care how close you were to this poor excuse of a parent. Anger is a powerful emotion. Mikael scowls and before you can even blink, he’s got you up against your living room wall with his hand wrapped around your throat.

“I suggest you choose your next words very carefully before I rip out your vocal cords.” Mikael snarls, his warm breath brushing against your face from how close he is. You’re almost touching noses. Your anger is quickly extinguished and replaced with uneasiness.

“Now, where are my children?” He asks. He's so close that all you can smell is him. His masculine scent makes your mind foggy. Against your better judgement, sinful thoughts start to swim around your head. These carnal flashes only last a few fleeting seconds before you regain your composure. You blink rapidly, snapping out of whatever trance he managed to put you in. Realizing what exactly you just imagined, your cheeks flush into a brilliant shade of red. What the fuck is wrong with you?! Are you really that touch-starved that you would let a millenia-old vampire, one with serious issues, have you like that? You need to go outside and touch some grass.

“Why are you blushing?” Mikael rumbles, his face twisting into an expression of confusion. Oh fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck! You internally panic as you try to think of a reasonable excuse.

“I-It’s hot in here.” You stamper, cringing internally because you don’t sound convincing at all. Really? That’s what you came up with? You’re so getting killed. Mikael narrows his eyes, obviously not believing you.

“Why does it matter?” You snap irritably in embarrassment. The lewd thoughts that had filled your head confused you and you really did not want to do something you might regret. You have terrible impulse control. Mikeal tilts his head curiously.

“If you won’t tell me the truth, I suppose I’ll just have to figure it out myself.” He says casually and your eyes widen exponentially.

“No! Please don’t do that. Please don’t!” You beg. The idea of him figuring out what a pervert you were made you desperate to convince him to drop it. Mikael, unsurprisingly, does not listen to your pleas and closes his eyes, pressing his free hand against your right temple.

Mortification crawls up your spine as you watch him tense up. He sharply inhales, removing his hand from your temple and looking at you incredulously. You look down, finding yourself unable to look him in the eye out of sheer embarrassment. He removes his hand from your throat and takes a few steps back. What the fuck do you even do in this scenario? What the fuck do you say?! You wish the ground would open up and swallow you whole. Or, better yet, for Mikael to put you out of your misery. The silence that follows leaves you deeply ashamed. Tears prick at your eyes from the utter humiliation.

You’re about to say something when you suddenly feel one of Mikael’s hands roughly cup the underside of your jaw, snapping your head up to make you look him in the eyes. His face holds a hard expression. One you’re unable to decipher. You take a deep breath, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill over.

“Such naughty thoughts for a human such as yourself.” He murmurs, using his grip on your jaw to tilt your head to the side. This exposes your neck to him and you swallow nervously. You’re on vervain so he can’t drink from you.

“And having those thoughts about me? There must be something wrong with your head, girl.” You glare at him.

“My name is [Y/N], not ‘girl’.” You grit. Mikael sneers, his face inching closer to yours.

“Your antagonizing responses do nothing to help your current predicament...and only serve to give me more ideas.” His eyes glint darkly as he says this and you widen your eyes. He couldn’t possibly mean what you think he means.

Mikael stares at you for a few more seconds before he moves, barely dragging his lips over the exposed column of your neck. A soft gasp emits from you. You weren’t expecting that. He’s being so...gentle? He traces his mouth up to your jawline, placing a heated kiss there. You sigh quietly at the strangely affectionate action. He follows his sweet gesture with a harsh bite, digging his sharp canines into your throat. You cry out in pain, flinching as you feel him suck in some of your blood. He quickly retracts however, spitting out the red fluid onto your tiled floors. Great. He hacks, likely feeling the burn from the vervain. You quickly press a hand onto the wound. Mikael angrily snaps his eyes into yours, and you feel fear creep up your spine. Annoyance overrides that though.

“It’s not like I knew you were going to do that. Thanks, by the way. Asshat.” You grumble, lifting your hand and looking at the blood that coated it.

“Jeez. You got me good.” You raise your eyebrows, placing your bloody hand back over his aggressive display of lust.

“Don’t expect that to be the only mark, [Y/N].” Mikael growls, making you shiver. The way his deep voice rumbles your name makes your pussy throb. Your body yearns to play into his intense way of things, but you couldn’t help but pretend you weren’t interested because your mind knows this is a terrible idea.

“This isn’t a good idea.” Your voice wavers as he smothers your neck in kisses. His hands squeeze into the meat of your hips. He’s pinning his body against yours, effectively keeping you trapped there. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy being sandwiched against him and the wall.

“What part of you confronting me was a good idea?” Mikael breathes against your neck. You didn’t want to admit that he’s right, so you instead release a breathy moan as he sucks a hickey into your neck. He nips the skin as he gropes your ass and picks you up, letting you wrap your legs around his hips. You gasp as he hoists you up, grasping the material of the shirt on his shoulders. You’re face to face with him now. He stares at you intently and you stare back, clearly nervous.

“So enticing…for a human.” He whispers hotly, intense eyes flicking down at your lips. You narrow your eyes at the backhanded compliment, completely aware of the fact that his face is looming closer to yours. His pupils are so dilated that you can barely see the icy blue that outlines them. His scent and closeness is making you dizzy.

“Despite my cruel nature, I do still ask if it is okay to continue further?” He asks quietly, as if he’s almost ashamed to seem respectful. Your eyes widen in surprise.

“Mikael Mikaelson? Asking for consent?” You snicker, eyes drooping a bit. A range of emotions cross his serious face, all the way from embarrassment to irritation. You lean in dangerously close, your lips ghosting over his.

“How unexpected.” You purr, moaning as he quickly slots his lips over yours. He kisses you roughly, almost like he’s chastising you for teasing him like that.

“Silly [Y/N],” Mikael growls against your lips. “Thinking she can get away with making me feel humiliated. Perhaps a lesson is needed.” You were about to ask what he meant by lesson but he unexpectedly lifts you away from the wall, making you grasp tightly onto his shoulders.

“Where are we going?” You quickly gasp out, watching as he walks down one of the hallways.

“Your bedroom. Where is it?” He grunts out.

“Last door on the left.” You murmur, tucking your face into his neck.

You press sloppy kisses there. He groans lowly as your soft lips suck the skin of his throat, quickening his pace to get to your bed. He knees open the slightly ajar door, throwing you on your mattress. He looks hungry as he unbuttons your jeans, messing with the hem lightly. His predatory gaze waits for your permission. You nod and he gets to work, stripping you of your pants. His greedy eyes look to see what kind of underwear you’re wearing, and he’s shocked to see a lacy black thong adorning your bottom half tonight. This wasn’t planned in the slightest, but you’re secretly thanking yourself for wearing them. Mikael pulls apart your beautiful thighs, quickly pressing his lips against the soaked fabric of your panties. You weren’t expecting him to do that so suddenly, jolting from the pleasure it gives you.

“Ah- Mikael!” You hiccup, your hand unconsciously wrapping itself in his short hair. He moves his mouth to your sensitive inner thighs, pressing kisses that progressively grow into hickeys. You feel his sharp teeth graze your skin as he grows more aggressive and before you can tell him to stop, he sinks his teeth into the flesh of your left thigh. You yelp in pain and he quickly retracts, not wanting to taste the vervain.

“Mm- fuck.” You whimper, feeling some blood trickle down your skin. Mikael grins darkly, clearly enjoying the quick mess he’s making of you. You gasp suddenly when he unexpectedly picks you up. He takes a seat on the edge of the bed and lays you across his lap on your stomach. You feel your face grow hot as one of his hands rubs over your ass, roughly groping the flesh.

“Now [Y/N],” Mikael starts. You moan when he briefly caresses you through your underwear.

“I want you to count for me.” His rich voice rumbles. You quiver at the dominance that’s laced in his tone.

“Okay.” Your voice trembles.

He smooths his palm over your backside, the action feeling almost possessive. You’re given no warning when he lifts his hand and swiftly smacks your right asscheek. You screech at the sting, your face turning a deeper shade of red.

“O-one.” You mumble.

“What? I can’t hear you.” Mikael growls, his other hand grabbing your hair and yanking your head back.

“I said one!” You shout. Mikael runs his hand over the reddening mark, soothing it.

“If you fail to count again, you will not like the consequence.” He growls. You swallow nervously.

“Okay.” You whimper. He lets go of your hair, smoothing his hand over your back. Your shirt is still on. You have no doubt that it’ll come off soon. The next strike comes suddenly, the pain making you jolt. You surprise yourself when you moan.

“Two.” You sigh, clenching your hands into fists. His hand rubs over the sore spot, his fingers catching on the fabric of your underwear. You hear Mikael inhale deeply, a groan leaving his lips.

“Your scent…” He says, his voice noticeably dropping an octave. You gulp. You have a bad feeling about what he just discovered. The following onslaught of smacks makes you scream, each one harder than the last.

“Three! Four! F-five!” You cry out, squirming in his lap from his merciless spanking. Mikael massages your inflamed ass as you whine from the soreness.

“Good girl. You’re doing so well.” He rasps. You tremble as he praises you. The sound of yet another slap bounces around your bedroom. You let out another moan.

“Six.” You say weakly. Your pussy is throbbing with need. You’ve never been this turned on before. As if he read your mind, Mikael stops massaging your red ass and grabs the edge of your lace thong.

“This is your last chance to stop.” Mikael says huskily, brushing the back of his fingers against the skin beneath your panties. You know all too well that this is a really, really bad idea. It’s the worst way to betray Klaus and Elijah. However, you’re technically doing your job. You’re keeping him distracted for them. That doesn’t justify it, but it’s true. You’re way too turned on for this to just end here. With mixed emotions muddling your head, you nod to give Mikael permission. You feel him slowly peel your panties off, shifting you a bit so he can take them off completely. After throwing them into a random corner of the room, you feel him palm your now bare backside. You wince slightly because you’re still sore from his entourage of spanking. As his hand slots closer to your pussy, you noticeably tense up. He chuckles.

“Singing a different tune now are we?” He asks rhetorically. He did not just say that. You look at him the best you can over your shoulder, a glare present in your eyes.

“Shut the f- ahhh!” An embarrassingly loud moan flies out your mouth as he expertly strokes your clit, effectively cutting off whatever angry remark you were making. A smug expression overtakes his face when you open your eyes.

“You were saying?” He chuckles. You scowl at him. Asshole. You keen as he slowly begins to rub his fingers in a circle. Another low chuckle resounds from him. Fucking jackass. You clench your hands into fists, biting your lip to prevent any more noises from slipping out. If Mikael wants to be a dickhead, so be it. You’re not in the mood to play his game. You grit your teeth as he presses harder, continuing to rub in a circular motion. Though your voice definitely gave away how good he makes you feel, your body wasn’t anymore subtle. It’s difficult to control your laboured breathing with the way his rough fingers caress your slick heat, not to mention the small buck of your hips when he teases the entrance. The vampire didn’t press his fingers into you, however. In fact, he pulls his fingers away. Your wired body slumps in defeat.

“I know you’re holding back your voice, girl.” Mikael murmurs lowly, rubbing his wet fingers over your lower back. You feel your red cheeks flare hotter. Without warning, your head is yanked back yet again towards his face. A yelp of surprise leaves your throat, quickly quieted when you feel his hot breath on your ear.

“I need to hear you. I need you to tell me how good it feels. Can you do that?” Mikael whispers huskily. You gasp as he speaks these words to you, your body immediately warming up at the confession. You nod the best you can in his grasp and he lets you go, smoothing his hand up the backs of your thighs. This makes you jump, goosebumps trailing behind his fingertips.

“So sensitive.” He remarks softly, mostly to himself. You tense yet again when his fingers make contact with your pussy, slowly spreading your slick lower lips with his index and middle finger. You gasp when you feel the cool air of the room brush against your wet, sensitive skin. A deep groan echoes from him.

“Need to taste you.” He rasps. Your eyes widen as you hear this statement. “Go ahead and lay on your bed, [Y/N]. And discard your remaining clothing.”

You’re still shocked by the fact that Mikael is using your actual name, but you quickly do as you’re told. Your ass is still burning, not to mention the ache of the bites he inflicted too. You nervously take off your shirt and bra and crawl onto your bed, the distant feeling of self-consciousness looming in the back of your mind. You watch him stand up, heated gaze slowly drinking in the rest of your exposed skin. You blush when his eyes connect with yours, his lust for you not hidden. Silently, he takes off his jacket. His long sleeved shirt quickly follows. You’re mesmerized by his fit figure, watching his muscles flex as he pulls the black garment over his head.

Mikael’s eyes snap right back into yours as he tosses his shirt onto the floor. Your pussy pulses as he studies you, looking as if he wants to devour you. Starting to feel unnerved by the unashamed ogling, you wrap your arms around your breasts. Mikael is over you in the blink of an eye, his eyes black and his canines sharp. You gasp as he grabs your arms, growling as he pries them away from your chest. He pins them beside your head, his face leaning close to yours.

“Don’t do that.” He says firmly, his face slowly returning to his normal irritated one. You let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding. You definitely weren’t prepared for that party trick.

“O-okay.” You stutter, nervous [e/c] eyes looking in his cerulean ones.

“Good girl.” He whispers, flicking his gaze to your exposed breasts. Your nipples are already hard and it wasn’t because of the cool air. A shit-eating smile upturns his lips. You shake your head.

“Whatever smart ass comment you’re thinking of saying, don’t.” You grumble. A soft gasp expels from you as his right hand gropes your left tit, his fingers kneading the soft flesh. He seems to drink in your reaction, watching you like a hawk.

“Mhm.” Is the Original’s only response as he focuses on his task.

He adds a few more hickeys on your neck, enjoying the way your skin turns purple. You squirm beneath him as he does this, a few small sighs of pleasure leaving your mouth. He drags his tongue down in between your breasts, pressing a kiss on your sternum. Mikael’s remaining hand lets go of your other arm, moving to cup your bust. You gasp when his warm mouth engulfs your nipple, gently sucking it. His teeth graze against the sensitive skin and you instinctively run your hands through his short, dusty blonde hair. He grunts when your nails scrape his scalp, roughly squeezing both of your tits.

You jolt, legs hitting either side of Mikael’s waist. He chuckles deeply, releasing your nipple with a wet pop.

“Trying to close your legs on me, girl?” He murmurs, pressing his lips against your now red bud. You glare at him, facing flaming with embarrassment and lust.

“Fuck off.” You bristle, not in the mood for his smart ass comments.

Mikael smirks. “No.”

You roll your eyes at his irritating reply. Why does your pussy grow wet for this idiot?

“Ah!” You yelp as he sinks his teeth into your right tit. Your fingers clench his hair, pulling it tightly. His responding moan is muffled against your poor breast. He unlatches himself, a dark look of want overtaking his features. You stare back nervously, letting go of his blonde locks. You can faintly feel the blood from the wound trickling down your stomach. You watch as he licks his lips, slowly pecking a trail to where you want him most. His dilated eyes flick to yours as he drags his lips over your navel. He repositions himself onto his stomach and looks at your dripping pussy in all its glory. A visible shudder shoots through him.

Without any further hesitation, Mikael slowly dwelves his tongue in between your slick folds, tasting all that is you. You puff out a breath as he groans, moving his thumb up to your clit. A moan leaves your lips as he rubs his digit over your engorged nub, going back to licking at your pussy. “You taste like sin…no wonder my sons keep you around.” He growls against your cunt.

“M-Mikael!” You reproach, a look of mortification on your face. A loud moan leaves your mouth as one of his fingers slides into you. A look of fascination manifests on his face as he pushes it down to the third knuckle. An obscene cry escapes your throat when he curls the digit.

“You’re so tight too—” You interrupt him when you grab his hair and forcibly shove his face away from your sopping center.

“Shut the fuck up.” You grit lowly. Mikael looks at you with a bewildered expression. You inhale sharply when he moves suddenly, grasping your hips and lifting your lower half as he sits up. You lose your grip on his hair as he does this.

“Getting bold now, are we?” He chides, his sinister look making you gulp. His hands wrap around each of your thighs, opening them to expose your wet heat. You flush up, almost choking when he dives in. He growls as he sucks on your slick skin, his blue eyes reverting to his vampiristic black ones due to the intensity of his want for you. You wail when he presses his tongue against your clit, lapping it before wrapping his lips around and sucking harshly. Your hands grip the sheets beneath you and your back arches. Another animalistic noise vibrates through you, making you cry out yet again.

Mikael’s fingers dig into your thighs, his dark eyes piercing through yours. You pant as he licks and sucks at you, overwhelmed by the pleasure he’s giving you. It’s almost too much and you find your body heating up faster than your mind can process.

“M-Mikael! Slow do- AH!” You scream when he presses himself harder against your pussy, snarling in disagreement. The vibrations make you shake.

“Pl-Please! Too fast!” You beg, tears pricking your eyes as you continue to race closer.

Mikael doesn’t separate from your twitching heat. If anything, it only encourages him to keep going. You thrash your hips, trying to escape his grasp. He growls possessively, tightening his grip and sucking harder.

With a few more high-pitched cries, you scream as you fall over the edge. Your whole body tenses as you come into the Original’s eager mouth. Mikael moans as you do, drinking all that you have to offer. You whine as he continues to lap at your oversensitive pussy, weakly shaking your head. He eventually detaches his mouth from you, panting heavily. It’s an interesting sight to see your essence running down his chin instead of blood. You flinch when he places one last kiss to your clit before placing your lower half back onto the bed.

He seems to shift uncomfortably as he does. You watch him slide off your bed, standing up tall. His hands move down to his pants, unbuttoning them and pulling them to the floor. A prominent bulge strains against his briefs and your eyes practically bug out of your head from the outline alone. He smirks.

“Are you enjoying the sight?” Mikael asks, a look of pride gleaming in his eyes.

Your cheeks only get redder when he slips off his underwear, releasing his hard cock. He seems to sigh in relief. You swallow hard at the sight of the intimidating length, flicking your nervous eyes back to his amused ones. A wicked smile graces his face as he walks over and climbs back onto your bed. Your legs reflexibly open to make room for him. The Original settles between your thighs, brushing a hand down your left thigh and pressing lightly against the bite mark he left there earlier. He admires his handiwork, eyes roaming over the various hickeys and bites he inflicted. You watch him, anxiously fidgeting. Your body jumps when you feel him slide his dick over your sensitive clit, a noise of surprise emitting from you.

“Still so wet for me…” He rasps, slowly thrusting against your clit. It’s torturous and you find yourself whining as you twitch hopelessly underneath him.

“Tell me what you want, [Y/N].” Mikael murmurs gently, covering his cock in your wetness.

“Y-You.” You sputter, opening your legs wider. He bites his lip, finding that particular action hot.

“Where do you want me?” He asks huskily, reaching over to cup your right breast. You whimper at the added sensation of him kneading it.

“Inside. I want you inside.” You moan, grinding your hips and shuddering when a jolt of pleasure shoots through you.

Mikael groans when you do this. “Very well…”

You watch his mouth drop open in pleasure as he begins to enter you. You gasp as you feel his girth stretch you, your smaller hand grabbing his hand that is on your tit. A loud, breathy moan expels from Mikael as he slowly continues to press into you.

“Oh… wow…” You whine, arching your back. He pauses about halfway in to give you a break. Your walls clench around him as you try to adjust. His eyes roll back at the feeling.

“So fucking tight.” Mikael hisses, his other hand smoothing over your stomach to cup your left hip. He squeezes your breast, noticing that your hand on top follows the movement.

"How are you faring, [Y/N]?" He asks, seeming to take your well-being seriously. You pant, trying your best to adjust to the Original.

"In a bit of p-pain but u-AH-" You yelp as he pushes forward a little more as you speak. Mikael lets out a noise akin to a snicker, a moan soon following behind it. You try to glare at him while grimacing. You should’ve known it was a trick.

“F-fucking asshole.” You hiss as he pushes himself the rest of the way inside of you. Mikael squeezes your hip as a shiver shakes his body.

“Fuck.” He growls, slowly beginning to pull out. Your back arches as his cock drags against your inner walls. He begins a slow pace, gently thrusting in and out. A mix of both of your moans fill the bedroom. His hand leaves your breast to cup your right hip. You grasp at your bed sheets, struggling to maintain eye contact with the vampire. You whimper when his eyes turn black again, his sharp canines glimmering in the soft light of your room as he curls his lips back.

“Naughty, naughty human.” Mikael snarls, watching your expression twist in pleasure.

“Look at where you’ve gotten yourself. Moaning beneath me like a whore.” He groans, lowering himself on his elbows to get closer to you. You scowl at his words.

“Don’t- hah- call me that.” You spit, gasping when his hand wraps tightly around your throat. You shriek as he roughly thrusts into you, the harsh movement eliciting an audible smacking sound.

“I’ll call you whatever I please, whore. You’re mine.” Mikael rumbles, nibbling your right earlobe. You cry out as he does this, walls clenching from the pleasure it brings. He shudders, squeezing your throat harder. Your head pleasantly tingles from the minimal airflow. The sound of his deep moan reverberating in your ear makes you quiver. You vaguely hear him hiss over the sound of your blood pumping through your ears. His hand moves from your throat to your jaw, his fingers digging into your jawline.

“My dirty, dirty girl. You’re taking me so well.” Mikael groans, his lips crashing into yours. You squeal into his mouth as he begins to move faster, his cock rubbing all the right places. Your body jolts when his thumb slides against your clit, your moans jumping in volume when he begins to massage it. You can feel another orgasm beginning to brew in your lower belly. Your hands fly up to claw at his back. He separates his mouth from yours to watch your pleasured expression. You scratch his shoulders as he brings you closer, your wails getting progressively higher in pitch.

“AH! M-Mikael! Fuck!” You whine. “S-So good!”

He groans as he speeds up, hitting against you even harder.

“Come for me. Come all over my cock, pretty girl.” Mikael murmurs against your lips, his hot breath deliciously brushing against yours.

Mikael’s thumb brushes faster over your clit as he now slams into you.

“I’m-I’m gonna come! I’m coming!!” You scream Mikael’s name as your orgasm rips through you, your vision turning white from the force of it. He grunts as your walls tightly clench around his cock, practically milking him.

“Fuuuck!” Mikael growls as the pressure from your pussy makes him come, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. Your thighs shake as you slowly come down from your high, pitiful moans leaving your throat as he slowly pumps himself in and out to prolong your pleasure. You hiss from the sensitivity as he pulls himself completely out, pushing himself up to his knees to look at your abused hole. His cum begins to seep out and he bites his lip at the sight. You flinch when he collects it on his fingers, slowly pushing it back inside you.

“Good girl.” Mikael murmurs as he continues to push his seed into you, loving the way you clench around his fingers from the sensitivity.

“S-Stop Mikael. Please.” You whine. He surprisingly listens to you, quickly pressing a smooch against your raw clit and chuckling when you jolt from it. You cringe when you feel his cum ooze out of you, surely ruining your sheets. The bed dips as he lays next to you, his warm breath fanning the side of your neck. You sigh in pleasure as he softly kisses it.

“Are you always this touchy with your flings?” You ask, biting your lip as his hand caresses your stomach.

“Who said you were a fling?” Mikael rumbles against your throat. You feel your face heat up.

“What does that mean?” You ask nervously, turning your head to look at him. He captures your lips passionately, hungrily kissing you before he pulls away.

“Exactly what you think.” He smiles and it looks genuine.

Shit.

After about an hour of resting, you find the strength to lift your sore body off of the bed. You groan as you stretch, swinging your legs off the edge of your mattress and getting up. You’re a little wobbly, but can walk without help.

“Where are you going?” Mikael grunts, running his tired gaze over your naked figure.

“I’m taking a shower.” You respond, grabbing some comfortable clothes and carefully walking to your bathroom.

As you enter the private room, you close and lock the door behind you. Having shared your personal space for a few hours, you need a break. You turn on the shower, turning the dial to a pleasantly warm stream. As the shower heats up, you look at yourself in the mirror. Dried blood coats your neck, chest, and thighs thanks to the bites Mikael aggressively inflicted. You poke at the various hickeys left on your body. They’re almost black in color. Oof. You turn around to look at your butt. Your ass is a light purple, a few handprints still visible. You’re kind of impressed, but you won’t be able to sit normally for a bit. You check the water, finding it perfectly heated. You sigh as you step underneath it, swinging the shower curtain closed behind you. You collect some body wash to scrub the blood off you, wincing when you run the suds directly over the wounds. The water runs pink momentarily as the blood runs off of you.

As you reach for your shampoo, two big hands grab your hips and pull you backwards. You scream as whoever it is wraps an arm around your torso. They chuckle and you immediately stop struggling. You never thought you could ever get irritated this fast before. You flip around and smack Mikael in the face.

“You scared the fuck out of me, asshole!” You snap. Mikael rubs his jaw while he laughs at you.

“I couldn’t resist.” He murmurs, blue eyes flicking over your body.

You glare at him.

“No. I’m trying to shower. The door was locked for a reason.” You huff, turning back around to grab your shampoo. As you lather the soap into your hair, you can feel Mikael run his hands up your sides.

“Mikael.” You warn, closing your eyes as you go underneath the warm water to rinse your hair. You yelp when you feel his hand grope your injured tit.

“Stop! You’ll reopen the wound.” You hiss, smacking his hand away. You hear him chuckle before he bites your shoulder playfully. You flinch when you feel his blunt teeth nibble the skin.

“Can I please finish my shower?” You whine as he pulls you flush against him. You can feel his hard cock press against the crook of your ass.

“No.” Mikael replies, his right hand creeping towards your pussy. Goosebumps prickle over your skin at the intimate sensation. You moan when his fingers slide over your clit.

“P-Please. I just need to use condi- Fuck!” You wail as his middle and index finger thrust inside of you. You can hear Mikael inhale behind you.

“Dirty, little [Y/N]…thinking she can do what she pleases.” He grumbles, torturously dragging his fingers in and out of you. You whimper at his degrading words.

“Mik- ah!” You squeal when he growls just beside your ear, his left hand possessively grabbing your hip and pulling you impossibly closer. He strokes your clit, his warm breath grazing your right ear. Moans and whines of pleasure fill the shower and you find yourself instinctively grinding against his fingers.

“Yes…ride my fingers you slut.” Mikael rasps, nibbling your ear as you work yourself to yet another orgasm. With another breathless wail, you climax all over his fingers. He holds your twitching body, whispering vulgar things into your ear as the high washes over you. Your legs are extremely shaky again and you slowly sit down in your bath, letting the warm stream run over you. Mikael sits behind you, carding his fingers in your scalp. He helps to massage the conditioner in your hair, his touch delicate and relaxing. When the product rinses out of your hair, Mikael turns the water off, helping you out of the shower. He sets you on your toilet and helps you dry off. As he massages the towel over your head, you can’t help but ask him.

“Why are you doing this?” You blurt. Mikael pauses for a second before resuming his task.

“Because I like you.” He replies, beginning to dry himself off.

“But…why?” You look at him, so confused yet so captivated.

“I’ve never had someone so brazenly in my face like you always are. You’re not afraid to stand up to me, which is…very attractive if not a little maddening.” You feel your cheeks flush up. Mikael smiles and places your towel on its respective hook.

“And you’re cute when you’re flustered.” He chuckles. You purse your lips, finding it difficult to maintain eye contact.

“Do you need help walking?” You test your legs and find them stable enough to walk on.

“No. Thank you though.” You mumble, cautiously making your way back into your bedroom. It’s wild. You were supposed to be bait, but you ended up being caught anyway. How the hell are you going to face Nik and Elijah after this?

“You’re very deep in thought.” You gasp when you feel his hands slide over your hips.

“What are you thinking about?” Mikael asks softly in your ear, making you swallow thickly.

“Niklaus and Elijah. I don’t think I can ever face them again.” It’s painful to admit openly. You can feel the Original father tense at the mention of his children.

“So don’t.” He whispers, wrapping his arms around you and kissing your neck. You sigh in pleasure.

“It’s not that simple Mikael and you know it.” You murmur, sliding your hands over his tan arms and interlocking your fingers with his.

“Let’s just go back to bed, darling. Best not to fret on it. You’ll just make yourself feel worse.” You nod, moving towards your bed with the vampire following close behind. His hands are still possessively wrapped around you. He only lets go of you so you can climb onto the bed. You feel him dip down beside you, his hands not too far behind. His fingers grip the concave of your waist, softly massaging the area. He pulls you up against his naked form, his lips pressing into the back of your neck. You feel yourself relaxing against him. Strange how quickly you grew accustomed to the thousand year old vampire’s presence.

#mikael mikaelson smut #mikael mikaelson x reader smut #the originals smut #the originals x reader

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joaquinwhorres · 1 year

Text

Tailspin - Part 3 (Fanboy Garcia x F!OC)

SUMMARY ››››› Having grown up just across the bridge from North Island, Carolina Alvarez has been told her whole life to stay away from the Top Gun boys. And for the most part, she has. That is, until Fanboy catches her putting quarters in the jukebox at The Hard Deck and initiates a game of cat and mouse that ends with her exactly where she swore she’d never be.

PAIRING ››››› Mickey "Fanboy" Garcia x F!OC

WORD COUNT ››››› 5,474

WARNINGS ››››› None

MASTERLIST ››››› Here

A/N ››››› Wow this took forever to figure out. But here it is! Also, yes, this takes place two years before Penny buys the Hard Deck, but in my head, she works there before she buys it from the previous owner.

It was entirely possible that the whole Top Gun class would be banned from The Hard Deck by the end of the week.

Or murdered, judging by the look on Penny's face.

The bartender stormed out from her station, crossing the room in long, purposeful strides. She looked every bit like an Admiral, ready to ream out a young officer for a victory lap.

A hand came down on Fanboy's shoulder, drawing his attention away from Penny's warpath and onto his friend. "Good luck," Payback said, offering a smile that somehow managed to be equal parts amusement and sympathy. His eyes flicked from Fanboy's face back to Penny who had come to a stop next to the jukebox. She stooped down and yanked the cord from the wall, cutting off Van Morrison mid-lyric.

"The next idiot to play that song is getting thrown overboard," Penny announced, threatening the bar with a wag of the cord. Applause broke out amongst the other patrons, a few even cheering as she bent over once more to plug the jukebox back in.

Payback let out an amused exhale as he raised his eyebrows at the WSO. "You're gonna need it."

He wasn't kidding. Fanboy was definitely going to get banned if she didn't show up by tomorrow.

The pilot patted the backseater's shoulder once more before heading off towards the doors to rejoin the rest of the aviators headed back to base, leaving Fanboy alone at the Hard Deck for yet another night.

As much as he wished Columbus or Payback had stuck around a bit longer, he wasn't exactly sorry to see the rest of the class go. Three straight nights of Ripley and Beaker ripping into him for "pining over that jukebox girl" was enough to have him at the end of his patience. He was just as relieved as everyone else to hear Blondie singing once the jukebox whirred back to life.

"So you're aware, that rule goes for tomorrow night too."

Fanboy whipped around to face Penny, finding her standing at his back with a finger pointed threateningly at him. "And if I do have to hear Brown-Eyed Girl again, you're buying everyone a round."

"Fair enough," Fanboy conceded, offering a good-natured smile.

"Good," Penny said, lowering her finger and jerking her head towards the bar. Fanboy slipped from his seat at the high top, gathering up his friend's abandoned beer bottles before trailing after Penny.

"You know," he started, placing the bottles in front of what had become his usual spot. "I'll even help throw them overboard."

"You'd better," Penny huffed, tossing the bottles a couple at a time into the recycling where they crashed against the others already there. "It's your fault I'm losing my mind."

"If I could control Beaker, I'd be a captain by now," Fanboy reasoned. The bartender shook her head, throwing the last of the bottles crashing into the bin before heading over to the fridge.

"You know damn well they only play that song because you keep responding to it," she rebutted, pulling out a new beer for him.

He acknowledged this truth with a sheepish smile. He couldn't help his reactions. Every time the beginning guitar riff started, his heart stuttered with the possibility that it could be her. None of the other aviators, or even Penny, had experienced her smiling right at them as an oldies song played in the background like a moment straight out of a movie. If they had, maybe they wouldn't be on him as much as they were.

"It's only Tuesday," Fanboy shrugged as Penny set the beer down in front of him. "I'll start to give up hope on Friday."

"God willing she shows up before then," Penny muttered as she removed the bottle cap, vapor curling up and out of the neck as the piece of metal clinked down onto the bar.

"She will." The words were out before Penny could even pick up the cap. She paused, looking up at him with a raised eyebrow.

"She will?" Penny repeated, not even bothering to keep her disbelief contained to her face. Fanboy opted to omit the fact that if she didn't come by Thursday, she probably wasn't coming at all.

He'd worked it out in the spare moments between the drills and lectures and debriefings that filled most of his time in Fightertown. He'd reviewed all of the details from their too short encounter on Friday: from the look of wonder on her face while scrolling through the song catalog, to the subtle upturn of her lips when she spoke about her friends, to the glint her eye as she set up their agreement before slipping into her Lyft. He'd turned over her statement that she didn't talk to naval aviators and her friends' confirmation of her stance. He'd considered every possible scenario of how this week could turn out, all with the same precision he brought to analyzing a mission.

"She'll show up," he affirmed. "And some of the pilots are going to lose a lot of money when she does."

The skepticism faded from Penny's face, replaced with a resigned disappointment. "Really? It's a bet?"

Fanboy shrugged. "They bet on everything. I just hope I get to watch Payback collects his winnings."

This seemed to mollify Penny as she simply shook her head with a slight smile before catching sight of a customer attempting to flag her down. "I hope you're right," she said to Fanboy, patting the bartop in front of him before heading over to the other side of the bar.

Fanboy grinned to himself, taking a sip of his beer as his eyes drifted to the closed front doors.

They remained closed, for the most part.

Over the next few hours, the only time the front doors opened was to usher patrons back into the outside world, the already light Tuesday night crowd growing thinner and thinner as last call ticked closer. It was looking increasingly likely that Fanboy would be helping Penny close down the Hard Deck again tonight. A prospect which Penny did not seem ready to resign herself to.

"Do you have a picture?" she asked, stopping in front of Fanboy with her hands on her hips.

"A picture?" he repeated back, brow furrowing in confusion.

"Of the girl," Penny clarified. "I can give you a call if she comes in."

Fanboy raised his eyebrows at the bartender, a grin forming on his face. "Trying to get rid of me?"

Penny offered a half-smile as she leaned down on her elbows. "You're too young to be spending your nights sitting here, waiting on some girl you hardly know, who may not even show up," she said, a little too kindly. "Go downtown. Find someone who actually wants to give you her number. I'm sure there are plenty of girls out there looking for someone just like you."

There were.

Over the past few days, he'd waved off more than a few girls and their offers of drinks or feigned interest in his work as a WSO. His dismissals had sparked criticism and jabs from the other pilots and almost indignation from Ripley.

"Top Gun is made for flings," his front-seater scolded. "It's thirteen weeks to get your dick wet before heading back to the carrier and your right hand. Stop wasting it."

The others had agreed with Ripley, Beaker chiming in his support by adding, "Dude, you have got to start seeing what's in front of you."

But if Fanboy only focused on what was and not what could be, his frontseater would probably be dead instead of here at Top Gun, leading the charge in making Fanboy's life hell.

He didn't say that though. Instead, Payback had pointed out how odd it was that Ripley was so focused on Fanboy getting laid instead of finding someone himself.

Fanboy had a feeling that saying the same thing to Penny would get him banned sooner rather than later. Instead, he offered her a shrug. "There are, but I want to see about this one first."

Her half-smile bloomed into a full one even as she shook her head at him. "You're a good one, Fanboy."

"Th-" The word died on his lips as the all-too familiar guitar line picked up, raising a chorus of accompanying groans.

"Jesus Christ," Penny swore, pushing herself away from the bar and towards the bell, giving the rope five sharp tugs. The grumbling amongst the patrons shifted, changing into cheers.

Fanboy spun in his seat to see who had come back to harass him, and his heart jumped in his chest.

Caro.

He couldn't believe he'd missed her entrance. She stood out like a beacon with her bright red top and jeans compared to the working uniforms of the men who slowly made their way to where she stood.

Fanboy turned to Penny, finding the bartender stood with her arms crossed and an amused look on her face. "That's her, isn't it?" she asked.

He nodded.

Penny smirked. "If I were you, I'd hurry over then."

"She didn't know..." he started to appeal, but she stopped him with a shake of her head, her smirk widening.

"Rules are rules. And I believe you promised you'd help throw the next person overboard."

Fanboy hung his head, but he couldn't stop his own smile from his face. She was here. She came. Before Friday. "Close me out?" He asked, looking back up at Penny.

She nodded, turning to the POS system as Fanboy left his seat and his beer, making his way over to Caro. She seemed to have taken notice of the officers hovering around her, her face growing increasingly apprehensive.

"I got this one," Fanboy said as he arrived at the jukebox.

The attention turned from Caro to him, but he couldn't find it in him to care. Instead, his eyes were locked with Caro's, and he watched as her shoulders lowered half an inch at the sight of him.

"Mickey," she breathed.

"You came," he said.

"I came," she nodded.

The other patrons around seemed to catch on to the shift in atmosphere, nodding at him before moving back to their seats. Caro watched them leave, confusion tugging her lips into a frown.

"What was that about?"

He gestured towards the jukebox. "There may or may not be a ban on that song."

Her eyes narrowed immediately as she turned to face him. "Since Friday?"

He nodded. "I'll explain outside."

"Outside?" Caro repeated, disbelieving. "Why?"

His grin turned sheepish. In all of the scenarios he considered, kicking Caro out of the Hard Deck hadn't even crossed his mind. And he'd entertained one course of action that involved driving down to a Vegas chapel. "You're being thrown overboard."

"I'm what?" Caro blanched.

This was not going to go over well.

"Going overboard," he said. "Penny's kicking you out."

"Because I played a banned song?" Caro asked, looking around the room. From behind the bar, Penny offered a wave goodbye and a sympathetic smile.

Caro paused and despite her impassive face, he could see the thoughts racing through her head. He'd be lucky if she didn't just get in her car and leave.

"I promise, I'll explain," he pressed. "And it's going to give you some excellent material to make fun of me with."

"It better," Caro said, shaking her head as she started walking to the door.

"Rules are rules," Penny called out, and Fanboy stopped Caro with a light hand on her arm.

"What, has the Navy banned walking too?" Caro asked, sounding completely exasperated.

He grimaced. "Part of going overboard is that you have to be thrown overboard."

"You're kidding," she said flatly.

He shook his head.

Caro stared at him blankly, time stretching on as she waited for him to break under her stare. When he didn't, she sighed, stepping towards him.

"Don't drop me," she ordered, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. He scooped her up easily, reveling in the small gasp that escaped her.

"Wouldn't dream of it," he assured her, looking down into Caro's face.

She broke eye contact first, readjusting her hands clasped around his neck, and a small thrill shot through Fanboy at the reaction. He started out of the Hard Deck, passing by a smiling Penny on his way towards the front door.

It was difficult to keep his mind focused on figuring out how he could explain this to her in a way that didn't send her racing for her car. Instead, his mind kept slipping to how soft she was and how perfectly she fit in his arms. He had to focus on keeping his hands in the right places and not how she smelled like vanilla or how if he looked down at the right angle he could probably see–

Boot camp.

Punching out of a plane.

Watching Spock—

"Mickey!" Caro exclaimed, holding out a hand to push open the door he had almost run them into. He muttered an apology as she kept it open with the tips of her fingers so it didn't swing back in his face.

He stopped just outside of the door, leaning down to deposit her on her feet.

Caro found her footing again with a hand on his shoulder for support. "So," she started, turning to face him and folding her arms across her chest. "What did you do to get that song banned in four days?"

"You might be impressed to know that it only took three days of excessive playing for the song to get banned," Fanboy answered. "I wasn't here on Saturday."

"Oh," Caro said, sarcasm dripping from her voice. "I'm very impressed."

"Thought you might be," Fanboy grinned, shoving his hands into his pockets.

Caro shook her head, something like a smile ghosting across her lips. "Did you think if you played it enough I'd just appear like Beetlejuice?"

"Didn't you?" he asked. Caro opened and shut her mouth again before he decided to save her. "No, uh, my friends played it a lot to mess with me for waiting here all night. Every night."

Caro looked surprised. "Every night?" She repeated.

He nodded, offering another shrug. "Didn't want to miss you."

"That's…" she trailed off, and his stomach tightened, hoping for her to end the sentence with "romantic" or "clever" or even "cheating." Instead, she decided on "Pretty desperate." But her eyes crinkled at the edges, and rather than it coming out as an accusation, there was a fondness to her voice.

Fanboy tipped his head in her direction as an acceptance of the charge. "According to my friends, it's incredibly desperate."

This was what earned him a laugh from Caro, the sound bubbling out of her and causing a warm feeling to blossom in his chest.

"It worked, though," he asserted. "I mean, if it wasn't the Beetlejuice thing."

Caro shook her head at him, the smile still remaining on her face. "Well, it's good to know you're not the type of guy to be hanging out at a bar on a Tuesday night an hour from close."

Fanboy whistled at her, shaking his head. "That's pretty judgmental coming from the girl who just got thrown out of a bar on a Tuesday night an hour from close."

Caro's mouth hung open for a second before she pushed at his chest. "That was entirely your fault."

Fanboy laughed, holding a hand over the part of his chest that she'd shoved. "If you'd just come on Sunday we'd both be inside, and you'd be having your drink."

She rolled her eyes and shook her head at him. "Well, since I can't get my drink, I think I might as well go home."

"Or," he started, taking a step towards her, a part of him relaxing when she didn't step backwards to reassert the space. "We could go somewhere else to get a drink."

She shook her head. "I'm pretty sure this is a sign I should stay out of bars tonight. When I get in my car, I'm going home."

"Then don't get in your car."

It came out faster than he intended, slipping from his lips easily and without much thought. All he knew was that he couldn't let her slip through his fingers.

Caro raised her eyebrow and opened her mouth, probably to remind him that she wasn't about to get into the car with a strange man desperate enough that he spent the last three nights waiting alone at a bar on the off chance she'd show up and give him her number. Before she could tell him any of this, he spoke again. "Take a walk on the beach with me."

She raised her eyebrows. "That wasn't the deal."

"No," he agreed. "But it's nice out, and you're already here."

Her eyes moved from his face to the beach. "You're not going to get me kicked off the beach are you?"

He grinned and shook his head. "No."

She nodded twice, thoughtfully. "Alright," she agreed. "A short walk."

"Do I get to decide what counts as short?"

"No," she snorted.

"Will you at least hold my hand?" Fanboy asked, extending an open palm to her, ready for her to entwine her fingers with his.

"We're not holding hands," she said, a smile quirking her lips. She gave his hand a small high-five as she brushed past him, starting towards the path to the beach.

Fanboy stared after her, frozen in place for a moment as he watched her go, a blend of cool moonlight and warm patio lights illuminating her figure against the darkness. She seemed to sense his eyes on her, or maybe just that he wasn't following, because she paused and looked over her shoulder.

"Change your mind?" She asked, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

The question spurred him into action, and he started after her, pulling at his boots' laces as he went and then hopping as he tugged off his shoes and socks, desperate to be by her side as quickly as possible. She waited for him, watching the spectacle but saying nothing, even when he rejoined her.

The pair walked down to the water's edge in companionable silence, the night air cool on their skin. The beach was largely empty, only a few couples dotting the sand here and there. Fanboy was careful not to pay too close attention to what they were doing, instead keeping his eyes on the girl beside him. The girl he wasn't sure would come despite what he said to the rest of the Top Gun candidates and Penny.

"I'm glad you came," Mickey said, his voice coming out softer than he was entirely proud of. She didn't seem to mind, offering him a gentle smile and shrug, her dark hair falling off her shoulders and down her back.

"We shook on it."

He could have kissed her then.

He could picture it so clearly in his head, reaching out to tug on her hand so she turned back into him, only so he could tilt her head back and press his lips to hers. They would move together in the same gentle rhythm of the waves washing over the shore, and it would be perfect.

He could have kissed her, and he would have, if he wasn't dead certain that if he did he'd probably lose her. And she'd probably slap the shit out of him before she went.

She seemed to notice the awe on his face and misinterpret it as something else. "I'm a bit offended you think I'm the kind of person who doesn't follow through with her agreements."

"No," Fanboy said, shaking his head quickly, breaking eye contact with her to look back ahead. "I just thought you were the kind of person who doesn't talk to naval aviators."

She hesitated for the briefest of seconds before dismissing the remark with a shrug. "I'm not. I just really didn't think you'd be waiting here every night. What did you even do?"

He shrugged. "My friends were here part of the time. The rest I mostly spent talking to Penny."

"The bartender," Caro remembered, and he nodded. "About what?"

"Yours and mine's deal, what it's like for her working at the bar, Star Trek," he said, shrugging.

"Star Trek?" Caro repeated with a laugh.

He nodded. "I've been a fan since I was little. It's why I wanted to fly," he explained. "And join the Navy."

"I didn't think Star Trek was about the Navy," Caro said, eyes focused down the beach.

"It's not," he shook his head. "The characters are part of Starfleet which is kind of like the UN's peacekeeping forces meets space Navy but for exploration and diplomacy."

"Two things that militaries have historically handled extremely well," Caro snarked.

"That's the thing," Fanboy pressed. "The show shows what could be. It teaches us why we need to value diversity and—stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?" Caro asked, before pressing her lips tightly back together.

"Like you're trying not to laugh at me," he said, bumping her shoulder with his.

"I just didn't think you'd be such a nerd," Caro defended, bumping his shoulder back.

"You say nerd. I say fan," Fanboy protested. He couldn't help but notice that the distance between them had closed some, the space small enough for him to reach out a finger and hook it with hers. He resisted the temptation.

"Anyway, it's how I got my callsign: Fanboy."

Caro burst out laughing, and Fanboy raised his eyebrows at her. "What?!" he asked in mock defense, a smile taking over his face.

"I can't decide if Fanboy or Mickey is worse."

He laughed then, and Caro grinned back at him.

"Alright then, tell me something I can make fun of you for," he charged.

She shook her head at him and shrugged. "Unfortunately for you, I don't really have anything you can make fun of me for."

"Nothing," he said, disbelieving.

"Nope," she answered, popping the p.

"Are you a good dancer?"

She looked up at him with a smile. "I'm a really good dancer."

"Do you have a boring job?"

"I don't have a job," she shrugged. "I just graduated USD and my cert program doesn't start until September."

"Your cert program?" he repeated, and she nodded.

"I'm going to school to become a chiropractor."

"So you're a future doctor who's a really good dancer and also extremely beautiful."

"Yeah," she nodded, beaming up at him.

The urge to kiss her rose up in him again, but he pushed it back down, instead reaching out to loosely tangle his fingers with hers before pulling his hand back to his side.

"Well, what made you want to be a chiropractor?

"Have you ever seen the TV show Bones?"

"You're really funny."

Caro shrugged. "I know."

The two continued along the beach for a moment more in silence before Caro spoke again. "I just think the spine's really interesting–how it coordinates so much of what happens in the body. I just think it's underrated. Like people know it's important, but so few people actually care for it until suddenly they have back problems or get in a car accident."

He nodded, waiting for her to continue.

Instead, she offered him a sheepish smile "I totally just have you something to make fun of me with, didn't I?"

"No," he shook his head. "It's a good point."

"Really?" Caro raised an eyebrow. "Because I think I just said that the spine was underrated."

He cracked a smile and shrugged. "Maybe I just think you're right."

The conversation wound from there, Fanboy sharing some of his other interests much to Caro's delight and teasing. Caro continued to amaze him, with her wit and insight and stories of musical festivals and time as a yoga instructor.

It almost felt like no time had passed by the time he finally looked at his phone and realized he had to wake up in five hours.

"So," Fanboy started, prompting a smile from Caro. He wouldn't be surprised if she already knew the question he was about to ask. "This rule about not dating naval aviators…how firm is it?"

"Pretty firm," Caro affirmed, nodding her head.

"Bad experience?" he asked.

She shook her head. "I just live too close to base for there to be any mystique. I've seen this story play out too many times."

"You've seen our story play out?" He asked, brows raised in amusement. "You should have mentioned you were psychic."

Caro stared at him, unimpressed, but he pressed on. "How does it go?"

She sighed and rolled her eyes with a shrug. "You go through Top Gun and split your scraps of free time between me and your friends, but somehow I still end up too attached. After your program's up, you go back to wherever it was you're from or maybe off on some assignment, and I'm left behind. If we're really stupid, we kid ourselves that we can do long distance, but that crashes and burns within a couple of months and ends with at least one person getting hurt."

She went silent after that, her face somber as the moment stretched out before she broke free of her thoughts and shrugged again. "The only way it works is casual and short and that's not for me."

"Definitely not," he agreed.

She shot him a quizzical look. "I can't tell if you're making fun of me or trying to agree with whatever I say so I break the rule."

He chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. "No, I just meant--you don't seem like the type to love 'em and leave 'em, and I can't see anyone spending five minutes with you and thinking they could shake you off as just a one night stand."

Whatever stormcloud had hovered over Caro while sharing the reasoning behind her rule seemed to dissipate, and instead she seemed amused by his analysis. "What about you?" Caro asked.

"After one night? I think it'd take at least a month to get you out of my system," Fanboy nodded. "Maybe two, depending on how good it was."

She laughed then, and he grinned, thankful for the sound.

"No, I meant, can you do casual and short? One night stands?"

He shrugged. "Not usually."

"Ohhh," Caro said, taking a step back to make a show of looking him up and down. "So you're the 'I don't usually do things like this' guy?" She laughed as she accused him, and he couldn't help but laugh too, shaking his head and looking down at his feet.

"You are!" she exclaimed, coming closer once more to walk beside him.

"In my defense, it's true!" he defended.

"Mhmm," Caro hummed skeptically, bumping her shoulder against his. "Of course it is, Fanboy."

"It is," he insisted. "I'd much rather date you than just go back to your place."

He meant it, and he hoped that she could see it in his face. As much as he would enjoy a night in her bed, making her forget how ridiculous she found his names as she cried them out, it wouldn't be the same if he didn't get to wake up with her in his arms.

Caro flushed, looking off to the side and away from him, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. "Alright, well, you've still got your question and your guess for my number."

"So I have a chance?" Fanboy asked, tapping at the back of her hand with a finger.

"At getting my number," Caro responded, moving her hand away and offering him a coy look instead.

He bit his lip and nodded. "Ok. Fair enough."

The pair stopped at the bottom of the path up to the Hard Deck's parking lot, Fanboy narrowing his eyes in mock-assessment as he looked over Caro. He had thought about this moment too over the past few days, contemplating what question he would ask to confirm his guess. It had only taken a few hours and seven scratched out options in the margins of his notepad.

"Do you relate to the lyrics?"

She didn't answer right away. Instead, she stood in thought, and he wondered if the lyrics were running through her head right now in the same way that they filled his. He wondered if she was matching the same snippets of verses to herself that he had when pairing them up with memories and the facts she revealed about herself on their walk.

Finally a small smile turned up the corner of her mouth.

"Yeah," she said, and then nodded to herself. "I do."

Fanboy nodded too, waiting a beat and fighting the smile rising to the surface.

"You have a guess?" Caro asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I have the answer," he corrected and her eyebrows shot up as she ooohed at him playfully. "It's 'She Way Out' from The 1975."

Her jaw dropped.

But instead of the surprise or amusement that he had hoped for—or the throwing of herself into his arms that he had dreamed of—apprehension crossed her features.

"How did you—how did you know?"

All of the quips he's come up with about his strategy or cleverness or own psychic ability flew from him in the wake of her unease. Instead, he softened and admitted the truth: "I asked your friends after you left on Friday."

"They told you?!" she burst, indignantly.

"Sort of," he said, tilting his head back and forth. "One of them was going to, but then the other convinced her not to. She said I should at least put in some of the work."

"Sami," Caro breathed. He couldn't remember the girl's name, but Caro seemed so sure, he nodded.

"She gave me the band after I beat her in darts. And bought a couple of rounds."

Caro barked out a laugh at this.

"I looked them up, saw they only had one album and listened to it a few times. It's pretty good."

"It's incredible," Caro corrected. She continued to stare at him before shaking her head. "I can't believe you just listened to it and guessed."

"Well, I had the answers to my questions," Fanboy said. "But that one reminded me the most of you."

Caro started to say something, but he cut her off half-singing, "She said it's not about your body / It's just social implications are brought upon by this party that we're sitting in."

She blinked several times before finally quipping, "And here I was thinking you were about to call me intelligent or compliment my style." As she said this, she fished into her pocket, pulling out a crumpled napkin with purple writing on it and passing it to him.

She Way Out - The 1975

619 - 92 - 113

He looked up and grinned at her.

"I'm still not going to date you," she said, turning around and heading up to the gravel parking lot, Fanboy lightly jogging to catch up with her.

"Of course not."

"But since my friends are off starting their new lives and you're stuck here for a bit, maybe we can hang out."

"Sounds good," he nodded, walking with her over to her car. She pulled open the door, but before she could sit down, he leaned on top of the frame. "What are you doing Friday? Wanna hang out?"

"Text me," she said, offering a grin. "And we'll see."

Next Chapter: Ch. 4 - I Ain't the Same

#fanboy Garcia x OC #Mickey Garcia x OC #fanboy x OC #mickey fanboy garcia x oc #fanboy Garcia #Mickey Garcia #Mickey fanboy Garcia #mickey fanboy garcia fic #fanboy Garcia fic #Mickey Garcia fic #Top gun Maverick OC #TGM OC #Top gun Maverick fic #TGM fic #oc: carolina alvarez #ship: Fanro #series: tailspin #motion sickness universe #mickey “fanboy” garcia

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poll-ventures · 1 year

Text

Perdition 1.9

< ≡ >

The golden woman struggled for breath beneath me, my hands tight around her throat. I glanced up at the wooden door that led to the final resting place of the massive upside down spire.

My mind raged against itself in its indecision. With my left hand, I tightened my grip, while my right loosened, then suddenly rocketed across the gap and ripped my left hand from the demon’s neck. She bucked me off, and I landed painfully on a thick pile of roots.

She shot up, shaking and naked, golden hair matted with my blood. My right hand seized my chin, forcing me to stare up at her.

I watched as she realized she had already won. My vocal cords worked against my own will, tearing my name out from my soul, until I couldn’t do anything but scream it.

“Parker!”

The demon stilled, then smiled.

I swore, tearing my hand off of my chin, finally able to move it myself again. I looked down at the bites and slices in my flesh, gritting my teeth as they bled into the fabric of my cloak. “You bitch!”

“Watch your tongue, Parker.” Her whole face was curled into a toothy smile, her voice wrung ragged, somehow sounding older than she looked.

Compared to the honeysuckle voice that had come from within my mother, this voice sounded like spoiled milk.

“I should’ve killed you, demon.” I growled.

She smiled, four front teeth glimmering goldenly. “I have a name. Use it.”

I looked past her, towards the large wooden door that led to the stalactite’s point. I pointed at it, speaking her name.

“(Solidago.)” The speaking of the word made my tongue feel like a melting icicle. I hadn’t said the exact word, but something deeper, something forbidden.

She chirped happily through her thick set of teeth. “Yes?”

“O-Open that door,” I ordered.

She bowed swiftly, swiping at the small runnels of my blood in the dirt as she did. Skipping, she drew close to the door.

Then, almost reverently she slowed before it, carefully wiping my blood on the doorknob. It stained the bright brown into a deep, angry red.

Drawing her other hand to her teeth, she nipped quickly at her wrist. A thick, golden liquid beaded at the center of the gash, then wept out of the edges.

She collected it, then turned the wrist to her mouth as she spread the golden blood onto the doorknob.

The motion so closely mirrored the one I’d seen Mr. Montgomery make in Noel’s video that I wondered for a moment if they might be the same person.

The golden blood faded quickly, mixing with mine and bubbling into a vapor for a moment before cooling. Something inside the wall shifted loudly, and when she turned the knob, the door opened toward her.

Mist blew out of the darkness and into the forest in guttering waves.

Solidago stared into the misty darkness, grip tightening on the doorknob. Her ears perked up, eyes widening as she stared into the void of light.

Did she expect something to come out of it? I stood, preparing myself to walk into that darkness alone.

Behind me, the crack of a branch announced Bella making her way back to me. Her reins were loose around her neck, bit still between her teeth. She brayed as she saw me, and I turned to pat her. Grabbing her reins, I turned back to the door.

The woman was gone.

I peered into the empty alleys of the surrounding forest, but her golden trail had disappeared. Grimacing at the pain in my forearm, I led Bella to the gap in the wooden wall.

The thick mist cascaded out over us, stinging my eyes with some sort of gritty sand that the wind carried.

I stepped into the darkness carefully, tapping my foot to make sure there was a floor. I felt my boot connect with something soft and shifting.

I put my weight on it, and it held me, although shifting slightly. Fully entering the darkness, I blindly walked forward into the sand, pulling Bella through the doorway.

As soon as we were both on the shifting sand, the door slammed shut, and we were consumed by total darkness.

****

I could feel the mist turning about me, feel it brush past us in gritty gusts of wind as we walked forward into the void. Its strength was the only sign that we were moving at all.

I held Bella’s reins, walking forward blindly with my hand outstretched, hoping against hope for any sign of where I was meant to go.

The sand ate the sound of our footsteps, quickly filling the gaps in the leather of my boots. I made very sure not to turn around, not to even shift in the direction of my course.

In the claustrophobic vastness of the void, I tried to imagine the vastness of this room, the abyss that swallowed us. There was no way it fit into the forest that had sat atop the walled castle city I’d seen from outside.

We’d been walking up the city’s streets to the center of the castle, to the tip of the upside down spire. I’d seen where it must end, just behind the door that led into this room.

It didn’t make sense. None of this made sense.

Bella slowed for a moment, and I paused to give her a break, still staring sightlessly into the void, blasted with gusts of stinging sand.

What had that demon been afraid of? Why had she disappeared?

Demon? Can you fucking listen to yourself, for half a second? You’re crazy! You have officially gone insane.

Maybe. But… I could remember everything that led up to this point. There were questions, too many god damn questions, but if this wasn’t real, then what was really going on?

Am I having a seizure back at the police station?

That woman… What was her name? Horne. She’d rung my head pretty badly, then left me to sleep right after.

Isn’t that the one thing you’re not supposed to do after getting a head injury? After I wake up, Isaiah breaks me out. Then, all this crazy shit starts happening.

A wave of nausea came over me, the feeling that I was dying on the cot of a dirty cell rather than walking in a lightless void filling me with unparalleled dread. I honestly couldn't tell which reality I prefered.

I began walking again. Bella brayed in tuneless protest, but followed.

Could I just be imagining all of this?

“Could you not be?”

The voice sounded from within my head, but it felt like it was all around me, a quiet voice bleeding from the mists.

I wasn’t even surprised to hear it. That’s how bad this had gotten. Feeling curious, if a little on edge, I directed a thought at the voice.

Who are you?

It was silent for a moment, then responded with the same, quiet voice. It was the voice of my mind, only I wasn't the one controlling it.

“You,” you said.

I sighed, speeding up as I bit my lip. Speaking without talking, listening without hearing.

The least you can do is not mess with me.

You smiled. “When it is a horse.”

Fuck you. What does that even mean? Fuck you!

“Save your curses, and save your questions for the pool.”

What pool?

Silence.

“What POOL! Are we going swimming!?” I shouted, exasperated. Bella pulled against her reins in shock, my outcry dying in the void as quickly as it had left my lips.

The gritty wind continued to unceremoniously assault my face. I stopped. I’d been walking with my eyes closed. Now, staring forward, I saw light ahead.

“Birthing pool. Groundwater. The last star in a long dead sky.” You feel like crying for the first time in billions of years.

I walked toward the light.

****

The light was high in the sky, seeming to hover above the dunes of the desert.

Slowly, the light allowed shape returned to the landscape. We were walking in coarse, colorless sand, the mist mixing with the thick gusts of wind making it impossible to see even a few feet in front of me.

Bella had her head ducked against the wind, and I used the edge of my cloak to protect my eyes.

Next, color returned. My dark green robe glimmered in the weak sky-light. It never faltered, only growing stronger as we made our way through the relentless gray desert.

Above us, I could still see the rounded edge of the stalactite. Having come this close, I could see that the face of the pale stone was engraved with thin lines. The spire loomed in the sky above the light until it disappeared into the sand filled wind.

It couldn’t be more than a few minutes away. I pressed on, having to wrap Bella’s reins twice around my hand as she whinnied.

The sand chafed painfully against my wounds, catching in my eyelashes and nostrils, only seeming to buffet us stronger as we walked to the source of sky-light.

I tripped, catching myself at the bottom of a dune. Bella nosed at me, then turned away from the wind after I moved.

My foot had caught on something deep in the sand, and I could feel more things like it under my hands and knees. I gripped one, and pulled it out to reveal a dagger.

Or what had once been a dagger. Sand poured off of it in waves, disappearing into the pull of the wind. The blade was dull, and the handle had fallen off ages ago.

It looked like there’d been a carving on it once, but it too had been worn away. The others were much the same, some larger, some smaller, but all metallic blades that seemed to have been here for a long time.

The largest blade I found looked as if it had once been much larger. It was about two inches wide, three feet long, and still had its wooden handle and hilt in place.

It was heavy as hell, and still had its engravings on the side that had been buried deeper in the sand.

They were simple, thin lines that reminded me of a map of the human circulatory system. They were just like those etched into the spire.

Where did these come from? Who had once owned them?

“The pool,” you said.

The voice caught me off guard, but I shook my head staring down at the large sword resting atop the sand.

Do I bring it with me?

“No. She has earned her rest.”

She? You knew the owner of this blade?

“Yes. The Mothervein. I was her, and she will be me.” You stared at the sword, and coulf recall it as it once was. Woodswillow. Will the Mother remember you as such?

I slid the sword back into the sand, covering it carefully before I stood. It shifted slightly as I stepped past it. Bella turned back to me, facing the sandy winds to follow me, paying no attention to the blades hidden in the dunes. Ahead, the light glowed ever stronger.

Cautiously, I walked on the metal remains hiding beneath the thin coat of sand. On the leeward side of a dune, we were protected momentarily from the whipping winds. Staring up at the light, I nearly tripped again on a resting blade.

As we crossed the dunes, the valleys grew deeper, and the peaks higher. In the darkened depths of one misty dune, we stepped noisily across a pile of blades unearthed by the wind.

I watched Bella carefully here, escorting her across the shifting pile of dull, gleaming metal that peaked out of the blanket of mist.

As I stepped out of the valley, I finally saw the stalactite’s end. Its point was hidden inside a tower, made of the same pale stone as the spire itself. Having seen the structure at its full size from outside the castle walls, its end seemed impossibly small.

Looking up, it was the only thing I could see. The taper was gradual, but even a few miles above me, it encompassed the entire sky.

Light spilled out from the top of the crenelated tower, radiating across the nearby dunes and illuminating the mist in the air.

The mist itself poured out from the first floor of the tower, which was built without walls. Bare, pale stone pillars circled a metal platform, holding up the rest of the walled tower.

I sped up the hill towards the tower, towards the point of the spire, trailing Bella behind me.

The mist grew thickest as I rose to the top of the sandy hill. It was cold, but contained no sand. It seemed pure, smelling somehow more fresh and full than ever. I breathed deeply, feeling the cold, pure vapor in my lungs, and finally crested the hill.

Standing in the flickering lamp light of the pale stone tower was my Professor, speaking to a woman I’d never seen before.

I stared in shock at Professor Mecardi, feeling my stomach turn in confusion and disgust.

He was in front of the room’s centerpiece: a stone pool, where the pure white mist poured in heavy waves. A lectern sat in front of him with a large book spread on it.

The circular room was littered with tables full of books and beakers, the outskirts stocked with large wooden racks of weapons and tools. The woman knelt beside the pool, staring up at my Professor respectfully.

Both of them wore swords on their belts. My professor was dressed in robes just like mine.

With my mouth agape, I felt a great pain twinge in the back of my brain, once, twice, left eye twitching in sympathy before I fell on my knees.

I stared up at the two of them, the woman, tall and muscular in her thick leather garb, staring back at me, annoyed. My professor looked on in confused amusement.

I vomited onto the pale floor, and then collapsed.

****

“Hey. Drink up.” A woman’s rough tone.

There was a metal taste on my tongue, and something heavy resting on my teeth, pouring liquid into my mouth. Someone shook me firmly, then patted my shoulder.

The liquid was thick, and instantly coated the inside of my mouth. It was a bitter, acidic bile.

I swallowed quickly, not being able to breathe. My head ached in rhythm with my heart, waves of pain radiating out and down my body. I was shivering, thrust suddenly into consciousness, and wishing I hadn’t been.

I kept my eyes closed, feeling my pulse in the stem of my brain as I swallowed more glugs of the liquid.

“Welcome back.”

She pulled the metal spout out of my mouth, and I finally swallowed all of the bile. I tried to speak, but my mouth felt like it was full of sludge.

“Be quiet. And unclench your jaw.”

I did, not realizing that I had been. I could breathe again, but even that was painful. Although…

The pain was dulling as I lay on the ground. Waves of pain slowly melted into pleasurable bursts of comfort and warmth, like I’d just taken a shot.

Even the pain from the cut and bite Solidago had dealt me had eased. I breathed slowly now, and rested my head against the cold stone.

After a moment's breather, I finally opened my eyes.

The meager lamp light almost blinded me at first. It lit the circular room with its fluttering flame, revealing the woman who’d been standing in front of my professor holding a white and gold spouted jug she had made me drink from.

She was chubby, wearing a large leather jerkin and a large, heavy looking sword on her belt, just above her leggings.

I was on the floor of the tower. This close, the stone felt more like a sheet of thin, cold metal, engraved with spidery lines, all parallel to one another. This close, they looked like a never ending system of veins and nerves.

“Fffnmg,” I groaned wetly.

“Yeah,” she agreed, placing a warm towel over my eyes. She pushed me slowly onto my side, and I felt something wet trickle out of my mouth. I coughed, spitting out a pool of collected blood, phlegm and mysterious bile onto the pale metal floor.

She eased me onto my back again, wiping away the mess, and finally, I saw the spire in its entirety.

The point of the spire was directly above the pool of perfect white mist, hovering a few feet above it. It ended in a sharp, miniscule point, all of the parallel engravings running together to meet at the end of the stalactite.

The tower itself was designed to encompass the very end of the spire, only a few stories tall and hollow, the tapering stalactite fitting directly into the middle of it, and ending just above the pool of ever drifting mist.

Above the tower itself, I could see the glass box that held the sky-light from the desert. It seemed dimmer, now that I was right below it.

“Quite the view.” The woman stood after speaking, lifting a wooden bucket and rag from the metal floor.

“Where am I?” My voice sounded old, cracked, and tired.

“Home,” you said, smiling softly.

“You were almost dead. You’re alive for a little longer, thanks to him.” The woman nodded to my professor, who stood looking over the wooden lectern at the two of us.

She carried the jug and bucket across the circular room, pouring its brackish contents out into the sand beyond. Then, she placed the white and gold jug into the center of the misty pool, just below the point of the stalactite. Turning to my professor, she asked, “It’s settled then?”

My professor turned to her, hands on the wooden lectern like they were when he was presenting in front of a classroom. “Yes, roadmaster. Thank you.”

She turned to go, then looked back. “Do you see me, Alex Mecardi?” She bowed slightly, putting her three center fingers onto her chin, stubby fingernails facing him.

He nodded, bowing slightly with his index and middle finger to his chin. “I see you, Maxine Anderson.”

She put the bucket and rag down against a large round pillar, then stepped off of the metal platform of the tower’s first floor.

And disappeared.

There was no other way to explain what I’d just seen. She should have stepped down off of the pale metal and into the misted sand, but she didn’t. She just stepped through the gap, and then was gone.

As soon as she left, the room shifted. The wooden racks of weapons that had filled the background disappeared with her, leaving a puff of mist as they quickly took another shape.

More bookcases, and more tables littered with chemistry equipment and books took form from the mist, seemingly as solid as the racks they had been moments ago.

I turned to my professor, and stood slowly. Somehow, I managed not to fall down, still shaking as I righted myself.

He was still standing behind his lectern, looking down at the large book laid out on it. He looked up at me as I stood, blinked, then spoke.

“Parker. Are you feeling okay?”

I stared at him, somewhere between amazement and hatred. “No. Absolutely not.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said.

I spoke quickly, almost interrupting him. “What the hell are you doing down here? What the hell is this place, and why am I here? What do you have to do with all of this?”

He smiled, and it was one I was familiar with. I’d seen it come across his face while he discussed historical essays or particularly cogent philosophical ideas.

It was somewhat guarded, a tiny smirk that showed he was thinking, but still listening. He turned to a table behind him, littered with old leather bound books and flasks.

“One question at a time,” he said slowly.

I slowly rounded the pool of mist, watching his back as he looked down at an open book, adjusting one of the glass vials, which was filled with a clear liquid.

"I deserve as many answers as I want. The last few hours have been hell, and at the end of it, I find you." He turned from his equipment to me, and I jabbed a finger at him.

“I know, Parker.” His smile had been replaced with a grave, serious expression. “I have to explain this to you carefully, and quickly. You’re in danger, and we’ve-.” He sighed, closing his eyes. “I’ve put you there.”

“Sure,” I said, speaking animatedly, “Let’s start there. What the hell are you doing with these people? Maxine, Isaiah, Stash. What did you all do to me, and why?”

“We poisoned you.” He didn’t seem the smallest bit ashamed, standing there, perfectly still. “With thallium.”

“Wait, what? Why?”

“Your employer,” he said seriously. “Mr. Montgomery.”

His face flashed in my mind. I saw him at the front door, welcoming me into his home, showing me his study, the false memories, the knife he had handed me, and his daughter holding his rifle, meaning to fire it into my chest.

“I see you already have an idea of his capabilities. Memories falling into place, replacing old constructions? That would be the ichor.” He said it all so matter-of-factly, I could barely stop to think.

Ichor. Blood of the Gods?

“Goddess.”

“Blood of the Goddess?” I asked, my voice sounding strange to my own ears.

He was taken aback. “It must be further along than I thought. Perhaps the dosage… No matter, the amount of thallium in the mixture should’ve killed you on the spot. We gave you the ichor to slow the-”

“Hold on, you’re who kidnapped Mr. Montgomery?”

“Yes,” he nodded. “You were instrumental in our plan, and I do apologize that we used you.”

“Don't--Don't even go there. Not unless you mean it.” I took a breath, and looked around the bizarre circular room, then blew it out slowly. “There's no going back from this, is there? My life will never be normal again.”

“Parker. All we need you to do is cast a vote. After that, we can help you, and make you forget all of this. I give you my word.” He bowed his head, placing a hand to his chest.

“Aw, thanks, teach. Now tell me, can you make an FBI agent forget about the pizza delivery boy who broke me out of prison? How about the fifteen cops that saw me get arrested? How about my family, who probably think I'm a criminal on the run now?”

For the first time in my life, I saw real shock on Professor Mecardi's face. Then, he closed his eyes and pinched his nose, raising his eyebrows in as much annoyance as shock.

“Yeah," I said. “Didn't think so.”

He paused, tapping a finger against his pursed lips. “We can't do that,” he said slowly, “but we can fix this. We know this is our fault, and we're ready to-”

“Okay, sure, just-. Why did you have to pick me?” I stammered, putting my own hand to my chest. “Why poison me?”

He paused, breathing deeply, then exhaled through his nose slowly. Then, almost a whisper: “Do you remember your final essay?”

“What does this have to do with a stupid essay competition? I can’t even believe I’m looking at the same person I turned that essay into.”

“You are, Parker. I’ll explain it all, just, let me, yes?” He was pleading with me.

“Fine.” I nodded, crossing my arms.

“Okay. Your history covers the nature of Old Hill. How the town has gone through several booms and busts. And, your theory was…?”

He smiled expectantly, and I couldn’t keep it from disgusting me. The worst part was that it felt normal. This is how we would talk in class, and here we were, beneath a metal stalactite larger than God, buried underneath a mountain.

I sighed. “My theory was that Old Hill is heading for another boom. In the past, it was coal, gold, arsenic, tungsten, and now it’s real estate, via the gentrification of Old Hill’s mainstreet and available high end cabin locations.” I was essentially quoting my essay’s thesis back at him, and he was eating it up.

He smiled, and nodded. “Yes, well, you're more right than you know. There were people behind these booms and busts, yes? These people got rich here, then left to change the world?” He quirked his eyebrow, waiting for me to agree.

I nodded, feeling my anger boil underneath the surface. “That’s the American dream. Make it big and escape the nowhere town, change the world, and get rich doing it.”

“Yes. Sure. But can that happen to anyone?” He smirked, waiting for my retort.

“Sure. Niel Armstrong was a kid from Ohio, and he ended up on the Moon. Every small town has its heroes.” I played dumb, hoping it would help him get to his point.

“Yes. But Old Hill has more than most. Cycles of vast riches, then great poverty.”

“...And?”

“First it's gold, coal, wood, then arsenic, then tungsten, now real estate. They all profit off the labor and the land of those beneath them, but when the land's bled dry?” He motioned as he spoke, posing his final question dramatically.

I paused. “I… Nothing, if work dries up, the workers will leave.”

“Not these workers,” he tutted in a sing song voice, looking half mad. “Sure, some will leave, but Old Hill? These people, their history… These people will stick to their legacy. They'll suck these people dry, Parker.”

“How?”

“They already have, have been for a while. Think about it. They've chained the people to the mountain, and it’s given Old Hill all that it can. Now that all we’ve got is empty hills, they've gone looking to profit off the land. And when that drys up, all that's left is-”

“What are you saying? What does this have to do with Kyle Montgomery?”

“Everything. He owns those real estate companies, he’s been building those condos. He’s poisoning the town, and profiting off of it.” He put his fist down on his lectern, then stepped out from behind it, walking slowly closer to me as I spoke.

“So you kidnap him? You poison me? To what end?” I slowly backed up as he approached, and he put his hands out, as if not to spook a horse.

“He is a vampire, Parker. He drank from you. He drank from the whole city. It was the only way to stop him.”

He stopped, putting his hands together as if in prayer. “Please, just think about it. All of the ichor inside you has to help you realize that he’s been pulling the wool over your eyes. He’s been feeding on you, ever since you stepped foot into his house. You were the only way to get to him.”

I had backed up into a pillar of the tower. I felt the cool metal line my spine, then closed my eyes to think.

Without even trying hard to remember, I found more dual memories, melting as simply as a child's lie in the light of the sun. Over and over, I remembered him knocking on my door before bed, looking me in the eyes, and telling me to let him in.

Then, I would do it. He would hand me the same knife as before, and I would slice into my wrist, letting him drink from the thick red blood that welled there. It hurt, but I wanted to help him. It felt good. Then, after he had drank from me, he would put his wrist against my mouth, his own lips red like wine-

I grimaced in disgust at the memories, forcing them out of my mind with sheer will.

“I hate this,” I said, fury making my voice shake. “I wanted no fucking part in any of this.”

He stepped forward again, shaking his head slowly. “As much as I wish it wasn’t the case, Parker, he was using you. He would’ve killed you, within time.”

“Maybe that’s better than-.” I stopped, tears welling at my eyes as I looked around the room. I groaned, just wanting to scream. “All of this. All of this fucking sucks.”

“I agree,” he said softly. “We needed to do something to help you.”

“So you poisoned me? And then erased my memory of it?” My voice was rising in pitch now, my chest tight.

“Nothing that nefarious,” he said, “Just in your water. I had to do it, to save you, Parker.”

“I wish you hadn’t,” I spat. “For once, I had something approaching normalcy. What did you do with him, anyway? Is he dead?”

“No,” he shook his head, jaw firm. “I voted against killing him.”

“So, just keep him alive indefinitely? I mean, what’s the plan here?” My voice was frayed, on the edge of delirium, a moment away from breaking into disturbed laughter. “Where is he?”

My professor took a breath, and straightened his back. “He’s here. I had him bound.”

“Oh, ‘cause he’s such a threat?”

He nodded gravely. “He is. You’ve only seen a fraction of what he can do.”

“Show me. Prove to me that he’s a-.” I paused, shaking my head. “A vampire.”

He nodded, serious as ever as he turned and crossed the room, leading me to a heavy looking wooden crate. He put his arms and hip against the crate, pushing it off of a raised circle in the pale metal, a handle poking out of the floor.

He bent, grabbed the handle, and raised the trap door. It was pitch black inside, mist spilling tendrils down into the darkness. My professor grabbed the lantern from a table, shining oily firelight down into the pit.

Inside, was Kyle Montgomery. He stared up at us, ten feet down, blinking at the light that gleamed off of the blood slick chains that bound him.

He was in a ruined suit, his short blond hair slick with sweat, blood and worse. The walls of the pit were too tight for him to stand, so he crouched in a pool of brackish water.

He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing resembling speech came out. Trying again, he managed, “Water.”

“Jesus Christ,” I whispered hoarsely.

“Spare your sympathy,” he said, and spit down the pit at Kyle, who flinched as the spittle landed on his cheek. “It’s a monster.” I glanced down at the sword on Professor Mecardi’s belt.

“Parker?” The man’s ruined voice called up to me. “Help me. You need-” He broke into a coughing fit, then adjusted himself, the chains clinking against each other like airless windchimes. “Don’t listen to him. Just, please. Help me.”

I opened my mouth, then closed it, turning to Mecardi, stomach churning at the sight, let alone the smell that wafted up from the pit. “Why are you doing this to him? What did he do to deserve this?”

Slowly, he closed the trap door. Kyle’s whispered cries grew to a crescendo as the door slammed shut, silencing him. My professor looked at me, stepping close as he spoke.

“When I open this, I need you to focus on the words he’s saying. Really focus. Close your eyes and listen, and once you hear it for what it truly is, open your eyes. You will see your proof.”

I lowered my eyebrows, staring back at the professor. I nodded, but held up a finger. “Is this what the vote is on? To kill or keep this man alive?”

Mecardi nodded back, saying, “Yes. He may be a valuable asset alive, as much as he deserves death.”

“No. If the vote falls on not killing him, he’s set free. Nobody deserves this." I paused, then added, "No thing."

He bit his lip, then nodded. “The others draw near. We will vote on it when the time comes.”

Then, checking I was ready, he nodded one last time. He raised the trap door once more.

I closed my eyes, listening to the cries of a helpless man. “Water,” he said again, then apparently seeing me again, he cleared his throat. “Parker. I need you to get me out of here, Parker.”

Thinking of his lips on my wrist, mine on his, sucking blood out of free flowing veins, I screwed my eyes shut further, willing the ichor inside me to spread.

“See true, hear true, my host…” You croon in pleasure, stretching unused muscles for the first time in untold eons.

The voice of Kyle Montgomery slowly melted from a raspy, tired man, to that of a wounded animal. He screamed. It was a full, blood curdling cry of a creature, something non-human beating at the inside of its cage, hurt, scared, hungry and furious.

“Do you hear it?” My professor asked, voice mellow over the vicious screams. After I nodded, he said, “Open your eyes. Look upon its true form.”

Blood slick chains writhed in tortured tension, keeping the beast pinned to the bottom of the pit. It was still Kyle Montgomery, clothed in his expensive suit and tie, but the way his body moved…

It was impossible. He wasn’t human. His body bent at fatal angles, faster than I could properly see. He was a blur of arms and legs, screaming with no language or goal behind it, just pure anguish.

Not once did the chains slacken, they were always pulled tight around his form. At his belt, there was a sword. I could make it out in the fleeting moments between his crazed writhing.

It was a thin, needlelike saber. His screams never took the shape of communication in my mind, continuing as a never ending stream of pain and fear.

“Close it,” I whispered.

Mecardi did, watching me carefully. The screams were finally silenced.

I crouched silently, thick cloak gently billowing in the mist on the floor. I shook my head, then stood.

He did too, placing a foot over the trap door and staring at me like I might injure myself. After I had spent a full minute staring at the metal plate, he spoke quietly. “Are you okay?”

I moved my eyes to meet his, then laughed genuinely, heartily, until I ran out of breath. Heaving fresh lungfuls of the sour smelling air, I had to make an effort to stop laughing as I stepped back.

“What’s so funny?”

The young boy's voice took me a moment to recognize, and I realized it belonged to Isaiah a second before I turned to see him entering the mist coated tower.

He was smiling, poncho fluttering in the misty wind as he rounded the pool in the center of the room, stopping to do a hanging spin from one of the circular pillars holding the tower up.

Stash blinked into existence behind him, stepping into the tower from nothing. The folds in her draping red dress held no dusting of gray sand. She frowned, surveying the scene warrily from the back of the room, hands on her hips.

Cheerily, Isaiah turned to her. “Hi-low,” he drawled.

"Hinny-minny," Stash echoed.

After a moment, the woman who had given me the ‘ichor’ appeared to Stash’s left, stopping for a moment to pat Bella's mane and give her a treat.

She stood, contemplative as she took in the others. She looked as if she was waiting for something.

All three of them had swords on their belts.

Stash nodded to the taller, larger woman. “Max.”

She just grunted, then turned to the professor and I, expectantly. Then, the room shifted again.

Just as it had when Max disappeared, the room's decor puffed into mist before slowly regathering into different furniture. The racks of weapons had been replaced, and now joined sets of armor.

Where the room had been disarrayed, it was now perfectly in order, books slid back into their place on bookshelves, tables lined themselves up in a perfect circle around the pool, even the lectern puffed into mist momentarily to shift itself slightly to fit in front of the largest of the wooden tables.

This table was round, while all the others were curved rectangles. It held a large map of Old Hill, with pins keeping it from fluttering off of the tabletop.

Little figures were arrayed on the map, varying in size, shape, and color. On the western edge of the map, the mountain range sat like a massive natural wall. The map was one I recognized, I had seen it in the historical society's museum, not too long ago.

“I love it when that happens,” Isaiah said, jumping onto one of the benches of the outer tables just to vault the table itself. He landed with turned down untied boots up on the metal edge of the pool of mist, leaning back on the table behind him. “We ready to do this?” He grinned up at me, smiling like it was his last.

Max grumbled, then stepped forward into the center of the tables, standing opposite Isaiah. “There was no vote called for your actions tonight. You were reckless, and endangered all of us.” She stood with her arms crossed over her leather jerkin, staring down at Isaiah with a scowl.

“If I didn’t save him, they would’ve killed him,” Isaiah said, shrugging as he looked up at her. “Either that or the poison. The fed they stuck him with already gave him a concussion, then let him sleep. I played hockey, man. That shit kills people.”

I touched my forehead, feeling the dull ache through the softer waves of pleasure the ichor provided. Mecardi sighed, stepping up to the lectern, looking down and across the small gathering.

Stash joined the other two in the center circle, sitting with her back straight on the bench next to Isaiah’s. Her long braid rested perfectly on her back, and had been threaded with a long red ribbon.

Without thinking, she had adjusted her scabbard to fit in the gap between bench and table. The other two had as well, I realized.

“Please, gentlemen. We must vote on the matter at hand, not bicker at how we got here.” Mecardi frowned, looking at Isaiah, who still was locked in a glaring contest with Max. “I did not approve of Isaiah’s actions. He acted rashly.”

Stash leaned toward Isaiah. “I told you so,” she stage-whispered. Isaiah finally broke the stare, looking up at me with a sly ‘well, what-are-you-gonna-do?’ look.

“However,” Mecardi said, pausing to let them refocus. “Parker is now safe, which is only right, as he was fundamental to our plan.” He turned back, looking at me expectantly. I shifted awkwardly, until he spoke. “Please, have a seat.” He motioned to the last remaining bench sitting before the mist filled well.

I rounded the room, staring out at the lit dunes of sand beyond the tower, thinking of the swords that lay hidden beneath them. Then, carefully slipping between the tables, I sat in between Stash and Max, staring up at my professor.

“Now. I call the council to order,“ he intoned. Isaiah’s back straightened, getting up off the edge of the table as he stared into the mist coming out of the large pool. “Parker has asked for a vote. He says a vote in favor of letting the Montgomery beast live should be a vote for setting him free. We shall vote for this first.”

Max looked at me, face unreadable. The others remained silent.

Mecardi cleared his throat, then looked at all of us in turn as he spoke. “All in favor of setting the beast free, raise your hand. All in favor of keeping the beast in the oubliette, stay your hands.”

I hesitated, but raised my hand. I was only joined by Isaiah. My heart sank, but then roiled with a thin slick of anger.

“Horseshit,” Isaiah said, mirroring my emotions. “Why the hell would we keep him? Man’s got a wife and child.”

Max smirked at him, voting hand firmly below her waist. “Of course he does. It makes him less evil. Those things will take any opportunity to seem like one of us.”

“But they are not,” my professor said, grimacing. “The only good it serves the world is dead, or helping us study the ichor more closely.”

“So you admit it!” Isaiah stood up, slamming a fist against Mecardi’s lectern. “All you want to do is keep him and experiment on him. That’s fucked.”

“Sit down,” Max said, standing and towering over the boy.

“Admission implies guilt,” Mecardi said, steadying himself on the wooden lectern above us. “Anything I do to that thing has no moral weight on my soul, for it is a beast of destruction and death. You know this well, Isaiah. You apprehended the beast, and still bear the scars-”

“Shut up,” I said, “Just stop talking. Isaiah has done the exact same thing that the man you have in the pit did to me. He didn’t drink from me, but he acts the same as Kyle Montgomery. Tell me the difference.”

Isaiah turned to me, affronted. “I am not a monster. He was set to kill you, and has killed many times before. I saved you. Do not compare me with that man,” he said, voice cracking with emotion.

“Quiet,” Mecardi spoke loudly, and Isaiah and Max returned to silence, then sat. “Now. We vote on the beast’s death.”

I breathed in deeply, feeling the ichor ache happily inside me. I’ve used that same power on Solidago. Am I any better than Isaiah? Than Montgomery? I had turned to it before for my decisions, and it made me fear how long it had been inside me.

If this shit had been here for months, had it been steering the course of my life? Will this choice be taken from me as well?

“All in favor of killing the beast, raise your hand. Those in favor of keeping it alive, stay your hand.”

Max raised her hand. Isaiah raised his hand.

Stash and Professor Mecardi didn’t move.

The decision was left to me.

What do you do?

< ≡ >

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toointojoelmiller · 9 months

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please don't go: a last of us fic

chapter 5

after David / Silver Lake / post-episode 8

angst, Joel & Ellie bonding, 99% canon compliant

rating: mature - content warnings re: s/a, violence, more

ch 1 | ch 2 | ch 3 | ch 4 | ch 5 | ch 6 | ch 7 | ch 8 | ch 9 | ch 10

link to whole story (work in progress) on AO3

----

Joel tosses his arm out to brace across her chest as he moves beside her, stopping her from falling forward. She retches again, bent double, her hands grabbing onto her shaking knees. Despite how hard her little body is seizing up with each wave ripping through her, nothing comes out beyond a small initial splash of bile and spit.

The sounds she’s making - groaning, gulping, trying to suck air in - have him fighting back his own nausea. The spasming, straining on her already roughed up throat, the way she’s been bracing her middle when she moves – he knows this hurts, badly.

Finally she stops gagging, and she stays bent over, breathing hard with face scrunched up. Trembling.

“Done?” he asks after a minute, and when she gives a small nod he eases her back up to standing and guides her just slightly back so she’s leaned against the wall. He looks down to make sure her feet are planted under her before risking moving away for a second - then thinks twice - puts a boot sideways on the floor just in front of her toes, ready to brace her lower body with his hip if her legs start to go on her.

He leans down and away to pull her backpack up from the ground, fast as he can manage, and stretches his fingers out to snag the flashlight too. Blocks out another burst of pain from deep in his core because it couldn’t matter less right now.

A curtain of black slides down over his eyes as he straightens back up and he stops, standing blind for a few seconds, gritting his teeth while his vision fades back in. Not now you useless fuck. A clear visual is unfolding in his head - him going unconscious on her, leaving her sick and shaking in the dark alone – she’d fall fast, bound to smack her head on the edge of the shelf or the wall – even if she somehow didn’t, there’d be no one to keep an eye on her, making sure she got warm again, didn’t puke in her sleep and –

Fucking. Focus.

He holds her bag up to her and starts tugging the zipper open. “Whaddya need me to do?”

She looks at him, confused, so he continues - “Gettin’ changed, remember? I’m gonna help, I can -”

She snatches the bag from his hands, shaking her head as she tugs her pants out before she continues to rummage through the rest of her things. Seemingly not finding what she’s after, she peers into her bag for a few seconds. Blinking her eyes, thinking. He watches her swallow, face going still and then flushing red. She drops her pack to the floor.

He waits to see if she’s going to move but she stays frozen, so he reaches to tug the jeans from her hand and she jerks them away from him, hissing, “I’ll do it.”

He snaps back, stressed - “Christ girl, you’re ‘bout to fall over -”

“I. Can put on. Fucking. Pants.” she spits at him in pieces. Her voice croaks as she pushes her vocal cords past their limit. It’s hard to look at her, her face so twisted up, eyes dark. Something in his chest seizes.

Clenching his teeth together, he forces himself to take a full breath in and out through his nose, and gives himself another couple of seconds to pull it together by turning around to lay the flashlight on the shelf, pointing their direction to give them a little more light.

“Fine,” he turns back to face her, raises his hands, palms out in surrender, “do it yourself, then – but I’m staying right here” – she huffs – “I’ll – I’ll turn around, you grab on to me if you need to - and stay leanin’ on that wall or you’ll fall over. But you tell me if you’re ‘bout to go down, kid - I’m not havin’ ya bang yourself up worse than y’aready are.”

Feeling very much like it’s the wrong thing to do, he turns around so his back is facing her. Sighs with relief as he hears her start to kick her boots off one at a time, and he feels with not a small amount of gratitude that she is steadying herself with a hand against his back.

Couldn’t be worse timing, so of course he’s reminded - should have seen it coming from a mile away – of the little swimming hole, standing guard while Sarah shimmied out of her wet bathing suit to slip dry clothes on - she could never stand the feeling of it sticking to her skin on their walk back home – her small fingers clinging to the back of his shirt while she wiggled sandy little feet back into her flip flops. He tries to blink it away, too dangerous to go there, goddammit – knows from experience it’ll just leave him foggy at best.

He’s not in the soft Texas sun right now, in one piece again, his whole world skipping along at his side, swinging their clasped hands. The world is over, he’s in an unheated shack in a Colorado winter, dead of night with a hurt little girl who’s – still – covered in someone else’s blood.

Needs to ground himself.

He tunes in to the sound of Ellie’s chattering teeth starting up again. The buzz of a zipper, denim falling to the floor, and her hand presses harder into his back as she shuffles, bends over a bit and lets out another whining groan. He fights the instinct to spin around, almost loses, clenching his fists uselessly. After a few seconds of her being still, her breath coming in and out shakily, she’s bumping her knees against him as she raises her feet one by one, the discarded jeans landing between his legs as she shakes them off her foot. There’s some more shuffling – unzipping the new pair to get ready to slip into them.

He glances down to his feet, and he was wrong about his chest seizing up before, because – oh, right – this is what that feels like. Like the air in his lungs is water. He’s being pulled apart from his core. He raises a hand to his chest and presses hard on his sternum, trying to feel his body again, wondering if he’s dead.

Well lit by the flashlight, her pants have landed open so that he can see right down into them. Sees the obvious bloodstains on the inside. She must notice a second after he does – a little socked foot darts out and pulls them back, away from his feet.

The need to rip someone apart – Tommy never had it, couldn’t understand that Joel did. That sometimes he slept better after a day of pulling people into pieces. The calm - release - he would feel as he felt bones breaking, muscle tearing under his hand, pounding the rage inside of him out through his fists – numbing, primal, right.

He can’t think anymore.

Behind him, Ellie is pushing hard on his back with her hand, grasping onto his shirt, tugging a bit when she moves around. Thumps something against the wall in a way that doesn’t sound like she meant to. Whines again – this time almost a moan. Another.

And then, after a long pause, she breathes out, “Can’t bend.”

He’s not sure how he’s able to answer her, so far away from his body right now, but he hears himself saying “What?”

“Can’t get...” Swallows hard. “Can’t reach.”

“Hand ‘em to me,” he watches himself saying from somewhere else in the room, fully on auto pilot as he reaches an open hand back. She does.

With the muscle memory he built wrangling a squirmy baby, then toddler into pants day after day for years, he scrunches the legs of the jeans up, material on either side gathered up in each hand, until he’s holding the waist out and open, a clear shot through each leg for her to step into.

“I’ll keep my eyes closed,” he says, somehow, “I’ll turn around and hold ‘em for you to step into - put your hands on my shoulders to brace yourself, ok? You hear me? When you’re done I’ll lift ‘em up a little – just ‘til you can reach. That alright?”

“Mhm,” she mumbles.

So he keeps his eyes closed like he said. Turns, crouches down. Can’t even feel the wound in his side anymore.

But he does feel a hand grabbing onto his shoulder like he told her to, feels her weight shifting as she steps into the jeans slowly, one foot and then the other.

“’O-kay,” she whispers, and he starts to slowly raise the waistband up, getting a few inches up, maybe not much past her ankles before scrambling fingers are pulling the fabric from his. “G-got it,” she says hurriedly. It sounds like a gasp.

Keeping his eyes shut, he lets go and stays where he is, listens as she finishes yanking them on, pulling the zipper up. She holds his shoulder again as she wiggles her boots back on, and then she’s still.

Waits another moment. “Done?”

“Yeah.”

He opens his eyes, still kneeling in front of her. Her face looks wet now. Still white. She blinks at him and says, barely audible, “Now you.”

“Hm?”

“Pants.”

Oh. “Right. You sit first.”

She drops.

He’s in the right spot to catch her, and he does, grateful that even being so separated from his body he moves fast enough that she doesn’t hit the ground.

“Fuck,” he’s muttering – she feels boneless. “Ellie?” Nothing.

He shuffles over to set her down on the sleeping bag-blanket as there’s shrill, loud panic flooding his head, ringing in his ears – he is plunging off a cliff.

He puts his hand on her chest and feels it rise, fall. Presses his fingers behind her ear, searching frantically for a few seconds and then finds her pulse – does it feel too fast?

“Come on, baby,” he says, voice rising – but then she moves her head a bit, groans - thank you - coming back to him already.

“You’re fine,” he tells her, never in his life wanting to be right more, “Fainted – just for a second. Can you open your eyes for me?”

She makes a small sound and shifts around slightly before her eyes slowly open.

He half-stands to pull the flashlight down to them again, and after a second thought pulls the container of snow down from the shelf too.

He checks her pupils with the light - “I know this is bright, but I need to check – I know, I’m sorry,” as she winces away. They look normal. Not blown out. Reacting to the light like they’re supposed to.

“You – alright?” he asks, stupidly, and she doesn’t say anything. Can’t blame her.

“Think you can get down a bit of water?” he asks.

She shakes her head a little.

“Okay, later’s fine.”

She rolls a little more onto her side, puts her hands down on the ground and tries to push herself up.

“Ellie,” it comes out exasperated, he can’t keep himself from chiding, “you passed out, you gotta stay down.” He reaches out to gently push her back down and she swats at his hand, groaning again.

“Don’t –,” she hisses, still trying to sit up, and if Joel knows anything it’s that he’s not gonna win a battle of wills with this girl, so he helps her adjust until she’s sitting up how she wants, leaning back against the wall.

He takes a minute to wrap the blanket around them like before, feeling the chill back deep in his bones with how long they’ve been out from under it. Closes the lid on the first aid kit and pulls it under the blanket, too.

“Go,” Ellie slurs out suddenly.

“What?” he asks.

“Change,” she says, not opening her eyes.

Jesus, this kid.

He obeys - owes it to her after how vulnerable she’d had to be in front of him - groaning his way back up to his feet with a hand braced on the wall, and changes into dry pants as quickly as he can in the corner. Hadn't noticed how disgusting the pair he had on was - won't think about what that means right now (did she have to fucking clean him off?)- keeping an eye on her the whole time. He layers his extra shirts on while he’s up.

When he moves back to Ellie it looks like she’s asleep, head lolled over on her shoulder. There’s a bit of a low wheeze as she breathes, but it sounds slow and steady.

He’s uneasy to think of her sleeping with her head not right but - no real way around it with the shape she’s in. He resolves himself to wake her frequently, make sure she’s not deteriorating.

“Ellie?” he tries, softly. She doesn’t stir.

He feels on fire - burning with the need to know,– and since he’s not a good man, and a weak one too – he balances the flashlight against his legs, angling it away from her head but lighting the rest of her. He reaches to where her wrist is laying slack in her lap, and slowly, cautiously starts lifting the sleeve back a bit.

It almost feels like he knew all along what he’d find – the finger shaped bruises ringing around her wrist, so dark in such a small amount of time he’s sure someone’d leaned their whole weight into it. Mirrored on her other wrist, he sees after another careful check - matching set.

Already crossed over the threshold of her trust, he finds he can’t help himself. Breath in. He pinches the hem of her sweatshirt in his fingers and starts to move it upward in slow motion, watching her face for any indication that she’s stirring, but she stays as she is.

He gets a few inches of her abdomen visible. Bright red with bruising, starting to purple already - surely spreading up higher than he can see. Ribs, then - maybe why she was cradling her arm in, struggled to lean over.

There are angry red scratch marks on her belly - fingernails, from the width. Some of them run on out of view, trailing down, out of sight under the waist of her jeans. He lowers her shirt back down.

Leans his head back against the wall and cries.

---

link to whole story (work in progress) on AO3

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seedsofagony · 2 years

Text

All Work and No Play (GK)

Series: Golden Kamuy

Character: Tsurumi Tokushirou

Summary: Tsurumi shows you that, with a little imagination, housework can be fun: SFW (slightly suggestive), x reader, fluff, modern au, domestic bliss, spoiler free

Word Count: 580

Notes: It took me forever to write this, but here it is - the second in what I really do intend to be a series of domestic bliss drabbles using an actual chore wheel. (Just a reminder that all character and chore pairings are completely random. You can read the first drabble here.) For this one, I tried to imagine the most over-the-top scenario possible, which still somehow manages to feel like canon?

Image Credit: Denny Müller

For the hundredth time, you wonder why you haven’t bought a Roomba. And, for the hundredth time, you remind yourself that you know why - they’re way too expensive and you don’t need one. It would terrorize the cat and you have a perfectly good vacuum cleaner already. But as you haul your parents’ hand-me-down around your apartment, you have to admit that a Roomba would be really nice right about now.

You shove the old sweeper under the coffee table, aiming for some lint, when it suddenly locks up, hellbent on devouring the rug. Cursing, you try to rip the fabric free while the vacuum screams back at you through a mouthful of rug fluff. The motor cuts and, in the now-deafening silence, you’re torn between the domestic horror of having to buy a new appliance and the wicked joy that the damn thing is finally dead. Maybe now you can get that Roomba…

“Housekeeping really isn’t your thing, is it?”

Tsurumi leans on the wall behind you, swinging the unplugged vacuum cord in his hand. You yank the rug out of the vacuum’s rollers, painfully aware of what a mess you are - unkempt and a little sticky from lugging that stupid sweeper around. Meanwhile, Tsurumi looks as polished as ever - a considerable feat given that he volunteered to clean the oven earlier. The only signs of his efforts are a few strands of hair alluringly out of place and an artful swipe of grease on one of his high cheekbones.

“Well, it’s not exactly fun,” you sigh.

“Then we should make it fun,” he says, plugging the vacuum back in.

Before you can even wonder how housework could ever be fun, he sweeps you into his arms. The vacuum drones in the background, while Tsurumi presses his cheek to yours and begins humming a melody in your ear, lips and mustache tickling your skin. You shiver. The tune is vaguely familiar - you might be able to make it out if you weren’t so confused and bothered.

Grabbing the vacuum with one hand and wrapping his arm around your waist, Tsurumi guides you into a dance step. You stumble after, following clumsily. He spins you, then grabs you, face inches from yours, gaze smoky. You realize it then - this is the tango.

Pressing his forehead to yours, Tsurumi takes the lead, vacuum lightly in tow. He dips you, bending you backwards, then whips you back up, working his hips in tune to music only he can hear. He spins you again, flinging you to the ends of his fingertips before yanking you back in, your back against his chest. For a moment, his free hand is all over you, and then he’s leading you again, expertly maneuvering both you and the sweeper across the floor. He pulls you up onto your toes, then steps back swiftly. Off balance, you collapse to your knees, arms wrapped around his legs. He cuts the vacuum - the music stops.

Tsurumi smiles down at you as you both pant with effort. Your face burns, but the absurdity of dancing the tango while vacuuming doesn’t touch him. Embarrassment is beneath him. He pulls you to your feet and lifts your chin with his finger.

“There. That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Dumbfounded and breathless - the way he always seems to leave you - you shake your head.

“I didn’t think so,” he grins. “Now, tell me what else needs doing, and I’ll show you how fun it can be.”

#golden kamuy #tsurumi tokushirou #tsurumi #golden kamuy x reader #tsurumi x reader #golden kamuy reader insert #golden kamuy au #golden kamuy domestic bliss #golden kamuy scenario #golden kamuy fanfiction #golden kamuy fanfic #golden kamuy fic #golden kamuy drabble #golden kamuy fluff #golden kamuy dilfs #SFW #spoiler free

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bruce-wayne-simp · 1 year

Text

Ok yall im about to watch Remainder (2015)

I love how when i started my Sandman obsession i was like 'ok but we arent gonna get obsessed with Tom Sturridge' and now here we are. Ive watched Pirate Radio like 3 times and now im watching this

Disclaimer: idk what exactly this movie is about. Ive read a synopsis before but that was a while ago and i forgot what it was so 🤷‍♀️

The rest is under a read more, so, incoherent rambling ahead (hopefully). If not ill just be yelling abt how pretty he is i guess

Spoilers ahead

Oh god its starting aaahhhh

Hes panting....

So he's walking around frantically (but not like. Panicked) with a suitcase

Ok he left his luggage and now something fell-

HOLY SHIT he just got bashed in the head by something falling

How is he not fucking dead that was BRUTAL

Oh ok so hes basically dead??

Oh no hes awake actually

3 minutes in and this is a rollercoaster already jesus

Ok so he's in the MRI end he's remembering something

Ok creepy old lady

HE'S SPEAKING AAAAHHHH

Oooh he's scraggly here. Long hair and a beard

Ouch i feel bad for him :( he got tea and then fell while carrying it back to the bed

Did he rip the phone cord out of the wall on purpose

Ok tbh this is getting kinda tedious

Ooooh wait now its getting interesting

Ok so hes in the phone booth bcs he accidentally(?) pulled his phone cord out of the wall and this guy is impatient and wants to use the phone but gives up and goes away.

Then these two guys pull up in a car and are trying to get him out of the phone booth. The guy from before pulls out his phone and starts recording and one of the two guys reveals he has a gun. The guy recording manages to spook the two guys off.

Tom (T. Sturridge's character) gets out of the booth with the help of the recording guy, looks at him intensely and calls him Christopher. Chris gets kinda freaked out bcs that's his name and Tom somehow knows it.

INTRIGUING. Which is great bcs i was about to skip forward

Oh shit now there's some lady in his house

He knows her??? Ok

Also he did rip the phone out of the wall on purpose

Oh thank god hes getting a haircut

Oh also btw hes getting a settlement for the accident which is 8.5 million pounds but after taxes and stuff itll be like in the hundred thousands. The catch is that he can't talk about it. Which to him is all well and good bcs he doesn't remember anything about it.

Its kinda implied by this point that there's more to this than just an accident

Aww he's talking to the lady (idk her name and at this point we don't know his either) and he says he remembers her. He specifically remembers seeing her right before the accident (which we saw earlier), he remembers her smell and remembers kissing her or someone who looks like her

They're in the lawyers office and GOD is he pretty here

I noticed the way he moves his hands kinda oddly in The Sandman and i wondered if that was a character choice but i think he just Does That?? Idk we'll see

Im so confused. What??

I'm even more confused

How dare he look pretty with blood on his face looking pathetic in the subway

Oh shit thats a little complicated

So he went to this guys house where hes having a halloween party. The dudes name is Greg(??) and knows our guy. We find out the lady's name is Catherine and she is Gregs wife. Our guy is kinda agitated and trying to leave (for some reason) and Greg keeps pulling him back. Greg drops that she is/was his wife and that shes a liar and our guy pushes past him, goes into the bathroom amd vomits in the sink.

"Blizz. I think youre bad at explaining. None of this makes sense!" Exactly. Im even more confused

I have faith this will all make sense soon. We are only 30 mins in.

Is this just a 'this movie' thing or a British thing?? Is everyone this impatient all the time?? First hes in the phone booth for literally 5 seconds before someone tells him to hurry up. Now hes in the bathroom for maybe like 1 minute before people are like 'hey hurry it tf up' like CHILL yall

Ok nows a good time to mention this. He keeps having visions/flashbacks of this little boy in a red and blue coat and a creepy old lady

Oh shit that was intersting. Ok so he had a vision of walking around his flat and he winds up in the stairwell and he sees the old lady. She says something and he cant make it out so he asks 'What?' and she looks kind of up and next to him and the little boy is right there. The boy holds a hand out, our guy closes his eyes and he opens them to find himself still in the bathroom.

Wild. Ok. Im a bit more intrigued than confused now

Ok he was in the bathroom for an hour apparently. Theyre justified in yelling at him. But he also suffered severe brain damage so 🤷‍♀️

✨️arts and crafts time✨️

Catherines back!

He's kinda wary of her after his convo with Greg but she shows pics of herself in Oxford (where she said she was going) then they start bantering a bit and he says theyve had this conversation before and asks if she remembers and she says no :(

They're kissing aahhh

Oh shit Greg called her

He threw her phone at the wall and told her to get the fuck out

Hes not having a good time. Tbh he never was

Ok so he made a cardboard house during his arts and crafts time. For what? I have no idea.

Ok he lifted up the top and now he just destroyed it. Forget about the house we hate the house

Ok actually don't forget about the house he's calling realtors to ask about the house he recreated

Use a laptop you loser ❤️

OOOOH OKAY

So remember the vision he had in the bathroom?? THATS THE HOUSE HES LOOKING FOR. THE HOUSE HE WAS IN IN THE VISION. IT WASNT HIS FLAT.

Ok i think i get it? Hes having these visions and he remembers things and hes trying to recreate the memories and figure out what the visions are

Ok also i like the realtor guy. Hes working with him to figure out what the place hes been seeing is. Down to the old lady and the little boy.

Also we find out more details. The old lady cooks liver all the time to the point where our guy can smell it upstairs and puts her trash out whenever our guy leaves his apartment. Theres a guy who composes music and our guy can hear it upstairs.

Like hes professional and obviously a biy weirded out but hes not just like. Dismissing him out of hand

Also id youve seen The Kissing Gifs, this guy is the guy he kisses later on

The realtor guys colleagues find the house within like. Minutes and our guy is THRILLED

"I want you full-time, all the time." "Im not cheap." KISS ALREADY, DAMN

Oh shit it's those two guys from the phone booth

Oh ok so he wants to literally recreate the visions. He bought the complex he was seeing and he described the lady and the other dude so the realtor guy can move them in i guess?? And hes having construction workers make it EXACTLY as he saw it.

This man has Issues. Thats it thats the movie(?)

Oh my god he's having it recreated down to the fucking CATS on the roof. Jesus christ.

This part is hilarious

Ok so they tied the cats down to the roof bcs they were falling off the roof (horrifying). Our guy sees this and is like 'wtf no' so they have this amazing convo

Naz: These are the last cats we have

Tom: ...so?

Naz: So if they fall we'll be cat-less

Tom: Then we'll get more cats- why are we even having this conversation?

Like it's awful but funny as shit

Realtor guys name is Naz (we just found out)

(The cat handler quit btw)

Jfc he's like. Inspecting the people who are moving in with Intense Eye Contact

Oh my god hes like. Ordering this guy to do nothing but compose music that has ALREADY BEEN WRITTEN day in and day out and start over again and again

Holy fuck this is so Wild. There are people in line who literally have their faces covered (bcs i guess he doesn't know what they look like????)

He just told this lady that there's a broom closet but he doesn't want her to ever use it. But she needs to think about it. WHAT THE FUCK

"You will notice there are some rooms that have been left blank. Like the masks some of you are wearing. You're not less important, you're just less specific."

Hey. Hey Tom. Do you take constructive criticism? How about you use that small fortune and go to ✨️therapy✨️

Greg's a bit of a douche

Wow this is creepy as shit

He's going into the house and everyones in place recreating the vision but its just so... produced.

Hes micromanaging the SHIT out of this

HE WANTED TO MAKE THE LITTLE BOY APPEAR AGAIN. HE TOLD NAZ THAT THE BOY APPEARS WHEN EVERYTHING'S RIGHT. I WAS WONDERING ABOUT THE LITTLE BOY

Also the old lady fell when she was doing her thing and it knocked him out of seeing the boy

Christopher (the guy from the phone booth) seems chill.

Also Toms proposition is weird but not like. Actively malicious. He told Chris that he wanted him to stay at the phone booth. The longer he stays the more he gets paid. Also that the phone will ring and he gets paid if he answers it

We have 50 minutes left in this fucking movie

Oooohhhh hes sleeping with some random lady to try and recreate a memory i think

OH he's trying to recreate the memory with Catherine but without Catherine

Nooo those guys got Christopher :(

Naz is a real one

Oh god hes recreating Christophers death. HES PLAYING THE ROLE OF CHRISTOPHER HIMSELF

He had the guys use an ACTUAL TASER on him

Naz was like 'youre not using an actual taser' and Tom was like 'then go home' and i guess Naz decided to stay lmaooo

He threw up afterwards bcs being tased is Not Fun and was like 'again' and Naz (who is very sweet) was like 'i don't understand why it's necessary to hurt yourself'

Once again, NAZ IS A REAL ONE

Theyre still doing it again tho

Nvm he walked out of the phone booth and immediately collapsed lmao

Oof the lady he has playing Catherine is Over It

'I won't hurt you' he says as he has his hand around her neck

Men will do literally anything other than go to therapy

He scared the living shit out of her and now she's just reciting her lines on autopilot to appease him

To his credit, he feels bad about it (bare minimum)

Nvm about that actually

Sir you just traumatized some random lady bcs YOU can't deal

Oh fuck

Ok so the two guys got him

Apparently he stole the suitcase he had in the beginning of the movie before the accident and they wanna know where it is

Which is a problem bcs Tom can't really remember anything

Oh shit they're torturing him abt it

Oh wow that house is super fucked up

Literally everyones waiting in place and Tom and Naz are just. Upstairs.

They've been frozen for OVER AN HOUR

Tom's just. Watching tv like he doesn't have a dozen people frozen in place downstairs.

Wealth really does fuck you up huh

Ok bcs of Reasons theyre reenacting a bank robbery. Don't ask me why. I know why but i just don't feel like explaining it

Is Naz a realtor? I don't think he is actually. I just assumed. Sorry Naz.

At least he has a lot of stuff to put on his resume now? He could make a killing in theatre. That's basically what he's doing now is stage managment

Omg in this scene he looked like Dream for a second there

See, he wants it to feel real, but he's producing it every step of the way

THEY KISSED

Holy shit

Ok so. Basically he wants to do an actual bank robbery.

The hyperrealistic set isn't enough. If im hearing him correctly he wants to do an actual, honest to god bank robbery with real guns and everything at the actual bank where it happened

Without the actors' knowledge

Guess who works at the bank? Catherine.

This is so fucked up

What the fuck

Holy shit Tom shot him

What a psychopath

Oh my GOD

He just shot all the actors

THE KID IS REAL

Oh my god oh my god oh my god

WHAT THE FUCK

IM SHAKING WHAT THE FUCK

BRO YOU JUST KILLED 4 PEOPLE

NO FUCKING WAY

ITS STARTING OVER AGAIN

Its over oh my god

Final thoughts: Just... im speechless. What the fuck. I dont even know what to think. What a trip. It starts off super slow but damn. I might rewatch just to figure out what the Fuck but thats not high on the priority list. I might watch Like Minds next??

#tom sturridge #remainder (2015)#holy shit #idk what to tag this as

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