#having been hit by flying debris | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

liliacamethyst · 11 months

Text

Webs of Fate - Miguel O'Hara (Part II)

Sequel to Web of Secrets

Miguel O'Hara x SpiderSun Reader

words: 5.2K

warnings: secret pregnancy trope, swearing, angst, heartbreak, grumpy/sunshine, smut, time jumps, not really comic accurate (canon events), semi public piv, 18+

Part I Part II Part III Part IV

You are all back at the Spider-Verse Headquarters and the atmosphere is tense. Everyone is still high on adrenaline from the mission. You’re nursing a deep gash on your arm but your spirit is far from broken.

Miguel, however, seems to be on the verge of an explosion.

“WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT OUT THERE SPIDER SUN?” he bursts out, his voice echoing through the HQ.

You're taken aback. “What do you mean?”

“That reckless behavior! You could have been killed!” he roars. “Why didn’t you retreat when you were injured?!”

“Because there were lives at stake! I can handle myself, Miguel!” you shout back.

“You think this is a game?! You think being part of this team is just for kicks?” Miguel’s face is red, his voice strained.

“Don’t you dare! Don’t you dare question my dedication!” you yell, your own anger now matching his.

The team is watching, shifting uncomfortably. Gwen looks at Jess, who shakes her head. The room is thick with tension.

Alright, if you are being honest with yourself, your recent actions in the field could definitely be classified as reckless. Perhaps even bordering on idiotic - not that you’d ever confess that in front of Miguel. You didn’t know where your mind went. Wait, no, scratch that. You knew precisely where your thoughts were, every mission since you discovered your pregnancy has been like this; your spider senses dulled, focus scattered to the wind, and reflexes that would’ve made a sloth proud.

And then there was this mission – your first one in quite a while alongside Miguel. He was bound to notice.

So you were fighting an Electro variant from an alternate universe, alongside Jess, Gwen, Ben and Miguel. The electric villain was throwing bolts of energy left and right and everyone was giving their all. You noticed a civilian trapped under some debris. You made a beeline for them, not thinking about anything else.

As you lifted the debris, an energy bolt flew straight for you. Usually, your Spider-Senses would have alerted you but not today. It hit you square in the back and sent you flying.

You hit a wall but ignored the pain as you scrambled back to your feet. A sharp ache spread across your arm but you gritted your teeth and kept fighting.

Miguel yelled, “What the hell are you doing?! Fall back!”

But you didn’t, you kept pushing forward.

He landed next to you, his eyes filled with anger and something else, maybe a hint of worry. He grabbed your waist to pull you back. But as another energy bolt was coming your way, you shoved him out of the path, taking the hit for the second time. So yeah, you could say that this mission wasn't exactly the shining star in your superhero career.

“ESTÚPIDA! So damn stupid. I won’t fucking watch someone throw their life away recklessly!” Miguel was now yelling loudly in oyur face for everyone in the HQ to hear.

“Oh, please. What’s it to you? Since when do you care, Miguel?!” you shout back, finally having enough of his insufferable attitude. “All this time, you’ve treated me like I’m dispensable. Like I don't matter! Well, guess what? I can fight, I can make decisions, and I don’t need you to approve them!”

“Don’t!” Miguel's voice cracks, and for a brief second, there’s a look of hurt on his face that surprises you. But his rage quickly replaces it. “I cannot do this anymore with you, ¿me entiendes?” he yells.

The room falls silent. Everyone’s gazes dart between you and Miguel. You can feel Gwen’s worried eyes on you, and Ben Riley. looks like he wants to intervene, but this moment is too charged.

You take a deep breath, tears welling up. “I can't do this anymore either,” you whisper.

“What?” Miguel's voice is barely audible.

“I can't keep fighting for a team where I’m not respected or trusted. Where you treat me constantly like a liability, like I am worth nothing to you,” you say, your voice steadier now.

“You don’t know what you are saying,” Miguel says, his tone slightly softening.

You turn around, your eyes welling up once again and open a portal to your universe. “I do, I quit” you say, your voice breaking.

You reach into your pocket and pull out your transdimensional gizmo, the small device that every Spider-person uses to travel across the multiverse. It's an intricate piece of technology, a blend of science and magic that fits in the palm of your hand.

You toss the device on the table in front of Miguel. It skids across the surface before coming to a stop right in front of him. He looks from the gizmo to you, his expression unreadable.

"Take it. We don’t need it anymore." You say defiantly, meeting his gaze.

Everyone knows the implication of you returning the gizmo. Without it, you're effectively stranded in your universe, unable to return to the society. This isn't a decision made lightly, it's a point of no return.

As you step through the portal, you glance back one last time. You see Miguel’s face, contorted in pain, but he doesn’t move, he doesn’t speak and he doesn't stop you.

Your heart is breaking, but you can’t stay here. Not when it’s this painful.

You turn away and head toward the portal room, with one hand lightly grazing your tummy. Gwen calls your name, but you don’t stop.

In the dim light of the room, the world seems to fade away as you lie there with Miguel on top of you. You are under him, breathless, your fingers running through his hair. His body pins you down in a tender, electrifying way, and you can feel the rhythm of his heart beating against yours.

His fangs graze the curve of your neck lightly, eliciting a shiver that runs through you. In response, he nuzzles into you, his breath warm against your skin.

"Ever think about what we're doing?" he asks in a whisper that vibrates against your neck.

"Constantly," you respond, your fingers tracing the curve of his broad shoulders, "but I don’t regret it, not a moment.”

He lifts his head, his red orbs searching yours. “Neither do I,” he says, his voice barely more than a whisper. His hand reaches up to trace the contour of your face.

"You know," you whisper, your hands continuing caressing his back, "I always wondered what it was like in your universe, in your time."

He shifts a little, propping himself up on one elbow as he looks down at you. His eyes, usually as unreadable, now seem to crack open; emotions swirl within them like stars.

"It was great, you know," his voice is gentle, each word enveloping you. "No, more than that – it was perfect," he corrects himself. His eyes never leave yours as he continues, "I had my Gabriella. Ah, you would have adored her." His voice softens to a mere whisper as if speaking her name too loudly might shatter the memory. "She was this incredible burst of life just like you. My own little sunshine. I didn’t know my heart could hold so much until she came into my life."

"The way she would throw her head back and laugh, it was like music. Her tiny hands – so soft and gentle. I remember how one of them always found mine, and the world felt... right." He continued, "I was never alone, never empty." He swallows hard, as if trying to keep the flood of emotions from washing over him.

You cup his cheek gently, smiling up at him. "You don't have to be alone, you know?"

He lets out a dry chuckle. “Sometimes it feels like there's no other option. It’s my fate."

“What scares you the most, Miguel?” you suddenly ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

He hesitates. “To lose myself… to forget what it means to care for someone,” he finally confesses.

“You won’t,” you assure him, your thumb stroking his cheek. “Not if you don’t let yourself.”

“¿y tú?” His voice is husky. “What’s your biggest fear?”

“To be forgotten,” you whisper.

He lowers himself and presses his forehead against yours. “Imposible,” he breathes. “You’re the sun. No one forgets the sun.” He pulls you closer, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, his arms tighten around you, pulling you closer until the world outside disappears.

Suddenly, his wrist console beeps, yanking him back to the present. "O’Hara, are you okay?" Lyla's voice echoes in the room, breaking the silence. He blinks, his gaze focusing on the holographic screen displaying the mission details in front of him. "Yeah, Lyla," he responds, his voice a bit hoarse. "Just remembered something," he murmurs, and refocuses on the screen before him.

Amidst the sea of codes and numbers, Miguel finds himself struggling to focus. His thoughts still are consumed by you, and a heavy realization crashes down upon him like a tidal wave - he’s lost you forever.

He always knew that this was how it was meant to be. This was the only logical conclusion, the inevitable outcome that he had tried so hard to deny. He was aware of the potential repercussions, the cosmic imbalance that could be brought about by your intertwining fates.

Lyla had warned him multiple times, cautioned him against letting you close. But how could he have possibly resisted you? You, who shone brighter than the sun, who captured the hearts of everyone around with your aura and your kind soul. Your beauty was unparalleled, and your laughter had the power to fill a room, casting away shadows. He was a moth drawn to your flame, hopelessly captivated from the very first day he met you.

But you were never meant to be his story, not the path his life was meant to tread. You belonged to another world, another universe.

"You're thinking about her, aren't you?" Lyla breaks the silence with her smooth, computerized voice. “No,” he interrupts her sharply, his voice a little too forceful.

But Lyla isn't easily deterred. "You know it was dangerous from the beginning, Miguel," Lyla continues. "Engaging with her like that...it could have caused irreparable damage to the multiverse."

"I know," he replies curtly.

Unyielding, Lyla continues, "This was never supposed to be a canon event. Her universe is not meant to mix with yours. It's fortunate that she left when she did. The damage could've been—"

“I KNOW!” Miguel suddenly erupts, his voice thundering through the room. He screams, his frustration boiling over, "¡Ya lo sé, Lyla! ¡Basta ya!" ("I already know, Lyla! Enough already!") With a loud grunt, he sweeps his arm across his desk, sending his keyboard, mug, and various other items crashing to the ground.

There is a deafening silence as Miguel breathes heavily, his chest heaving. His eyes are wide, his face is flushed and his fangs are bared. He never loses control, not like this.

Lyla, for once, remains silent.

3 months later…

Back in Nea Yorkey, Earth 586 , you are perched on the rooftop, absentmindedly rubbing your stomach. Time has passed since you left Nueva York and Miguel, but your feelings for him are still a tangled mess. Damn these pesky pregnancy hormones.

For once, it’s pretty calm out there. No honking horns in traffic jams or the usual buzz of people everywhere. It’s like the city hit the pause button and honestly, it’s kind of nice. The streetlights are like tiny fairy lights all over, and the tall buildings around you feel like they’re keeping you company.

The cool breeze brushes against your face, and you can't help but be lost in your thoughts. Thoughts of him. The relentless flood of emotions is almost too much to handle.

The flashback hits you hard, placing you right back in Miguel's office late one evening. Your legs were wrapped around his waist, your backside planted firmly on his desk amidst strewn cables and metallic pieces and half-empty coffee mugs.

"Miguel, someone will catch us," you had warned, your breath hitching as he nipped at your skin, his hands deftly moving to undo your skintight suit. His hair was a little longer then, the ends tickling your forehead as he kissed you.

He had just chuckled, the sound deep and throaty, making your heart flutter. "They know better than to disturb me," he'd responded confidently, his lips trailing fiery kisses along your jawline.

Usually, Miguel was cautious about showing any sign of affection when others might be around, even if 'around' meant anywhere in the sprawling headquarters of the Spider Society. Yet, that night, he seemed to throw caution to the wind.

In his enclosed office, late into the evening, he let his guard down - a rarity. His lips were insistent against your skin, his touch setting you alight. You remember how the soft glow of the desk lamp had caught in his eyes, making them appear even more mesmerizing.

As he was holding your ass up steady and pounding into you, in a pace and fervor you never experienced before, you hear his communicator ring vibrating. You instinctively attempt to pull away, assuming he would answer the call, but he holds you tighter, his lips never leaving your skin.

His free hand pulls up a holographic screen,which flickered to life above the desk, revealing a slightly pixelated image of Jess. You panic for a moment, worried that she might see you in this intimate moment with Miguel, but he just shook his head slightly, reassuring you that she can't. He must have filtered the video feed on his end.

“Yes, Jess?” Miguel’s voice was steady, but his breath ghosted your neck in short spurts. He continued with his action, his thrusts a little slower but deep, nevertheless. You clamp your teeth down onto Miguel's shoulder in a desperate attempt to stifle the moans escaping your throat, your senses overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment. You can barely contain yourself. Miguel's soft, amused chuckle vibrate through you as he wraps his arms around you protectively. Asshole.

“We’ve got an anomaly on Earth-4067, seems like a temporal rift,” Jess's voice came through the hologram.

“Have you tried the Q-particle stabilizer?” Miguel asks, his voice so casual it's almost disarming. His eyes meet yours, a playful glint in them.

“Yeah, but it didn’t work. The rift is actually growing,” Jess responds, the worry in her voice increasing. “What do you think we should do?”

“Alright, I want you to reconfigure the dimensional frequency to match the rift. Then patch the satellite feed through the Alchemax algorithm, reverse the temporal frequency by 4.7 hertz and use the resonance pulse to stabilize the rift,” Miguel articulates with authority as he continues to pick up his pace. You’re close to the edge, with the euphoria threatening to make you cry out. The sheer pleasure is now tinged with a faint edge of pain, and a wave of panic crashes over you. The thought of Jess possibly hearing you is nerve-wracking, and you’re now fighting to suppress your screams.

Your breathing becomes erratic as you whisper in a hoarse, needy voice, “Miguel, ‘m close."

"I know, mami. Come for me," he whispers back, his voice filled with a playful mischief that seems to defy the gravity of the situation. His hot breath against your ear sends shivers down your spine and the wave of pleasure crushes down on you.

“Miguel, are you sure about this? I mean, if something goes wrong…” Jess hesitates.

“I’m sure, Jess.” Thrust. “Do.” Another hard thrust. “it.” Miguel’s voice turns forceful.

“Okay, I trust you. But... are you alright? You sound kinda breathless,” Jess's suspicion returns.

“Oh, just...uh...running some diagnostics. It’s a bit stuffy in here,” Miguel replies with a smirk on his face, his fingers now gently brushing against your bare heated skin.

The rooftop is silent again, and you're still rubbing your belly, where the life you and Miguel created is growing. A bittersweet tear rolls down your cheek as you wish, not for the first time, that things could have been different.

You don’t know how long you are sitting there, taking in the city scene. But it was getting dark, when a familiar figure swings onto the rooftop. It's Gwen, carrying a small package in her hand. “Gwen? What brings you to Nea Yorkey?”

She walks up to you with a soft smile, "Do I need a reason to visit my favourite Spider-Ma? I've got something for you."

You raise an eyebrow as she hands you the package. As you unwrap it, you find a tiny Spider-Man hat, similar to the one Mayday usually wears. And to your surprise, there’s a tiny anarchy pin, attached to it.

"From the group," she says softly. She adds, pointing at the pin, "This bit here, that’s from Hobie." Of course it is.

You’re moved to tears as you hug the hat close. It's a simple gift, yet it means so much. You feel a lump in your throat, and Gwen steps forward, wrapping you in a warm, comforting hug.

"I...I miss all of you so much," you manage to whisper, your voice choked with emotion.

"We miss you too," Gwen replies, her voice equally soft.

You pull back, wiping your eyes. Gwen tries to lighten the mood, "So, any guesses on the gender? I bet it’s a boy."

You shrug, a small smile tugging at your lips, "I don't care what it's going to be. I just want them to be healthy."

Gwen grins, "Just remember, if it is a boy and he turns out to be a handful, you owe me a soda."

You both sit on the edge of the rooftop in a comfortable silence, legs swinging over the city, the conversation turns more serious.

"So," you venture, "how are things back at the Spider Society?"

Gwen’s expression turns contemplative. "It's been... strange since you left," she admits.

"Strange how?" you prod.

"Well, you know how Miguel was always a little on the, uh, grumpy side?" she says, making a grimace.

"You mean being a brooding fortress of doom and gloom?" you quip, and Gwen chuckles.

"Yeah, that. Well, he's gotten worse since you left. Like, way worse," Gwen's face turns somber as she continues. "He’s even more closed off than before. His temper’s shorter, he barely communicates, and he's been pushing everyone away. Miguel’s basically got everyone on lockdown. No unauthorized visits between universes. There’s this... I don’t know... this cloud hanging over him, you know?”

Your heart tightens as you take in her words. You had no idea that your departure had such an impact on him, or anyone for that matter.

“He doesn’t talk about it, but I think he misses you,” Gwen adds, looking directly into your eyes.

You are torn. Part of you wants to be angry at Miguel for how things went down, but another part aches for him.

Gwen nudges you. "Maybe he needs his sunshine back," she says with a gentle smile.

You sit in silence for a moment, the weight of Gwen’s words sinking in. “Don’t be silly. I was never his sunshine.”

4 months later…

Beneath the pale glow of hospital lights, pain and joy mingle in the delivery room. The grip you have on the sheets gets tighter as you push to usher your baby into the world. Your hair is sticking to your forehead, your breath comes in heaving gasps, exhaustion painting dark circles under your eyes.

Meanwhile, unbeknownst to you, a portal flickers to life outside your window, and Gwen, Peter B., and Hobie emerge.

“Make way! The party has arrived!” Peter B. exclaims loudly.

“I don’t believe in parties.” Hobie says as he struts in, clad in his Spider suit with a leather jacket over it, pins and patches proudly displayed.

Gwen knocks at your door. The midwife, busy with you in the labor, answers.

“Uh, who are you?” the midwife asks, slightly agitated.

“We’re friends of hers,” Peter gestures towards you, “is it a good time?”

You hear their voices, but you cant muster up a response all you can do is scream and push.

“Blimey, I didn’t think it’d be like somethin’ outta Alien! You alright there, love?” Hobie’s eyes go wide, as he enters the room.

You can't help but laugh through the pain, "Oh, just peachy, thanks for asking."

Gwen steps forward, immediately grabbing your hand, her voice soothing, “Hey, you’re doing great. Is there anything we can do?”

“You could get Hobie out of here,” you jest, rolling your eyes, but your smile betrays your appreciation. Another loud scream follows.

“You got this, luv!” Hobie shouts. “Just imagine the bloody contractions as guitar riffs! You’re about to release the raddest album in history!”

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, you hear the cries of your newborn baby.

“Congratulations, it's a boy!” the nurse announces, handing the baby to to you.

You can’t help but laugh. Gwen steps closer to the bed and takes a peek at the baby. Her eyes light up. “Told you, it’s a boy. He’s absolutely beautiful,” she whispers.

Hobie chimes in. “Alright, let’s get a proper look at the little bloke!” He leans in, and his face softens. "Oh, look at 'im!" Hobie exclaims in his thick British accent, peering at him. "Little blighter's a spitting image of 'is mum, ain't he?” No. You see it then, the dark eyes with a hint of red glow echo the intensity of his father's gaze, the dark chocolate hair and the sun kissed complexion. He looked undeniably just like Miguel. You cant help yourself but fall immediately in love with your and Miguel’s little boy.

As they prepare to leave, Gwen, Peter B., and Hobie each take turns holding Gabriel and whispering well-wishes to him.

“I can’t thank you guys enough for being here,” you say, wiping away a tear.

Peter’s mask is off and he’s beaming. "We couldn't miss this for the multiverse!"

Gwen follows suit, "Yeah! Plus, Hobie wouldn't let us hear the end of it if we didn’t."

“We’re family,” Peter says firmly. “Across universes and timelines. We’re always here for each other.”

With that, the trio put on their masks and with another whoosh, they're gone.

1 year later...

One year has passed like a whirlwind. You've established a balance in your life. By day, you are a doting mother, and your world revolves around a little ball of energy named Gabriel. His laugh is the music that fuels your day, and his tiny hands holding yours make everything seem alright.

At night, though, you become someone else. Clad in a white suit adorned with golden sun patterns, you swing through the skyscrapers of Nea Yorkey as the Sun Spider. Your heart swells with pride, knowing that you’re keeping the streets and your little boy safe.

Your neighbor, Melissa, sometimes babysits Gabriel. She is a cheerful, quirky 19-year-old neighbor who dreams of becoming an Instagram influencer. You trust her (her career choice not so much) and, most importantly, Gabriel adores her.

Up until today, you believed that he hadn't inherited any powers. However, today was the first time he climbed up a wall and spun a web, without the aid of a web-slinger. It was the first time you witnessed him display such powers, and naturally, you were impressed. However, you also realized that being a mom would now involve dealing with a whole new set of challenges and responsibilities, making everyday life more exhausting than before. But you are up for the challenge;

Meanwhile, in the Spider Society’s HQ in Nueva York, Lyla’s holographic screen blinks red as she detects an anomaly in Earth 586 - your universe. She reports it to Miguel, who is still his grumpy self, seemingly even more irritable with each day passing.

“There’s a presence in Earth 586 that does not belong,” Lyla reports in her emotionless tone.

Miguel, sitting at his desk, sighs deeply. “Assemble the team. Pavitr, Lego Spider-Man, and... let’s bring in the newbie, Miles.”

Minutes later, the trio is briefed about the anomaly – a two-year-old child. They are to extract the child and bring it back.

Back in your universe, you're facing off against a notorious villain – The Shocker, who is on a rampage downtown. His high-frequency shock waves shake the very foundations of the buildings around you.

“Not tonight, Shocker,” you quip as you dodge a blast. “I’ve got a bedtime story to read!”

You're agile and sharp, but you can’t wait to get back home to Gabriel.

In your apartment, Melissa is on the couch, engrossed in her phone. She doesn't notice Pavitr slyly slipping into Gabriel's room. He can’t help but feel conflicted, seeing the innocent child asleep.

“This is the target?” Pavitr speaks in a hushed tone into his communicator. His voice is laced with doubt.

“Yes, proceed,” responds Miguel firmly.

Pavitr gently picks up Gabriel, cradling him in his arms. “Sorry, little guy,” he whispers and slips out.

Outside, they gather near the portal. Miles, who is visibly excited to be on his first mission, can sense the tension among the group.

“That was… too easy,” Pavitr murmurs, still holding the sleeping child.

Through the swirling portal, they make their way back to Nueva York.

Meanwhile, you web up The Shocker and leave him hanging for the police.

Back in the Spider Society's HQ in Nueva York, the team stands in a specialized containment room with the toddler still peacefully sleeping nestled in a makeshift bed of spider-web, completely oblivious to the attention he's attracting. One by one, members of the Spider Society trickle into the room, drawn by curiosity and concern.

Miles, who is new to the Spider Society, looks at the child with confusion. "I don't get it, what's so dangerous about a kid?" he asks.

Pavitr looks conflicted, “We have to determine where he came from and why he is considered an anomaly.”

Lego Spider-Man remains silent, trying to analyze the situation. He finally speaks up. "We should be cautious. Just because it's a child doesn't mean it's not potentially hazardous to the multiverse."

Miguel enters the room, his face cold and emotionless. He glances at the sleeping child, then at his team. “It doesn’t matter what it is. Anomalies threaten the balance of the multiverse. Every anomaly has to be returned to its home universe. That’s the rule.” he says sternly.

"But he's not an anomaly, boss," Jess adds, gazing fondly at the child. "He's a little boy."

Miguel’s gaze is unwavering, ignoring Jess. “Lyla? Whats the status?”

Lyla's holographic form flickers into the room. "This entity possesses unknown powers," she declares, her voice ringing out with clinical detachment. "And according to my scans, it doesn't belong to any known universe. Therefore, it cannot be returned. It must be... eliminated."

Miles' eyes widen. “Wait, you mean…?” he can’t bring himself to finish the sentence.

Pavitr steps forward, his fists clenched. “We can’t just... There must be another way.”

Back in your universe, you swing closer to your apartment, but your spider-sense starts are tingling with a ferocity you’ve never experienced before. Your heart races, and you quicken your pace. Bursting through the window, you find Melissa still sitting on the couch, scrolling through her phone.

"Where is he? Where’s Gabriel?!" you shout, panic straining your voice.

Melissa's eyes go wide as she looks up from her phone. "What? He's in his room, sleeping," she says, but her voice falters when she sees the terror on your face.

You rush into Gabriel's room and find the crib empty. Your knees buckle, and a guttural scream escapes your lips. The room spins as you run back to the living room, grabbing Melissa by the shoulders.

"Did anyone come in? Did you see anything?!" you practically scream at her.

“I... I didn’t see anyone. I swear!” Melissa's voice shakes.

Your heart feels like it's tearing apart. You look around the room, desperate for any clue. You need to find your son, and something deep within you tells you that the Spider Society is where you need to go. You have to find a way to travel through the multiverse without a gizmo and the time is ticking. You have to find your son.

Back in the HQ in the midst of the tension-filled room, Gwen stands up, "Miguel, you can't be serious," she pleads, disbelief resonating in her voice. "We can't just... kill a baby.”

Miguel's eyes narrow. "Sometimes tough decisions have to be made for the greater good.”

Just then, little Gabriel wakes up. His big eyes wander curiously around the room, and he starts to make happy babbling sounds. Unfazed by his surroundings, he looks at each of the Spider-People with fascination.

As Peter B. is about to reach down to pick Gabriel up, the toddler crawls quickly over to Miguel. His little face lights up with the purest of smiles and he reaches his tiny arms towards Miguel as if trying to give him a hug.

The room seems to collectively hold its breath. Even Miguel seems taken aback.

Pavitr can't help it, “He seems to have taken a liking to you, boss.”

Gwen smiles, her eyes watering up. “See? Even this innocent soul can sense there’s still good in you.”

Tiny fingers grip at the fabric of Miguel's suit, baby Gabriel coos and giggles as he clambers up the towering figure. Planting tiny baby kisses on any part of Miguel he can reach, the toddler's joyous laughter rings in the silent room. "Vete, Vete." Miguel mutters. And despite Miguel's cold exterior, Gabriel is unphased, drawn to him as though an invisible bond exists between them.

Miguel looks frustrated and uncomfortable with the baby's affection. He awkwardly picks Gabriel up at arm’s length. But the little one is relentless, trying to cuddle into Miguel’s chest.

Annoyed, Miguel places Gabriel into a containment field made of energy beams, to keep him in place. The baby, though restrained, is still reaching out to Miguel with his tiny hands, cooing.

The room goes quiet again, and Gwen speaks, her voice soft.

“Look at him, Miguel. Please. You can’t tell me that this doesn’t affect you in any way.”

Miguel's face is tense, his jaw clenched. His eyes dart between Gwen and Gabriel. All eyes are directed towards Miguel. The room feels like it’s waiting for something to shatter.

“We do what needs to be done, no exceptions.”

Part III "Web of Shadow and Light"

a/n: Honestly, I can't begin to express how much your support and kind messages mean to me. I literally started crying when I saw how much love this story received. It means the world to me. Truly, thank you. I'd love to hear your thoughts, and if someone could give me a heads-up on whether the tag list functioned properly, that would be great. Also, apologies for any inconsistencies or logical errors regarding the multiverse or canon theory. I watched the movie but I'm not 100% sure of that's how it works.

Once again, I really do appreciate each and everyone of you. Please, don’t forget to take good care of yourselves and stay hydrated! ILYSM

@ieatmunson @buggiecrawls @strawberriesareprettycool @lux-thebimbo @hk-4ever @invaderzim13 @hannah-goulll @arivh @alwayslegendarymoon @deputy-videogamer @560ria @myconglomerateromance @mateihavenoidea @alwayslegendarymoon @shibble @pagesfalling @kurooyy @regretfulmoth @crazysandwichlady2p04 @ poet-dae @rev-hellfyr @suya-x-syx @daimiyu @lazy-idate @jenniferdixon05207 @lostprince @amplsblog @eternalsams @cubinhodegelo @ prvttystvr @dabi-hawksbrainrot @noxiousfeline @maeplayscello @everyoneluvsvane @vinskyspuff @snazzajazz @yuuuumii @loreleis-world @fuckub @shugrcrush @fandomsinthegalaxies @vladersira @greatstudentbird @avengersinitiative2012 @therealnekomari @xiangping-28 @tanchosanke @tulipsc @tonystank1011 @la--figue @pingpongfingfong @ash-tronomicall @spardaenjoyer @venuswash3re @sofi786 @ranpuwo @sayonaratoyou @fuckthatfeeling @k7a4 @mxjss @rizahawkeye1380 @sinnamongirl @soosheee @cheezit-luv3rr @ransbatonowo @azurerose010 @azestar12334 @muertethekid @jay-joy @staronus0buttercup @mashiromochi @iseizeyourmom @salty-sister @aryjai @surhii @sinning-fae @gel0517 @hinata7346 @princessfuckyou @danyisawesomedontdenyit @typicalife-101 @arabell13 @thekinghazzastyles @sockears @perfectprofessorloverapricot

@mkissad @spiritndrain @melovetitties @ihateuguys @honeycriess @pinkbearddragon @yrlocalsimp @savagemickey03 @beiroviski @vanilla-sweets @autismsupermusicalassassin @itsjstz @wifeofnatasharomanoff @alleo-i @jxsoook @saint-chlorine @novausstuff @canary58143 @amal31 @belle643 @ellahlour @akyino @give-me-cats-or-give-me-death @daemonlover @jiminling @forever1kay @chixkencxrry @nessrin @noelsilly @crispmarshmallow @rfvuhhvbin @johfaam @cenkisabibl @rosseyblog @pixiepaintt @pissboyazzy @couchpotato2006 @youcantseem3

@chuckle-nuts @trashybebe @cowabummwerdude @fresa-luna @fjordg @perkip3nguin @randomficlover @skylarlyn823 @prettysbliss @sajova @xxtipherethxx @yeahnotf @pendeja4bts @shoxji @mysingularitybts @moon-alexys00 @szaplsdropthealbum @kibo-ichiro @ace-mothman

@burningfishkidlamp @hellsingalucard18 @mimooyi @riverflowsanywherebuthere @desmanchaprazeres @dorck26 @seasaltjackal @cupcakeandkisses @lost-in-thevoids @starlightaura @stained-tea-cup @yarri0 @mellowstatesmanhandsempath @rizzie-lovee127 @shirasakai @holymotherfxrkingshirtballs @hiptobesquare13 @iloveplayboicarti @cosmoscoffeee @spaceemeeatt2 @bblouifford @aisyakirmann @xdarkcreaturex @lotustv @fenrysashryver @bri-loves-sunflowers @azrealbanerstark @lostaudfound @ithechipmonk @bby-lupin @mortallyscrumptiousmilkshake @hxlytrin @laennetargaryenskywalker @angi531 @namjooningera @stevenknightmarc @vr00m-vr00m @itsmadamehydra @blep-23 @alastorhazbin @bluevenus19 @bxdbxtxh15 @mrs-ohara09 @strangetrashblog @embersfae @animez96 @thekidscallmebosss @missdragon-1 @navyyoo @harmonics0537 @1206kju @chiharuundead @ahleeyuh @amyg1509 @kiruoris @rvnd0m-th1ngs @vallaufeyson @roses-and-grasses @enalofi @janeety @ash-aragami @peachycreamysmut @saltyllamakidwombat @3zae-zae3 @soupinacan444 @thepassionatereader @lukasdreamland @miracleangel19 @blackqueengold @yosistairl @adv3rs1ty @walkingtravesty97 @girlbloggingisamentalillness @rocketstyx @joined2023lol @whatdudtheysay @thatshouldgoonahat @eileen201804 @nuhteyam @panassbitch @ahoeformyself @abyemayiamay @stevenandmarcslove @froginmygarden @yunamaii @polireader @st0rmyt @delusional505 @enesitamor @groovycass @teamowolverine @blueoorchid @ausara23 @cyberv0dka @danika1994 @rawegggohan @mysteriousmeaning @defiance749 @rinx35 @tamales78 @saucypeanuttt @mitskistannn @shinydragoneagle @rorytrusov @shoyosdoll @sleepycow21 @urdads-gf @okgenic @nim360

@shadowdaddysposts @emmytheinsecurepinata @darksunemiku @inafantasyworld10 @kyezofficial @beanstock7 @awesome-animenerd @levermilion @elliellielliesgirl @ thesimpybitch @jasontoddsfavoritechair @athena-portgas @redhoodedtoad @strawnanamilk @bijuu-naginata @chaimantis @ef4iryone @1-800-call-a-milf @idcalol @eddiesb3dstainss @rootintootincowboi@6billionyearsold @xiaolanternn @etherealkistar @mitzukichan18 @quackimilktea @my-goverment-is-a-dictator @bxbyyyjocelyn @teramjna @morilemochi @chompwoman @vanillacoffeeology @calicoootalks @shine101 @mental-illness-is-my-friend @myhomethesea @janedah0e @st4rrlighttt @imnotyourbcbe @1lyyff @marsbars09 @migueloharaapologist2

8K notes · View notes

some-bunniii · 2 months

Text

My Charming Red Savior [4]

・❥ A friend revealed, and warm feelings.

x: pronouns are she/her. no use of y/n.

xx: decided to change the saving fem!reader to its AO3 title, so all parts of this fic have been updated for this change as well!

~6.8k words

warnings: depictions of blood/injury

“Did I miss anything?”

Those were the first words the King of Hell had spoken atop the large patio, as you stood in awe, battered, with dust and debris sticking to your body. You blinked, frozen in place as your eyes scanned over the pearlescent man’s figure, who grinned charmingly across from you.

He leaned lazily against the gold railing, now partially destroyed from the small explosions that had peppered the front of the hotel. The screams and snarls from below were all but silenced now, except for one or two stragglers who could be seen making a run for it in the distance. But, not before a large, swamp-green tentacle snaked around them, and began beating them into the ground. It wasn’t long before your gaze was back on Lucifer, a million thoughts racing through your head.

It wasn’t until Lucifer’s smile faltered slightly at your silent staring, did he clear his throat, nervously tapping against the apple-tipped cane in his grip. “You look a little shaken up, are you doing good over there?”

You were about to open your mouth to speak, until your eyes darted to another small, cylindrical object flying right towards Lucifer. You recoiled, throwing your hands in front of your face as it closed in on the fallen angel.

“Watch out!” You cried to him, squeezing your eyes shut as you waited for the familiar boom of the grenade to shake the patio. Lucifer whipped his head around, eyebrows raised as the grenade soared towards him. Lifting his arm, he caught it in his hand before it could hit him in the face, before raising it to get a closer look.

You splayed your fingers, peeking through the small gap when you realized once more that your heart was still beating. Raising an eyebrow, your face contorted into surprise as your gaze rested on the object in Lucifer’s hand.

The bomb ticked quietly in his palm, slowly increasing in speed as the seconds went by. It vibrated in his grip, and Lucifer only inspected it casually, rolling it between his fingers with interest.

Was he just going to hold it until it exploded? You watched silently with wide eyes, unsure of what exactly was going to happen. If it went off, would the King of Hell even have a scratch on him? Maybe, that was why he seemed so confident holding a bomb in his hands. Watching Lucifer catch it casually in the air a few times only cemented that thought.

The perks of being immortal, you supposed.

“Hm, seems they got the timing off on this one,” Lucifer observed, just as the ticking seemed to increase to every millisecond. Right when you were sure it was about to go off in his palms, Lucifer’s fingers curled around it. It looked like he was squeezing the cylinder like a balloon, as the black, metal surface contorted, shifting from the pressure.

Instead of lighting into a ball of flame, the bomb exploded in a burst of multi-colored confetti. Which sprayed across the patio, a few stray pieces landing on your face as they settled onto the floor. You were silent, in awe at the magical display. Lucifer only grinned at you, a silent boast of his powers as he caught you gawking. He adjusted his collar, still leaning against the railing as he brushed some confetti from his shoulder pads.

Realizing he had noticed your staring, your cheeks began to heat in embarrassment. You lay your eyes for the first time on the most powerful man in Hell and all you can do is stand there and look dumb, get it together! Leaning forward, your head practically hits the cracked tile flooring as you bow.

“Your Majesty, I apologize for my rudeness!” You quickly pipe up, your eyes still locked to the floor as you keep your head down, “Thank you for saving my life, I don’t know if I’d be alive without your intervention.”

“It was no biggie.” Lucifer shrugged, waving his hand in the air in a sweeping motion, as he brushed off your compliment. He lifted himself from the railing, taking a few steps forward as he began to cross the patio. “Can’t have my daughter’s friends be attacked by a couple of low-life thugs.. again! What kind of a father would that make me?”

You straightened, lifting your head to meet his gaze. Your brows furrowed as the words left his lips, mouth opening slightly as if you were about to question him on his statement.

‘Daughter’. Was he talking about Charlie? Of course, he must be, she looked like a carbon copy of him! But, that would mean… it wasn't an imp that had approached you yesterday morning during your shift. At least, not any normal imp. Does that mean you had been talking to…?

It was in the same instance that Lucifer leaned in closer to you, his eyes squinted in thought as he inspected your face. He placed a finger on his chin in thought, as he regarded you with a curious expression through those soft, yellow eyes of his.

“Wait a second… do I know you from somewhere?” He questioned finally, raising an eyebrow in anticipation. You smiled as you thought of a response, your hands rubbing together in a soothing motion. Lucifer’s eyes lit up in recognition before you could say anything, and he snapped his finger as connected the dots.

“That's right! You were that sweet worker at the formalwear store yesterday, weren’t you? The one that opened early for me!” He beamed, taking another step closer as your eyes widened at the proximity.

“Y-yes, that was me, Your Majesty.” You stammered out, cursing yourself so being so godamn nervous. “Except, I wasn’t really aware that you were... well, you?”

“Oh, heh, yeah, my impish disguise. Pretty good, eh?”

Yeah, it was. There wasn’t anything that would have made you guess that imp was actually Lucifer, at least before you had met the man. Except, for the height. That hadn’t seemed to change between the two appearances, as you still had to lower your head to meet his gaze even now.

You took a deep breath, calming your jittering nerves as you again realized who was standing right in front of you. Never once did you think a lowly citizen of Hell like you would be this close to the Lucifer Morningstar! Should you have kneeled instead when you greeted him? What was the proper etiquette for this kind of thing? Alastor would have surely known.

That thought made you lean over slightly to get a peek past the fallen angel’s brimmed hat. Your eyes followed the slender, shadowy forms of tentacles snaking around the last two criminals, who were trying to shoot the large masses.

“Aren’t you, um, going to go help..?” You pointed behind him, and Lucifer turned to follow your finger just as another thug was flung past the large fence that surrounded the hotel. Their squeal of fear faded as they disappeared from view. Static-laced laughter filled the air as the tentacles began to dissipate.

“Nah, I think your… friend down there has it covered.” Lucifer shrugged after a moment, turning back to face you.

You nodded slowly, taking a deep breath to calm your jittering nerves. Between last night and this, you were about ready to lay in your bed and hibernate for the next three months. Life was exhausting, it seemed.

“Well, that was fun!” Lucifer smiled, nodding along as he clasped his hands together. “Didn’t think I’d find drug dealers trying to knock down the walls, though. Looks like I really have to up the security around here.”

You nodded along half-heartedly, and watched as he strolled past you towards the door. He only made it a few steps before he halted, and you jumped slightly as he pivoted to face you. He waggled a finger at you, mock suspicion in his gaze as he leaned in. Now that you could get a better look at him,

“I also was not expecting to find you here, either. Only yesterday, it seemed like you had no idea the hotel even existed. Now, I find you in the raging path of a feral tea table. An odd turn of events, don't you think?”

You smiled, heat creeping onto your cheeks in embarrassment. You probably looked pretty pathetic when Lucifer was saving you, curled in a ball while you accepted your grim fate. You wished you had some kind of badass demon magic, so you didn’t have to be so helpless. Did Alastor ever feel helpless? No, probably not, he seemed so confident in every situation you saw him face.

The way he strolled down the stairs so casually when the thugs had first attacked, made it seem like he had done that kind of thing many times before. But, it seemed like that was true, since you patched up one scuffle on his coat, and were told of his encounter with Sir. Pentious–which you simply couldn't believe would attempt such a thing, now that you’ve met him–a few months prior.

You wondered what made him and Lucifer struggle to get along, had something happened in the past between them? Maybe, you could get Alastor to budge with that with a little prodding. For now, you were unsure of what to tell the King. How would he react if you said the only reason you were here was because of Alastor? You didn’t want to lose the friendliness you had with Lucifer, it probably wouldn't be fun to be on the King of Hell’s bad side.

Plus, it seemed like Lucifer liked you. Did that have something to do with the fact that he claimed you were a ‘rare gem’ when it came to being a nice person in Hell? He did give you all that money.. which you lost. Maybe, he’d give you some more if you played your cards right.

And, if it was as friends, you wouldn’t mind getting closer to the fallen angel. He was just so funny and charming, you couldn’t imagine the kind of gossip he had to share, and you wouldn't be bothered if he shared it with you.

“Oh, well, beeeecause I was interested in redemption! Ha-ha, yeah. When we talked earlier, your words just struck something in me! So, I took a tour and stayed the night.”

“Really? I inspired you to come to the hotel?” Lucifer asked incredulously, tilting his head thoughtfully at you. He raised an eyebrow, doubt written across his features.

“That’s right! I mean, you even gave me a bunch of money like it was no big deal. That was very kind of you!” You nodded enthusiastically. That wasn’t exactly a lie, since the conversation with Lucifer yesterday did lead to Alastor revealing more about the hotel, which in turn piqued your interest enough to even consider staying for an extended period.

Slowly, Lucifer's eyes lit at your response, a gleam of happiness that you hadn’t noticed before. He seemed to be standing a little straighter too, as if that was some kind of confidence boost for him. Did Lucifer not… genuinely help people often? Was it something he wished he could do more often?

Seems like ruling a realm full of demons that continually commit the worst atrocities known to mankind would break an angel’s will to want to make a change.

“I wanted to thank you again for your generosity,” you started, your tone genuine as the glint in Lucifer’s eyes only seemed to grow, “All that money you gave me would have really helped,

“Would? What happened?” Lucifer inquired, tilting his head curiously.

“Some guy mugged me,” you stated bluntly, rubbing your shoulder awkwardly. It felt weird telling people about your most vulnerable moments. You found no enjoyment in retelling any of these scary events, and hopefully, your bad luck would end soon.

“And they stole everything from you?”

“Yeah…”

Lucifer huffed in annoyance, his teeth baring slightly as he exhaled a hot breath. He couldn’t exactly be surprised, it was Hell. Not to mention, the guy has been neglecting his kingly duties for a while now and has only just started going to meetings for crying out loud.

“Jeez, I’m sorry about that. Here, let me jus–”

“Where did that new girl go? What do you mean you haven’t seen her?” You could hear Vaggie’s voice from downstairs, as the gaping hole in the side of the hotel made it much easier to hear their conversations now.

You heard multiple inaudible responses to the question, before Vaggie’s rose above them with renewed anger.

“She’s still up there?! you’re telling me none of you numbskulls went to get her after that big explosion?”

“₩Ⱨ₳₮?!” You heard a snarl of static at Vaggie’s words.

Tensing, you kept your eyes trained on Lucifer as you strained your ears to eavesdrop on the voices below. It seemed like they were looking for you now, did they even know whether Charlie’s dad was here?

“Alastor, hold up!” You heard Angel Dust’s call from the bottom of the staircase, which made you pivot to face the closed doors not too far away. Lucifer, who was standing a few steps away from you, looked up curiously as the doors swung open.

Standing there, chest heaving slightly, ears twitching, was Alastor. His eyes instantly landed on you, before quickly scanning over your figure for injuries. Did he just leap up all those stairs? That wasn’t a very short distance by any means.

His arms were outstretched beside him, as he gripped both doors. Alastor’s claws slightly dug into its wood frame as he observed the smoking, half-burnt balcony with a tight-lipped smile. It wasn’t until his eyes met Lucifer’s–you swore you saw a flicker of surprise cross his gaze–that something seemed to flip like a switch inside the demon, and Alastor straightened instantly, his ears returning to their normal placement as corrected his posture.

A large, toothy grin appeared on his face, but you didn’t miss the way his gaze darted between you and Lucifer only a few feet apart. His eyelid twitched as Lucifer sent him a deadly grin behind you, the tension in the air thickening to the point where you felt like you’d suffocate even in this open space.

You only smiled brightly in return, sending Alastor a finger wave as you sidled a step away from the fallen angel beside you. Lucifer, on the other hand, seemed to be having fun as he pivoted slightly to face you. A mischievous glint in his eye as he cocked his head at Alastor, a haughty look on his face.

“Can I help you?” He feigned irritation, an eyebrow quirked as he sent the demon a pointed glance. As if Alastor had just barged in on the two of you deep in discussion, souring the mood.

Alastor wasn’t able to get a word out when multiple footsteps echoed from behind him, noisily clopping up the long staircase as they bickered amongst themselves. A familiar pink spider popped his head over Alastor’s shoulder, his eyes widening as he caught sight of the pearlescent face beside you. More heads appeared around, their eyes scanning across the balcony as they observed the scene.

“Dad?” Charlie asked, squeezing through the clump of nosy demons, surprise written across her face as she passed Alastor.

“Honey!” Lucifer beamed, a smile gracing his features as he met his daughter halfway. Charlie extended her arms, ready to accept Lucifer’s large hug as he returned the gesture. He held her for a moment before he released her, backing up a step as the others pushed past Alastor’s figure to get a better place behind the princess.

“What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be at that art auction?” Charlie questioned, tilting her head at him.

“That ended last night.” Lucifer nodded, “Now it’s some kind of celebratory artist-only afterparty, which means even the King of Hell cannot attend, unfortunately. So, I thought I’d drop by. Good timing, it seemed, or else your friend here would not be standing here any longer.”

Lucifer turned to you, gesturing to the dust and debris hanging to your clothes, as you stood there silently with that same awkward smile.

“Oh, yeah. She’s interested in being a resident of our hotel, for redemption!” Charlie smiled excitedly, proud to be able to show her father that her dream was slowly expanding. You nodded along, your hands clasped together politely as they discussed you.

“Yes, I heard! We’ve been having a nice discussion these past few minutes, her and I. A real doll, this one is, just like when I met her previously.”

“You two... have met before?” Charlie finally asked, confusion laced in her voice as she looked between the two of you. The demons behind you shot curious glances in your direction, silently waiting for more juicy details.

“She was there when I bought your tuxedo! I was in disguise, though, so nobody saw me as.. well, me. She even opened up early for me, just out of the kindness of her soul!” Lucifer scooted beside you, nudging you in the arm playfully as he spoke. “Guess you could say I owed her a rescue after that considerate gesture.”

“Did you throw a party up here, too?” Vaggie piped up from the doorway, kicking away at a few stray pieces of the colorful confetti that was sprinkled across the floor. Charlie’s eyes were glinting as she processed her father’s words, before glancing down at the new red suit that she was wearing. She looked up at you with renewed interest, a blooming on her face.

“That was all His Majesty, actually,” you finally spoke, lifting a hand to your mouth as you giggled, “It was pretty impressive, to be honest, I’ve never seen a party trick like that before. I thought the confetti was kinda funny.”

You purposely avoided looking at Alastor as you spoke, so his reaction to your praise was a mystery. Lucifer only smiled proudly beside you, your words boosting his ego.

“Well, that’s not the only trick I’m good at,” Lucifer chuckled. Before he sent you a wink, then a playful smirk that he swept across the small crowd. Their eyes were locked on him, captivated with anticipation for the charming angel to display some of his magical talents.

Except, for Alastor, who only smiled widely, his eyes crinkled in annoyance at the theatrics. You didn’t pay him much mind, instead keeping your attention on Lucifer. During your time in Hell, you hadn’t come into contact with many figures that could harness demonic magic so effortlessly, apart from Alastor.

The King of Hell, however, was on a whole different level, he had pure angelic power. This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and you were not going to miss this for anything. However, it seemed your admiration was a little too evident, as you missed Alastor's squinted gaze analyzing your expression.

Lucifer finally rested his gaze on Alastor, who met his eyes, just as he tapped his cane against the ground, a flurry of golden sparks igniting from the touch. a vortex of golden eaves began to swirl around his cane, before flooding across the destroyed, cracked floor of the balcony. It was like a small ocean pooling at your feet, and it felt like the ground was shifting underneath you.

Sticking a finger gun towards the split table, Lucifer shot an explosion of magic against its surface, and it crackled with energy. Before you could blink, the two pieces slid together, attaching like Lego pieces back onto their legs. Fresh color adorned the wood, a lovely shade of peach with matching chairs. It settled onto the ground, with not even a scratch from the abuse it had just received.

He aimed a few more magical-loaded digits towards the broken railing, and the spilled flower pots, making pew pew sound effects with his mouth as he did so.

The balcony began to shift back into even better condition than it originally was, the broken scenery straightening itself back into form. Slowly, the golden waves against your ankles dispersed and were pulled back into Lucifer’s cane.

The large, white marble tile beneath your feet was perfectly sealed, not a single crack upon its surface as it sparkled with a newfound shine. You lifted your leg, surprised finding your figure to be completely dry.

The demons around you stood mesmerized by the display, their eyes glowing and lips puckered in a small o. Alastor only tapped his claws against his cane impatiently.

“How is that for a party trick?” Lucifer turned to you, sending you a charming grin.

You were about to open your mouth before Charlie appeared at your side with a happy squeak. Her blonde hair cascaded down your shoulder, the silky strands like feathers against your skin.

“Thank you for the help, Dad!” Charlie beamed, squeezing her cheeks as she stared lovingly at her father, “it’s so great to see you make new friends, too!”

“And, new clients!” Lucifer boasted, adjusting his bowtie with a grin “Last time we talked, I told her all about the hotel and what it offered. Seems like my salesmanship charm prevails once more.”

“How funny,” Alastor’s voice crackled with static as he strode up beside Charlie, planting himself into the small group’s discussion with a grin, “but it appears His Majesty is mistaken, for it was I who persuaded our darling belle here to take a chance at redemption.”

“Pfft! You? Please, you couldn’t even convince an angel to redeem themselves. At least, not with that haircut!” Lucifer laughed, and your mouth dropped open, your gaze flicking to Alastor, who seemed to hesitate for a moment in shock at the bold insult.

Your eyes darted to Charlie. She returned the look, before slapping a hand over her dad’s mouth.

“Okay, moving on!” She replied cheerfully, pinching her dad’s lips closed as she turned towards the staircase. Vaggie shot a glare toward the rest of the onlookers, who began to sadly shrink away.

“I’m afraid Your Majesty is uninformed!” Alastor ignored Charlie, as he walked closer to stand right beside you. Sweat beaded on your forehead, your heartbeat quickening at the realization you were directly in the middle of the two dueling forces.

“Of what?” Lucifer questioned.

“Why, of our association, of course,” Alastor said sweetly, grasping your arm gently as he gestured to your figure. Heat crept onto your cheeks, as you let him slide in closer to you.

“You two know each other?” Lucifer asked, doubt laced in his face as he shot you a questioning stare. You only averted your gaze, unsure of how to respond to all of the prying eyes.

“Indeed! I’m sure you’re familiar with a charm like this?” Alastor smiled innocently, before gingerly holding out your hand, gesturing to your ring finger. That golden ring glinted in the sunlight, and the small rose-gold engraving of the letter A was on full display.

Lucifer’s eyes widened after a moment, and his gaze shot to you, then to Alastor, before landing back on the ring. He seemed to reel back slightly as it finally dawned on him, before his face settled into a look that silently grumbled ‘You gotta be kidding me.’

Charlie gasped, clutching her cheeks as she leaned in closer for a better look. The ecstatic look on her face was a complete inverse to her father, who only averted his gaze at the sight.

You stood with an awkward smile, heat creeping onto your cheeks as you sidled slightly away from Alastor. You did not expect him to be sprinting it back onto these guys, in front of Lucifer no less.

The King only turned to you, disbelief in his features as he sent you a pointed stare.

“You’re telling me you work at a formalwear store, and you picked a guy with this bad of a wardrobe?” He gestured subtly to Alastor’s suit, a grimace on his face as he eyed the demon’s style with contempt.

Alastor only adjusted his bow tie, throwing his hair back as he straightened. He shot you a pointed look too, prodding you with a ‘Are you really going to agree with him?’ stare.

You said nothing, so Alastor only turned to face Lucifer, clasping his hands with a large smile, “I’d take your fashion advice to heart, Your Majesty, but it seems your taste lies at the bottom of a bargain bin, so I must respectfully disagree.”

“Bargain bin?!” Lucifer gasped, a hand shooting up to his chest as he recoiled. A growl rose from the fallen angel’s throat as he opened his mouth to retort, only for Charlie to grab him from behind and pull him away from Alastor.

“I’ll pay you triple the amount from yesterday if you just take that ring off!” Lucifer begged as Charlie dragged him down the steps. “Do you fancy goat horns? I know of someone in the Wrath Ring that is available!”

The father-daughter duo disappeared from view, their voices muffled as you watched the doors slam shut with a crackle of green energy. Turning to face Alastor, you find a smug grin dancing on his lips. You frowned, did this guy really just insult the King of Hell like the man couldn’t stomp him in a moment?

“Your arrogance knows no bounds,” you chastise the demon, waggling your finger as you spoke, “speaking so comfortably with the King in such a condescending manner. He could smite you for that, you know.”

“Verbal sparring with the monarchy is a favorite pastime of mine, sweetheart! I’m sure our dear king enjoys it just as much as I.” Alastor shrugged, twisting the cane between his claws as he regarded you with playful eyes.

“You are such a pain in my—”

Your words died in your throat when the outline of a dark-red rose was thrust towards you, Alastor’s fingers gently curled around its stem as he held it up for view.

“For you.” He smiled, his lips curled in a soft grin.

“Me? But, where did you get this?”

“Some bumbling oaf down there was going to stomp on it, so I stomped him, instead,” Alastor shrugged, extending the rose closer to you as he spoke, “I thought it would be something you’d find interest in. It… reminded me of you.”

Your eyes widened slightly, gaze lowering towards the wine-colored flower. It was beautiful, even with its slightly jagged petals, and the much larger thorns that covered the black stem.

But, for Hell, it was such a relieving sight. To know that something that presented emotions could exist in such an apathetic, pessimistic environment like the realm around you. Honestly, it didn’t have that many similarities in comparison to Earth’s rose, but its mere resemblance made nostalgia pull at your heartstrings.

Old emotions began to boil inside you, and your throat tightened. Even after all the hardships, you still missed the trees and the smell of real, fresh air. The feeling of the sun against your skin, kissing you with a warmth that always stirred a smile onto your lips. Hearing the morning doves in the early spring morning, their gentle coos echoing through the thin veil of fog that settled onto the dew-filled grass.

Now, you were stuck here. A dark, dirty realm that gave you its fair share of grief too. A lot in the span of two days, even. But, the good in it, was seeing the genuine smile that greeted you every time Alastor drank in your presence. Like this morning, when you agreed to join him on the patio, and the way his ears seemed to stand even taller when you said yes.

It was also the fact that Alastor was so intent on presenting this lovely gift to you, that he killed someone just so the rose would survive the chaos, that made you feel so warm and giddy inside.

A smile bloomed across your face, and you gently wrapped your fingers around the stem, right above Alastor’s own. The top of your hand grazed against the softer texture of the rose’s petals, but its sharp thorns nicked at the skin on your fingertips, causing you to grimace slightly. You adjusted your grip slowly, the pain ebbing as you found a comfortable hold.

Your hand brushed Alastor’s as he released his grip, pulling his hand towards him, his gaze traveling to your arm lifting as you inspected the rose closer. All the memories of long, forgotten experiences made years prick at your eyes.

“I.. don’t know what to say. This is so sweet of you,” you replied softly, eyes still locked on the rose and you gently caressed its petals, “thank you, Alastor.”

Alastor watched the emotion flood across your face, and for the first time, he didn’t know what to say next. The look on your features made him feel.. strange.

As if, this was a reaction nobody in Hell has ever given him before, excluding Charlie. It was fear and anger that only ever greeted him. Which he preferred, it made him feel strong, made him feel powerful.

Your soft, sweet smile, however, was something Alastor could get used to. The way the dimples on your cheeks deepened slightly as your lips curled delicately. As if you too were a rose, your petals softly opening for the new day.

His gaze still rested on you as the tip of your nose inched closer to the petals, before you inhaled a deep breath.

It smelled surprisingly sweet, but also with a warm, earthy scent. A hint of smokiness underneath the layer of the sugared aroma. It reminded you of a wood-burning stove, or the smell of firewood that clung to your shirt after a night in the wilderness.

But, also… the faint metallic tang of blood.

Brows furrowing, you pull the flower away, your eyes traveling to the barely visible glistening substance coating part of the stem. It almost mirrored the color of the dark-red petals, and you lifted your gaze to Alastor.

When your eyes traveled up his figure, it was the small trails of red liquid that dripped from his fingertips that made you recoil, a hand to your mouth as you gasped.

“Alastor, you’re bleeding!” The worry in your voice was obvious as you stepped closer to him, trying to get a better look at the small gashes on his skin. He regarded it with indifference, as if it was just a simple bother. You frowned at his reaction, there was no way that didn’t hurt!

He was a sinner, just like you, and almost everyone in the hotel. Mortality was still present in his afterlife, including the sensation of pain. No matter how hard he tried to present himself as a powerful being like Lucifer, he was still just a man who felt the same things you did. If not, with a little different... perspective.

“It is nothing, do not fret about me, my doe,” Alastor brushed off your words, beginning to pull his hand away from your view. You saw a drop of blood leave the tip of his claw, falling onto the cracks below your feet, “they are just feeble scratches, nothing I, the Radio Demon can’t handl–”

Alastor’s words died in his throat, the last of his sentence coming out in pure static as his pupils dilated on your hand wrapping around his wrist. Your grip was firm, preventing him from shielding the wounds from you, as you tugged his hand closer.

This was the boldest move you had made since the two of you had first met. It was usually Alastor who made the first gesture, who took your hand and touched you softly. As if you were a fragile doll that could crack at the teeniest bit of pressure.

The man was so used to control, having complete say in who touched him—which was never, unless you count Angel Dust whenever he tried riling up the demon—and why. If you were some normal face in the crowd making such a move, he’d probably have torn them apart.

But oh, the warmth from your touch that greeted his cool skin had him yearning for more. That blissful feeling that seemed to bloom from inside his bones, that traveled like a river through his veins, filling him up with a strange, yet awfully familiar feeling.

Like, when his mother would sit him down at the table for dinner, a bowl of hot, steaming Jambalaya in her hands that she made just for him. Anytime she noticed he had a hard day, she’d cook his favorite meal.

As a child, he had eagerly scarfed it down, impatient to fill his stomach with such a treat. When he grew older, however, he learned to slow down and savor the explosion of flavors that tickled his taste buds in every bite.

He remembered the way the delicacy traveled down his throat, and how it felt like a fire was igniting in his belly. The warmth emanating from your skin reminded him so much of that.

And that smile that always graced your features at the sight of him? Alastor remembered that from somewhere too. His mother’s lips always curved into a soft, gentle grin that would make anyone butter up in their presence.

Your lips seemed to curve just the same, and the demon was sure if the two of you would have met before the afterlife. His mother would have loved to meet you.

Alastor remained deathly silent, his muscles tense as you splayed out his claws, turning his hand over to have his palm face up. There was dried blood across the smooth skin, which meant he had been bleeding for a while now.

How hard was Alastor holding the rose during the fight that he cut up his hand like this? If it wasn’t for the bickering between him and Lucifer, you surely would have noticed it earlier.

Your fingers gently brushed against the small cuts, blood still slowly seeping from beneath the demon’s skin. You nudged his wound softly, inspecting it with worry.

“Does that hurt?” You asked softly with furrowed brows.

“Does it matter?” Alastor scoffed, averting your expectant gaze.

“Yes! It does, actually!” You retorted, before your gaze moved to your outfit with a determined look. Quickly, you reached down, taking a fistful of fabric in your grasp before pulling it hard. With some friction, it began to tear away from the rest of your garment.

Now, you had a large piece of cloth in one hand, and Alastor’s wrist in the other. Reaching forward, you began to cover his cuts tightly against the fabric.

“Must you ruin such a pretty outfit for something so insignificant like my hand?” Alastor inquired, exasperation lacing his voice, “You’re treating it like some kind of battle wound, I am fine, my doe.”

He didn’t pull away from you, however, as you finished patching up his injury. Inspecting his hand closer, you eyed work for a moment, before you shook your head, dissatisfied.

“I forbid you from doing any activities for the rest of today until you address your wounds,” you declared, crossing your arms sternly.

“Forbid?” He inquired, quirking a brow in amusement.

“That’s right! If you don’t take care of your injury, or let me do it for you, then I’ll have no choice but to put my foot down.”

Alastor squinted at you for a moment, that grin masking his thoughts as he regarded you. Was he going to argue? Sweat beaded on your forehead as you anticipated his answer. It wasn’t like you could exactly stop the powerful demon from doing what he wanted, but you also couldn't just let him strain his wound further because of pride.

Alastor didn’t argue. Instead, he simply shrugged, a pleased smile gracing his features. He closed his eyes thoughtfully, before holding a limp hand towards you.

“Well, if you insist,” he hummed, cracking one eye open to watch you expectantly.

“Really..?” You asked in disbelief, regarding his hand with suspicion.

“If the lady wishes to fuss over my health, I suppose I could heed her demands,” Alastor responded casually, lifting his hand closer towards you, “and, how could I refuse such a generous offer?”

You smiled playfully before slowly wrapping your fingers around the makeshift gauze, trying to get a good grip around his cuts as you held his hand.

“Is there somewhere I could get medical aid inside? Baindaids, alcohol solution… ibuprofen?”

Did Ibuprofen even exist down here? There had to be something similar at least, the Pride Ring was full of mortals that could still feel pain. Was Alastor in a lot of pain? Even if he was, you probably wouldn't get a straight answer from him.

Now, you understood why Alastor and Lucifer didn’t like each other. They were just fighting for who was really the embodiment of pride.

“Hm..” Alastor tilted his head in thought, before his ears twitched, and a sly smile graced his lips, “I do believe I know just the place!”

Without a word, he returned your grip and pulled you closer to him. Your breath hitched, your chest almost bumping against Alastor’s as he took your other hand. The two of you looked as if you were about to start a waltz, as the demon looked out towards the railing, his chest still facing yours as his smile grew.

“Hang on tight, my dear!” He stated chipperly, and you fastened your grip hastily. The air began to crackle with energy, goosebumps rippling across your skin as static seemed to tickle at your figure. Green smoke pooled at your feet, and that familiar tingling sensation overtook you, just like the first time you were teleported.

Alastor only pulled you closer right as the smoke blasted up, cold air hitting your face as you were pulled into darkness. The presence of the hand against yours was faint, but at least you weren't alone this time. You kept your eyes squeezed shut, your heart racing as you waited to feel the floor against your feet once more. Then, you felt a thumb brush softly against your knuckles, it circled soothingly across your skin, and you relaxed slightly.

What felt like minutes really only took a couple of seconds, as you felt soft lighting hit your eyelids, and Alastor stir beside you. His hand didn’t leave yours, as he waited for you to join reality.

“Not so bad, hm?” He prodded you slightly, beckoning you back into reality.

Letting your pupils adjust to the light, the familiar wallpaper from the hotel corridor met your vision. Did he really just materialize the two of you across the building? You didn't have any problem walking, but perhaps Alastor was trying to avoid the small crowd that would have met them at the bottom of the patio stairs.

“I feel kind of queasy,” you responded, shaking your head of the fog in the back of your mind.

“After a few times through, it won’t bother you anymore,” Alastor assured.

Trying to get a better estimate of your location, you turned your head to one side of the hall, taking in the sight of a dark, oak door. The familiar numbering made you quirk a brow, tilting your head towards the smiling demon. He met your gaze, a soft, lipped smile on his face.

“We’re going in my room?”

“Not quite..” he hummed, gripping your shoulders and pivoting you to the opposite side. Your eyes widened, gaze locked onto the matching door of Alastor’s room.

You stayed silent, feet frozen in place as you watched him take a few steps, his good hand wrapping around the spherical doorhandle. Slowly, he twisted the knob until it clicked softly. The hinges creaked with age, and the hallway lights began to spill into the darkened room as the crack in the doorway widened.

You couldn’t see anything through the slightly opened entryway, but your heart quickened as the second passed by. Your eyes flicked up to Alastor, who regarded you curiously, his gaze gentle as your nerves began to display on your face.

“Ladies first!” He beamed, his smile an assurance to your heated skin.

He obviously wanted you to go inside, and part of your brain was nudging you forward with excitement. Alastor was inviting you into his quarters, he was allowing you to take a step inside his world, to get to know him!

The other part whispered hesitation. What lay behind that door? Surely, more than just medical supplies.

It was as if you wrapped a sheet around the reluctance that was beginning to plague your mind, stuffing it underneath the floorboards of your brain. You weren't going to let your flustered mind get the better of you, and have you miss such an opportunity to get closer to the charming demon.

Exhaling a quiet breath, you banished your nerves into the air. Straightening your back, you sent Alastor a warm smile and took a step forward.

wingman!lucifer anybody? ✋

let me know what you think! ☺️ comments and reblogs are appreciated!

tags 🏷️

@the-tortured-poet @anonymousewrites @coleisyn @froggybich @chewbrry @watchinthestarz @mechanicalmari @luxmessorem @plapperlapapp @wonderlife974 @kottenox @cherry-cola-100 @the-shark-named-sharon @rae-pottah @just-trash-yeah-thats-it @corpsebridenightamare @pweewee @nijiru @ourfinalisation @anuttellaa @nonetheartist @bunnypeew @cryptidghostgirl @hxzbinwrites @lunaramune @enigmatic-blues @thytorturedpoet @vanhelsingsbigtoe @mixplara @blue122 @zardward @loser-bby @sirens-and-moonflowers @diaouranask @luzzbuzz @theredviolets @the-attention-whore @rayanicaraynbow @katiebwalczak03 @girl-nahh-two @moonmark98 @asianfrustration13 @thenocturnalreadingotaku @just-here-reading @taintedgenre @fairyv-ice @aisling1985 @missam @funkyexistence @summerofregret@beezgobuzzbuzz @valentique @dory-98 @mo-0-o @willow404 @karolinda007-blog @thehybridprincesshatedchild

#hazbin hotel #hellaverse #alastor #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor x reader

868 notes · View notes

vivwritesfics · 5 months

Note

lando with girlfriend who races for mercedes but got into a crash and was in coma, but she finally wakes up

This picture does stuff to me

(set 2024)

Second part HERE

"Holy shit," Lando said as he watched his girlfriend walk onto the grid. He watched as she walked over, racing overalls low on her hips, black fireproofs adorning her body.

Lando licked his lips as she stood beside him and Oscar, leaning against the barrier with her arms folded over her chest. "Wow, baby," he said, staring at her.

"Like what you see?" She grinned.

Lando said nothing. He moved closer, wrapping his arms around her waist. "Tell Toto I like the black fire proofs."

It was Y/N's first season in Formula One, her first race too. She was the F2 champion two years running before Mercedes finally gave her a chance. She'd been with Lando since her F2 days, after they'd met in Monaco after the Grand Prix.

"Excited?" Oscar asked as he watched them.

Yes, Y/N was excited. But she'd never been on the track with her boyfriend, had never had to fight him before. Neither of them knew what they were going to do. They both hoped they would treat each other like any other driver, but the rest of the grid was doubtful.

"Very," she said to Oscar as she leaned her head on Lando's shoulders. "I'll blow you both a kiss when I come speeding past, lapping you ."

She had done extremely well for her first qualifying in F1, qualifying on the second row. Lando was 6th through a mistake in Q3 and Oscar was pack in 9th after he got his times deleted.

It was amazing, driving behind a three time world champion and a second time world champion. Y/N did her absolute best, holding her position.

And then Checo Perez tried his luck. He went around the outside of Y/N on turn one. But he didn't leave enough space, hitting her wheel pretty bad and sending her spinning into the barriers at such a high speed. But the car didn't just hit the barrier and bounce off. It hit the barrier and kept going, ripping off chunks of the car and sending them flying.

It wasn't too terrifying at first. It was still scary, though, Y/N's first race and her first big crash in F1. To make things worse it wasn't even her fault. She was having such a good race, doing everything she should have, and then Checo Perez fucked it all up for her.

As chunks of the car got ripped away by the barrier, the Mercedes team was still pretty sure she'd make it out. But then a piece of debris bit the wheel and shot up into the ear, coming back down and hitting the top of Y/N's helmet.

Suddenly, things were scary. The car came to a stop, pieces of it all over the track. "Y/N, are you okay?" Asked her engineer.

She didn't respond.

"Y/N? If you can hear me, please say something?"

Again, nothing. The Mercedes team were beginning to get worried.

***

"Red flag, Lando. That's a red flag," said Lando's engineer.

"What happened?" He asked as everybody pulled into the pitlane.

His engineer took a minute to answer. The team didn't know what was best, to tell Lando and have him freaking out, or to let him find out on his own.

"Uh, there's a Mercedes with some damage," the engineer said.

Lando's face went pale inside of his helmet. He knew the car in front of him was Hamilton, meaning the only other Mercedes on the track was...

Lando parked the car in the pitlane, the same as everybody else. He immediately climbed out of the car and started running. His engineer and the McLaren team tried to stop him, but Lando was still running. It was hot inside of his helmet, but nothing was going to stop him.

When Lando got down there, she still hadn't been pulled from the car, the debris was being removed, but Y/N wasn't. "Baby!" He shouted and ran over.

The stewards tried to hold him back, but Lando pushed them away. He began trying to pull her out of his car. As soon as they saw what he was doing they began helping him, pulling Y/N's limp body out of the car.

Limp, but not lifeless. At least, that was what the paramedics said as they lifted her into the ambulance.

Lando didn't want to attend the rest of the race. He couldn't concentrate as he waited for the race to restart. "Let Pato drive," he mumbled as he waited for news from the hospital. Nothing, and that was making him so fucking worried.

1K notes · View notes

badgerbl00d · 1 year

Text

one piece boys rescuing you

☆ characters: trafalgar law, roronoa zoro

☆ up next: yes, your highness (knight!sanji x princess!reader)

☆ summary: you're put in a situation where your life is put in serious danger. will they be able to save you in time?

☆ a/n: new fic yay!! so i'm working my way through the ask box slowly but surely.. a lot of the requests are for pt. 2's, so im gonna try to publish new content before getting to those... as always, thanks for your patience!

3.0k words

law - fire

Trying to calm your breathing down you closed your eyes, doing your best to not panic.

“You ok in there?” Shachi called out.

“What’s the temperature reading?” That might’ve been Bepo. You couldn’t tell.

You’d gone into the boiler room of the submarine to try and fix an issue with the central temperature.

The submarine was supposed to be descending toward the abyssal zone, and with pressures as high as they were going to be there was no room for error with the temperature.

Before you could finish, something that was moving fast hit the side of the Polar Tang, resulting in the door locking you in.

Law had designed the functional rooms of the ship to be perfect.

The boiler room locked from the inside, so that if there were ever an issue with a pressure change, any explosion would be contained to the source of heat.

You heard some debris clatter on the outside, followed by what sounded like a loud, metal clang.

A high-pitched beeping noise started to sound through the small room.

80°

You pressed the down arrow five times. With the way it had been programmed, the boiler room shouldn’t be above seventy five degrees.

Your stomach started to twist, and nausea climbed up your throat when the number didn’t change, and after a few more second read

83°.

“Y/n! You okay?!” Bepo and Shachi had started to move some of the debris that was blocking the door, “Something hit us!”

“The temperature is going up in here, it’s at eighty-three and the buttons aren’t working!”

“Hold on,” Bepo called out, “We’re moving the stuff from in front of the door, we’ll pass you the key from under the door.”

You steadied your breathing and managed to settle your nerves the slightest bit.

A silver key slid under the door and you grabbed it.

“You should be good to open the door now.”

You placed the key in the lock, and started to turn it when the ship took another hit.

This one sent you flying into the wall.

You heard Shachi and Bepo’s impact.

Your head was pounding and you fumbled around looking for the key, unable to find it.

You could hear yelling coming from outside.

“Shit! Bepo- try and move that stuff!”

You assumed Shachi had left as you heard footsteps .

Slowly you got up, your head was starting to stop spinning.

You still couldn’t find the key and tried jiggling the handle

An unnatural rattling sound was coming from the handle.

Fuck.

The key had broken off inside it, and the jagged edge that you could just barely get a finger around was too sharp to try and turn.

The temperature in the room continued to rise.

Your palms had started to sweat and you felt your chest contracting more and more with each breath.

The heat was starting to fill you up from the inside out.

You ran to the thermostat, frantically pressing the cooling button.

94°

“Y/n?!” Bepo called, banging on the door, “I moved all the stuff! Try to open the door!”

“I can’t!” you yelled, your voice straining, someone was yelling- Law, maybe? What had happened? “The key broke in the door! Bepo- the temperature won’t stop rising!”

Bepo continued banging on the door- you knew that he was starting to panic.

98°

You sunk to the floor, looking for a way out- anything.

You twisted the door knob with so much force that you worried you might have broken it. Not that it made a difference.

106°

Bepo’s banging stopped and you started to panic again.

The yelling could still be heard in the background.

“Bepo?”

No answer.

Sweat was dripping down your back and your palms were sticky. Your hair clung to your forehead and it was getting harder and harder to breathe- whether that was because of your panic or the heat you could not tell.

You peeled off your boiler suit, which offered you some temporary relief.

Sitting in a pair of shorts and a tank top now, you simply sunk against the door- banging on it occasionally.

“Bepo!!” You yelled.

That damn bear.

Where was Law?

You perked up at the question.

Where the hell was your captain?

118°

You decided you’d try the key, taking a deep breath before grabbing onto the jagged metal edges with all the strength you could muster.

You felt the metal slip past your skin, digging into the flesh of your hand.

Blood dripped down your arm in a warm, steady stream and you strained to turn the key.

It wouldn’t move- too little of it was exposed.

Black dots started to dance in your field of vision, and you felt yourself slipping out of consciousness.

It was so impossibly hot, your mouth felt dry and tacky- like a thin layer of warm glue had been poured inside it.

Your head was pounding and your lungs felt like they were full of sand.

As you started to faint, you thought you saw a pale blue glow cover the room.

You smiled to yourself before you slipped out of consciousness.

Better late than never.

131°

“Room.”

“Lift her arms,” Law ordered.

The feeling of biting cold sent a spark running down your spine as two ice packs were placed under your arm.

You blinked your eyes open, a dull pain still drumming in the back of your head.

There was something sturdy behind your chest, and you felt a hand resting on your stomach.

You tried sitting up, but the hand on your stomach held you in place.

“Not yet, Y/n.”

“Law.”

“You have heat stroke- please don’t move. Stay right there, for me.”

You relaxed back against him.

“Bepo- hand me another ice pack. Is the bath ready?”

“Almost, Shachi’s getting more ice.”

You strained to sit up again, this time Law held you down with slightly more force.

“Y/n. I’m serious,” his tone froze you in place, “Do not move.”

“The boiler room-” you started, “‘s too… hot. Pressures- Gonna go up.”

Your speech was slurred and everything in your body felt so heavy.

You felt Law look back up at Bepo and nod.

“Ok, come on.”

He lifted you up, holding you bridal style to try to keep you as relaxed as possible.

“This isn’t gonna feel great,” he said, “But you need to stay in here for at least twenty minutes.”

“Law,” you mumbled, “ ‘s very nice of you.”

Slowly, he lowered you into the makeshift tub- a large plastic bin that was usually used for storage was filled with ice and water.

The cold was biting and an icy burning spread throughout your body- lighting up your nerves as you were completely submerged.

“Dunk your head in. Just once.”

You sleepily shook your head.

Law sighed, “Alright, I’m gonna help you do it, ok?”

Your hands gripped the side of the tub, and you relaxed slightly when he brought a hand to rest on your neck and gently lowered your head down.

He helped you back up, his steady grip taking the stress off of your body.

Bepo had been sent out of the room to help the others in fixing the rest of the ship.

You sat up and leaned back against Law’s chest, drenching him in ice cold water.

He winced.

“Not so great, hm?”

“No, not so great.”

You sat there, resting against him for a while. Slowly feeling yourself regaining strength.

You had acclimated to the temperature and the sensation that replaced the freezing cold was somewhat nice.

“What happened?”

“Underwater volcano, if you’d believe it.”

You laughed, still too tired to hold a full conversation.

“I’m sorry…” Law started, “I’m sorry I didn’t get you out of there sooner.”

He sounded so sad- you turned to look at him.

“Law, everybody did the best they could- Even me, look.”

You lifted up your hand to show him the injury to find it had already been bandaged.

He smiled at you.

“What kind of doctor would I be if I hadn’t noticed that, huh?”

You gave him a gentle smile.

You could tell that he wasn’t fully convinced, and still felt guilt at having taken too long to rescue you.

Before he could even react you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him into a hug that you shouldn’t have had the strength to give.

You could feel tension spark throughout his body, but after a few seconds his arms found their way around your waist and pulled you back in.

You let go first.

He followed, a few seconds after.

“If you really want to make it up to me,” you said.

“I do,” Law answered.

“Never give me boiler room duty again.”

zoro - earth

You had four hours to get to the Sunny.

By noon you and Zoro had to traverse through eight miles of thick, unwelcoming jungle.

It was humid and neither of you were looking forward to the journey but you had a mutual respect for the other, and though it was never said out loud, shared an enjoyment of each other’s company.

Zoro liked your good natured humor and admitted to himself that you were easy on the eyes.

You liked Zoro’s stoic nature and admired his relaxed composure.

Your fighting styles were perfectly complementary. Zoro attacked first and thought later. His cuts and slices were executed with a terrifying precision and he was able to readily turn on his animalistic attack mindset. You, on the other hand, were thoroughly analytical. Zoro possessed the skill to not have to worry too much about reading an opponent beforehand, but you were able to read them as fast as he could draw his swords. Able to pick apart formations and fighting styles before they could even get a hit in, you were able to direct Zoro and predict enemy attacks perfectly.

He’d never openly admit it but he liked taking directions from you. To him, independent and capable as he might have been on his own, it felt like he was a sword and you were the hand that guided it.

He made the final cut, but it was you who had swung in the right direction.

Needless to say, you had both set off on your journey toward the Sunny with very few complaints.

The humidity increased, the further you got into the thick green that covered the island.

You pushed through miles and miles of green leaves and branches.

It was lively, the sounds of bugs scuttling across the floor, birds crying from the canopy above, and frogs chirping and yelping filled the scenery with the noise of life and energy.

You were humming to yourself, enjoying the warm weather and snacking on the chips Sanji had packed for you, handing the bag over to Zoro when he reached his hand toward you.

You’d made good progress in the two hours you’d been walking and agreed you could afford to sit down to eat lunch.

“Haha! I do remember that!”

“Or what about when that moron of a cook though he and Nami had us beat in trivia night-”

“And they lost to us in the category of cooking!”

You and Zoro were both laughing. Not such a rare occurrence when the two of you were together.

Zoro’s head suddenly snapped around.

You felt it too, the hairs on your neck rising.

A chill ran through your body and you turned to press your back against his.

“I can’t tell where they’re coming from.”

“Neither can I.”

Your breathing was in sync and you both waited, weapons at the ready.

In a split second the tension broke and your attackers revealed their position by shooting an arrow.

“On your left!”

You jumped to the side as a flurry of arrows flew past your head and heard the sound of blows being dealt by Zoro as he handled his side.

You pulled your throwing knives from your bag where they rested and aimed at the enemy.

Flashes of shiny steel flew through the colorful greens and teals of the forest, the sound of metal against metal echoing in the open space.

You and Zoro fighting together was truly a sight to behold.

You set up every hit he got, and the hits you got were courtesy of Zoro.

It was like a sport for the two of you, a team working perfectly in sync.

Skill aside, your ability to guess his next move paired with his ability to accommodate his hits to the blows you landed, made the two of you nearly impossible to beat.

After only ten minutes of fighting, you’d taken out more than half of the group ambushing you.

Your blades were dripping matching shades of red, and it wasn’t long until the remaining attackers ran.

A stray arrow was stuck in a tree and you pulled it out to inspect it.

Thick, green liquid dripped off the end of it.

Poison.

“Y/n!” Zoro called.

You dropped the arrow and ran to his side.

“Who was that? I didn’t recognize anything about those attackers?” you asked.

“Same here, but it doesn’t matter. Could’ve just been bounty hunters.”

“Working as a team? Unlikely.”

He shrugged.

“Either way, they’re gone.”

You nodded and followed behind him as you continued your walk toward your crew.

A dull throbbing had started to spread throughout your body. You had a headache, too, but shrugged it off.

You walked for another few minutes before you felt liquid trickle down your throat.

You pressed your hand to your neck, pulling away when you felt a warm film cover your fingers.

There was a small gash on the right side of your neck- you’d been hit.

“Fuck!”

Zoro turned around, eyes widening when he saw the wound.

He ran toward you and pressed a hand against your neck to stop the bleeding.

“Shit, shit, shit! Ok- Ok, um, just stay calm,” he was panicking, sweat was lining his brow.

He reached into his backpack and pulled out a napkin that was meant for your lunch.

He held it against your neck and you started to feel faint.

You felt your right foot lock. You tried to move it but it felt like trying to move a steel ball with only your pinky finger.

“Zoro…” the fear in your voice was evident.

The swordsman sat you down against the trunk of a tree and held your hair up with one hand as he held the cloth to your neck.

You started feeling faint, and a slowly increasing feeling of nausea was spreading throughout your body.

“We need to get the poison out.”

You nodded, the strength slowly leaving your body, like water flowed from a leak.

He rummaged through his backpack which contained only the lunch Sanji had packed you, a standard first aid kit that Chopper had insisted you take with you, and a broken compass he had forgotten to throw away.

He grabbed the first aid kit and frantically dumped it out.

You pointed at the gauze and Zoro grabbed it.

“Okay… I’ll, um, wrap this around… your neck?”

You nodded, “But we still need to get the poison out.”

You winced in pain, doubling forward.

You grabbed a few pills Chopper had thrown in and swallowed them as Zoro continued to try and calm himself down.

“It’s spreading.”

Zoro’s head was pounding- this was definitely not his area of expertise and there was nothing in the kit that said ‘Poison Remover’.

“H-how do I,” he asked, overwhelmed, “Just tell me what to do.”

He might not have any medical knowledge but he’d be damned if he let a crew mate die on his watch.

Especially you.

Your eyes had started to close and he was set in his resolve to save you.

Get the poison out, he thought.

As he felt your grip on his arm loosening something in his brain clicked.

He brought his arm around your neck, letting your head rest against his bicep.

His lips wrapped around your neck, and you felt his warm tongue swipe over the shallow wound.

You hissed as he traced his tongue back over it, his saliva coating your soft neck in a thin glaze.

A slight pressure built up as he started to suck the poison out, occasionally spitting it out on the ground next to you.

You made it with a half hour to spare.

The rest of your crew warmly greeted you, happy to see you having made it safely.

You walked onto the ship, Zoro staying by your side, like a knight does with a princess.

Sanji was the first to notice the bandage wrapped around your neck.

“Y/n-chwan!! Are you hurt? What happened?”

You shook your head, “I got hit with a poisonous dart. But I’m okay.”

You gave Zoro a thankful look.

Sanji further inspected the wound, noticing the deep purple and red hickey that sat right on top of the gash.

“What… exactly happened?” he asked, shooting a glare in the swordsman’s direction.

“The poison had started to spread and, uh…” your voice trailed off.

You weren’t sure if Zoro wanted to announce his heroics to the crew.

He stood taller and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

“And I sucked it out,” he announced.

He sounded proud enough, but his increasingly red cheeks implied otherwise.

There were mixed reactions..

Sanji was furious and started to bicker with him, Luffy and the boys were laughing, but Nami, Robin, and Chopper all seemed confused.

“But,” Nami had started, “I thought that that doesn’t work-”

You cut her off and shot her a look, that said Don’t say anything.

“I would’ve died if it weren’t for him.”

Robin giggled and ushered them all back inside to finish lunch, explaining to a very confused Chopper what was going on.

You and Zoro were left alone on the deck.

“Thank you,” you whispered, bringing a hand to rest on his shoulder, “You saved me.”

He looked away from you, rubbing the back of his neck and nodded.

“Anytime.”

Of course, you knew that sucking the poison out of a wound was an outdated myth.

It was the pills that had saved you.

But Zoro had been hellbent on saving you and did everything in his power to keep you alive.

He believed he had saved you.

And you’d be damned if someone told him otherwise.

4K notes · View notes

jasmines-library · 4 months

Note

Hey!!! I love your writing and I want to request a Batfam where the reader (youngest sister) went into a coma and then wakes up after two months of many complications.

Sorry if the request sounds weird and unclear😅

Wait For You.

Summary: Whilst trying to protect your brother on a patrol, an explosive causes you to fall into a coma. Your brother stick by you through your recovery.

Warnings: Explosives, injury/blood, coma.

Word Count: 2k

⛤ BATFAM MASTERLIST ⛤

Things had gotten bad quickly. You and Tim were supposed to be out on an easy patrol. Gotham was quiet for once, so you and your older brother Tim decided to let your brothers have the night off for once. Oh boy was that a bad idea. You should have taken the unusual silence as a warning, as a huge red flag being waved right in front of your faces, but you were all too naive over the fact that patrol would be easy. But as soon as you had suited up and slipped out of your cave, shit hit the fan.

It started with two perfectly timed robberies on opposite sides of the city. You had to admit that you were slightly suspicious, but it wasn’t anything uncommon for a crime riddled city like Gotham and it was nothing you couldn’t handle, so you split off from your brother and went to deal promptly with the criminals before handing them off to the police to deal with. But then, as you were on the way to meet Tim, things got worse. The entire city lost power. One by one the street lights flickered off and the billboards shut down, plunging the city into complete darkness, besides the full moon that grinned down on the skyscrapers, but provided very little light to the ground.

“Red? You there?” You called out through the coms, hoping that the power outage hadn’t affected your signal.

There was a moment of gut-wrenching silence before the sound of his voice crackled through the static. The signal was compromised, but not enough so that the two of you couldn’t communicate with the rest of the cave. “I’m here. Where are you?”

“Near the Cauldron, making my way towards China Town.”

“Copy. I’ll meet you there, be careful Raven.”

“I’ll try.” You said, making your way through the derelict streets, heading towards the red bunting that hung above ChinaTown as another voice crackled through the coms.

“Patrol, this is Oracle. Can you hear us?”

You hummed.

“Good. We lost you for a moment when the power went out. What happened?”

“We’re not sure yet. I’m about to rendezvous with Red. We’ll see what we can find.”

“Alright. Stay on the line.”

“Copy.”

You rounded the corner where you saw Tim sprinting towards you. He gripped you tight and checked you over for any injuries.

“You okay?”

“Fine.” You nodded. “Any idea what happened?”

He shook his head. “No, but it can’t mean anything good. We were separated before this happened so this has definitely been planned. Someone is trying to separate us.”

“Yeah, but who?”

“I don’t know. We need to get looking and send for backup.”

“Oracle,” Tim voiced into his com “We’re gonna need some backup. Something’s definitely happening and we-”

A building to your left exploded, sending sparks of debris all around you with a plume of smoke.

“Raven run!” Tim yelled as more buildings began to collapse around you, forcing the two of you to run as fast as you could until you reached a small clearing and the sound of the explosions seemed to have stopped.

You skidded to a halt, trying to catch your breath and soothe the burn in your legs when you saw it. A small red light blinking rapidly just to Tim’s right. But he was facing the other way and there was no way he was going to see it and get out of the way. The light flashed faster and faster as you dove forwards, knocking your brother out of the way with a shout of his name.

You tackled him out of the way and onto the concrete just before the explosive detonated just inches away from where he was standing. The force of it sent the two of you flying across the asphalt. You let out a small scream that was cut short by the pain that radiated across your body; cuts and blistering burns that had managed to burn their way through parts of your suit before your head collided with the ground and everything went blank.

Tim hauled himself to his feet, scanning the ash filled sky and limping towards where he had seen your body get flung to. His heart stopped when he saw you laying bloody and unconscious on the ground.

“Raven!” He cried, picking up his pace and falling just short of your side. Crawling the rest of the way, he gripped your suit, noting the sticky red that seeped slowly into your hair. “No. No. Raven wake up.”

He patted your face urgently, but you did not stir; you lay limp in his arm, your head lolling on the ground as he tried to shake you awake. “No. Not like this, Raven come on!”

He was crying now, his tears leaving little trails where they had washed away all of the soot that had landed on his face. He placed his head to your chest to listen to your shallow breathing before hauling you onto his lap. He was injured too, and the motion hurt him greatly, but he brushed it aside as he clung to you. “Open your eyes Y/N! Please!” He sobbed.

“NO!” He nearly jumped out of his skin when someone lay a gloved hand on your shoulder, pulling you closer to his chest as his head whipped around. His eyes met the blue of Dicks domino mask.

“What happened!” He asked, alerted by the sight of your bloody frame lying limp in his brother's arms.

“Another explosion. She-” Tim couldn’t speak. It was like his body had forgotten how to function.

Dick nodded, grimacing slightly before calling to Jason over his shoulder. “Hood, call B. Get him to send emergency evac and tell him to prepare the medbay.

He nodded, pailing at the sight of you.

“Red, you need to let her go.” Dick told Tim.

“No.” He repeated. “No it’s my fault I can’t.”

“Timmy, we need to get her to help and we need to get you checked out too.”

He shook his head, clutching you closer.

“Robin.”

Damian made his way over, lifting his brother's arms away from you and holding him back as Dick lifted you carefully to rush you back to the cave.

You were still not awake.

Two months had slowly dragged by and you were still lifeless. You didn’t move; not even a twitch of a hand. You just lay there, your chest rising and falling steadily. If Tim, who refused to leave your side most of the time, could get the image of your fragile body out of his head, he might have thought you were sleeping.

Most of your wounds had healed well and all of your stitches had been removed recently, but your skin was still scarred and littered with a few bandages to cover the nasty burns, but for the most part your body had healed.

But then there were all of the tubes and the vigilantes honestly weren’t sure what was worse; seeing you covered in bandages, or seeing you hooked up to a network of tubes that were keeping you alive. Your IV rack sat next to your bed. They had moved you there not long after you had been treated. They knew how much you hated being in the hospital and Damian had insisted that they move you. He had even threatened to do it on his own if no one helped.

Most days, they all took turns to watch over you, anticipating anything. Dreading the worst. Jason was by your side after forcing Tim to finally shower and catch some sleep, telling him that you wouldn’t want him to waste away like he was. But Tim couldn’t help it. Guilt was eating him up from the inside out. It didn’t take long for them to figure out the cause of the explosions. The Joker and Penguin had allegedly teamed up to kill Batman and the vigilantes. It was their plan all along to separate the five of you so that you were easier to take out, so when you and Tim regrouped they changed their plan and resorted to explosives and you had pushed him out of the way because he was too stupid to notice that there was something behind him and now you were unresponsive. His brothers had tried to tell him otherwise, but he was stubborn and spent all of his time sitting next to you. Dick practically had to drag him out of your room to get him to go to sleep.

Jason was holding one of your hands and awkwardly flicking through a book with the other as he read to you. He tended to do that alot to pass the time and to bring some comfort. He honestly didn’t know if you could hear him or not but he read anyway.

It was then that you groaned and he dropped the book in a second. Leaning closer to you he could see that you were scrunching your face up slightly, bringing your eyebrows downwards.

“Little wing?” He whispered gently.

His heart leapt when he felt your fingers twitch ever so slightly under his and for a moment he thought that you were going to open your eyes but you stilled again. However after watching for a moment, Jason leapt out of his chair and ran downstairs to tell your family.

When he reached the cave, he was met by a very upset looking Tim and a frustrated Damian, who was trying to convince his older brother to go back to bed.

“Why the hell aren’t you with her?!” Tim snapped “You can’t just leave her on her own-”

“She moved.”

You could hear voices but you couldn’t see. Everything was dark but you could hear the familiar tones of their voices murmuring across the room. You urged your eyes to open, but they felt like they were glued shut and then taped over.

“Come on kid. You can do it.” You heard from somewhere.

You fought against yourself, willing for your eyes to open or for your body to move. And then your finger twitched. And then another.

“Did you see that!?” Damian exclaimed, pointing to your hand.

You then managed to move your head ever so slightly to the left, eliciting many excited gasps as your brothers crowded round, willing for you to wake up. Ever since Jason had seen you first move you had been making quick progress in your recovery. Your body began to respond to their touch or to their voice, but you had never seemingly moved on your own until now.

“Open your eyes, little wing. You can do it.” Tim. You knew without even seeing him.

Tim. You realised suddenly. He was okay.

And then you did it, you finally managed to crack your eyes open slightly only to be assaulted by the light. You blinked as you adjusted to it, the blurring figures in front of you finally coming into focus.

“There she is.” Dick smiled.

“Hey y/n/n.” Tim said. You noticed he was holding your hand and rubbing circles on the back of it with his thumb.

You moved your mouth to try and speak, but you struggled to form the words.

“Take your time.” Damian propted gently.

You tried again, managing to push a hoarse whisper out with a little smile. “Hi.”

The five of your brothers lit up with the biggest smiles that had in forever as they fussed over you, helping to ease you up and to pull you into their embrace. Glad to have their little sister back with them again.

477 notes · View notes

florvaine · 10 months

Text

lost comfort and found familiarity.

Escaping the prison was a mess, and Carl is devastated when he can only find his girlfriends red jacket, but not her. (afab! reader)

genre: heavy angst to fluff

warnings: death, blood, gore, panic/anxiety attack, !carls’ SA scene!, kissing.

-— DREAD BEGAN TO FILL THE PIT OF CARL’S STOMACH WHEN THE HEAVY REALISATION SET IN. That realisation was that the prison was overrun, the Governor and his goons having broken down the wired fencing with a tank and brought in dozens upon dozens of brain-deteriorated, famished walkers into the previously safe confines of the prison.

They had killed Hershel in cold blood using Michonne's katana, leaving his severed head to pool a red sheen on the grass. Somewhere in the time of his beheading bullets began to ring out around the borders of the prison.

Cars, trucks and military-grade vehicles began to fill the courtyard, Rick and the Governor are beating each other bloody with their bare hands by the overturned bus.

“Holy shit.” He hears you say, and once he looks to his left to find you, his heart hurts a little more.

You’re typically comforting smile has vanished like the peace had just a few hours ago, instead pulled in an open-mouthed look of pure shock and horror. Your eyes are blown wide, brimming with a small collection of tears. There’s dust and debris flying everywhere, staining your cheeks. A shotgun is tight in your grip, ammo stacked in your pockets and an army knife clinging on your belt.

He’s only ever seen you this devastated when the farm got set up in flames, and when you had been told that your brother had been bit.

Carl gulps, pulling you closer to him via the strong grip he has on your hand. Both of your palms are sweaty, but it was barely even registered as the tank that the Governor had hijacked shot another bomb into the crumbling, brick walls of the prison.

“We gotta go!” He says, running in the opposite direction of the explosion. You follow behind him, still holding his hand as an anchor to keep you aware of reality.

Your eyes drift around the series of events around you. The obliteration of your home, the snapping jaws of the decaying walkers that drooled and reached to take a chunk of flesh from either of your bodies. Bullets rain hell on everything that moves, sparks of orange and yellow shining from all directions, the scent of blood, gunpowder and dust is heavy as it clings to your clothes and hair.

You stumble, tugging on Carl's hand, "We have to get your Dad!" You point to where Michonne is helping him up, and the blue-eyed boy falters.

A loud bang followed by the sound of debris hitting the floor, a flash of heat passed over each of your skins. Between the flash, he sees his dad covered in splatters of blood, bruises and cuts stumbling towards a break in the metal fence.

Every sense in his body is muddled, an annoying, high-pitched ring in his ears makes his clammy hands raise upwards to press against them, sounds muffled as dust coats his tongue like thick, chalky medicine. His eyes flutter as the light passes, debris clinging to his lashes and dirtying his freckled face. Carl sniffs, his head turning around rapidly to see you again.

Except you were gone.

Just like the flash of orange light and thermal blast, you had seemingly dissipated into thin air. His first reaction is panic, in a form that roots his body into the concrete floor at the thought of you being hit by the bomb, therefore disintegrating instantly.

Carl feels sick to his stomach and he removes his hands from his ears, picking up his gun that clattered to the ground and spinning in circles to catch even a glimpse of you.

"Y/n?" He shouts even if his throat was aching from the particles in the muggy air.

There's no response, "Y/n!" He calls out with more urgency, his feet moving quick against the ground as another round of bullets pass beside him.

The shaggy, brown-haired teen dashes through a gap between the cell blocks, keeping as low as he could whilst running, pressing the sheriff's hat his father gave him just a few days prior against him skull.

Then everything stops. It's practically silent if you ignore the echoes of the snarling walkers that invaded the space. His eyes brim with salty tears, scrambling to pick up a too familiar red cloth discarded on the floor.

His heart is put on pause for a few seconds as he kneels down to claw at the jacket. Your favourite jacket. Bright red stained with black smudges and bloody hand smears, an open hole passes cleanly through both sides of the left sleeve, encircled in a deeper scarlet that dripped in a sickening curve of an open wound.

Time passes slowly, as if God himself was providing him time to grieve. You had slipped through the cracks of his callousing hands, the blood trapped under his fingernails suddenly more obvious as he scratched at the drying liquid on the jacket. His heart hurts. So does his head, a throbbing pulse that matched the pants and trembling breaths that exited his chapped lips. His body washes out any adrenaline or happy emotion an refills it with dread and mourning.

He feels like crying. Sobbing, screaming your name until his lungs collapsed and his throat was raw. Vocal cords torn, shattered like his heart that would no longer beat with the same life he had with you. His thoughts turned from joyous hope of a future with you and Judith outside the crackling prison to disbelieving hurt at the realisation you were not near him anymore.

With no body, their could be no funeral. Nobody in the limited black attire they collected throughout their time in the apocalypse. With no grave to bury you under, you could not rest.

But without a funeral or a tattered corpse of your being, Carl refused to believe you were dead.

The sound of bullets restart his heart again like a defibrillator, and he's back in the moment. There's shots in the courtyard, the boy scrambles up, clinging onto your jacket with harsh breathing.

There's two walkers further along the cell block. Carl ties the jacket around his waist. Rage slowly drips into the building acceptance in his mind, and the shotgun that he held previously was snagged up off the floor.

The gun is raised, aimed perfectly for the decaying heads of what used to be morally guided people. His breathing picks up slightly.

One shot rings out, bullet shells hitting the ground. Chunks of skin, bone and rotting organs spills over the floor and the walker hits the ground with a dull thud. He steps over the remains with what could only be described as a bitter mixture of anger and sadness on his face.

The second shot is fired, and the first victim is joined by the other. A mess of liquid ruby changes the grey hue of the floor, the sound of blood spilling like tossed water would usually sicken him.

His gaze drifts towards the bodies, and he is repulsed at the image of you, your hair splayed against the concrete and your eyes wide open yet unseeing, glossed over in grey as your plump lips turn blue, skin cold. Your chest does not rise. You are still, graceful and dead.

He blinks, and yet again you were gone. Carl looks up from the meaningless corpses.

His own dad looks back at him.

"Carl," It doesn't sound like him, there's a hint of liquid that gurgled in his throat as he spoke, and Rick gulps it down. He's breathing heavily. A collection of red patches adorn his beaten face, curls from his hair and stubbly beard pressed against the sweat gathered on his skin.

The two of them limp away from the remains of the prison, trauma and sorrow tossing and churning in their minds and stomachs. They had lost not only you, but Judith as well.

One of the only memories of his mother that he had. And the only hope that Rick had of raising one of his children without any fear even in the apocalypse.

That night the two of them exchanged no words.

-—-

1 month, 27 days and 17 hours.

That's how long it had been since Carl had last heard your voice. Him, Rick and now Michonne occupy a two story house in a leafy road surrounded by woods. They visit the neighbouring homes further down, once he even found a 112 ounces worth of chocolate pudding, and ate it in one sitting. Alone.

The words 'alone' has never been in the forefront of his mind this much before. He wonders if you would've enjoyed the pudding with him, or comforted him on his worst nights as his dad slept on the sofa barricading the front door. Maybe you would've stopped him shouting at his unconscious body.

He was terrified, that night. Because the sleeping body of his dad would sometimes look like you - except there's a bite on your shoulder and a bullet wound punctured between your closed eyes.

Now there was no resting body on the sofa as his dad was awake, alive and moving whilst Michonne helps the two of them work with their slightly tense familial relationship.

Sometimes he'd get bombarded with questions about you. He'd still answer with one phrase.

"She's alive."

The same tone, the same memory starting to form before his ocean eyes whenever he blinked. After a while it went from being a quivering statement of hope to an exclamation of law.

Every time you were brought up negativily, it ended in him storming out of the house and sleeping in a different one for the night, and coming back in the morning to his anxious dad who was very close to vomiting and a worried Michonne.

Carl knew you wouldn't just leave or give in that easily. It wasn't in your blood that stained the jacket he kept folded upstairs in one of the rooms.

He had washed it, any trace of what happened at the prison left in a stream of water; the hole from your bullet wound was sewn together as best as he could. No more smudges of soot and crumbling brick smeared down the hood and arms, no more scarlet hand prints that grabbed and tainted your clothing.

Carl had one mission that he would complete - he had to complete it before anything else.

And you were going to get your jacket back - alive.

-—-

Terminus was a horrible idea. It had been advertised as a safe haven for anyone in need of it, offering sickingly sweet luxuries that no other place had before.

Who knew it was run by cannibals that captured, disarmed and intended to eventually eat them? Not Carl, that's for sure.

They had barely escaped with their lives, and Carl could only wonder how many more times he could dodge death until it inevitably caught up with him.

But in the back of his mind, he knew he would avoid it for as long as he possibly could, because if he kicked the bucket then he wouldn’t see you again.

At least they found everyone else - including Judith. That was one miracle that Carl dreamed of, and it was accepted, so the last one was you.

Many nights and days he had spent wondering where you were, if you were thinking about him too, some other days passed with tears and muffled screams of your name; those days he’d be comforted by the tight arms of his dad or Michonne wrapped around him.

Carl would sometimes have nightmares of that grimey, old man that pinned him against the floor, Michonne and Rick having to see him at his most vulnerable in that moment. That was the one time he was grateful you weren’t there. Not because he didn’t want you to see him so shattered and broken, no.

He knew that whatever was going to happen to him, would happen to you too. And with the predator pinning him down, the company of his equally as vile creatures that held Michonne and Rick as captives. Nobody would be able to save you in time.

Part of his innocence was picked up and snapped that night. He fell asleep with your jacket over his torso, and he let his quivering frame curl into yours.

He wanted to see you again, in real life. Not a part of the fractured, twisted part of his imagination. He wished to hold you close against him, kiss you under the stars like you had done too many days ago. Everything Carl found that he thought you’d like was in a small pouch at the bottom on his bag.

A thin-chained necklace, a gossip magazine, a comic book. A small heart shaped rock that he had found. Most importantly, your jacket.

Carl was intelligent, observant. He could tell everyone had already grieved for you, mentioned your name in speeches of motivation saying ‘do it for her’. He hated it.

Another argument happened whilst they were all moving down the abandoned road, towards a new hope of life.

His father brought you up again when he saw Carl wearing your jacket. They had stopped for a break, sitting in the middle of the road whilst Daryl went hunting for anything they could eat.

“Carl,” He spoke, voice slow and gentle as if he was a ticking time bomb, “I think it’s time you let go of her jacket.”

Everyone’s eyes moved from his father to his son, eyes slightly widened and mouths clamped shut. The air becomes tense as the blue-eyed teen looks up at his father through the corner of his eyes.

Carl swipes his tongue over his lips, “Why’s that?” He spoke, Judith coo’s in his arms, pulling at the strings that tightened the hood.

Rick adjusts his stance, placing his hands on his hips and thinking of what to say to his son. His mouth opens and closes a few times before he speaks.

“I just think, well we just think that,” The curly-haired dad gestures to everyone with one hand, “It’s time to let go, son.”

Carl lifts his head fully, eyebrows knitted together in scrutising disbelief, “You all think she’s dead?” His tone is harsh, accusing and targeted to pierce their racing hearts.

Everyone knew that the mention of you being dead was something that the boy didn’t agree with. Stubborn as ever, Carl points his gaze towards his dad. His gaze as sharp as daggers and Rick knows hes in for the long run.

“She disappeared, Carl. We can only guess what happened to her.”

Carl hands Judith to Carol next to him and she takes her without looking at the boy, “You can guess, but I’m not guessing. I know she’s alive.”

“She’s got lost, nobody saw where she went. She’s alone.” Rick argued, his voice louder.

“She has a gun and a knife!” Carl replies, shouting over his father. Michonne stands up and removes her gun from her holster, as did Abraham and Tara when a branch snaps behind the wooded trees.

Daryl shows himself, empty handed. Everyone internally groans, but they give him a look to tell him to be quiet and point at the arguing boys.

Rick places his hands on his sons shoulder, looking down on him, “People have still died with a gun, kid.”

Carl pushes his dad away from him, face contorting into pure anger and vemon lacing his features, “Don’t touch me.”

“I’m just tellin’ you the truth, Carl.” Rick points at him, eyebrows raised and his voice returning to the soft, almost patronising tone from before.

“But it’s not the truth!” Carl argues, his anger put into lashing out against his own blood, “She’s alive, I know it! I see her, Dad!”

Michonne places a hand on Rick’s shoulder when she hears him sigh and prepare himself, “Don’t-”

“She’s dead! Trust me. She. Is. Dead. If you’re seeing her like I see your mother, then she is not alive anymore!”

It goes silent, a few birds fly overhead with calls of their scratchy language. Even in the open surrounded by trees it has never felt more claustrophobic than ever for the Grimes family.

Carl stiffens at the mention of his mother, the woman that birthed and nutured him through his pre-teen years. The woman he eventually ended up killing.

Rick takes his silence as an opportunity, “Let her go, Carl. That’s my only advice.”

Tears form in his lashline as he stares back at him dad, and the sheriff’s hat against his head has never felt more heavy than in this moment.

“But everyone saw Mum’s body.”

Rick has never turned around quicker than in that moment. The mention of his lovers lifeless body, deep cut in her lower stomach flashes under the glaze in his eyes and Rick swears he can see a white dress move through the treeline.

Carl continues, “We saw Mum’s body,” His voice trembles and he sniffs, “I knew she was dead more than anyone else here.”

It’s deathly silent. Everyone knows what he’s referring to, and everyone is scared shitless to say anything to either of them. Rick takes a deep breath, but doesn’t speak.

A droplet rolls down Carl’s pale cheek, and he looks down to ensure no one saw him wipe it away, “We haven’t seen hers. Until we see her body, I’m keeping her jacket. But when we find her, she’s gonna have it back.”

Rick only nods lightly, picking up the supplies he agreed to carry.

Nobody makes any objections to continuing to move further up the road - towards Alexandria.

-—-

You have never felt so close before. Yes, they were extremely suspicious and afraid of Aaron and his husband, Eric. Having been tricked into a cannibal house just a week ago does that to a group of people.

But walking up yet another road, littered with lifeless corpses of walkers with bullets making their brains paint the pavement. Carl knows only one thing.

He has never been this sure that he was going to find you.

Aaron is rattling on about what facilities they had. Running water, heating, electricity. Promises of necessaries they haven’t heard of for years now.

His dad is on edge, not particularly fond of the idea, but he knew that everyone was so tired and burnt out that they needed just the idea of a safe place to be just to bring more motivation to themselves.

So far, Aaron’s words of a 15 foot, metal wall that bordered Alexandria and protected the insiders was true, and Carl begins to feel more energetic and hopeful than before.

Carol notices this, and questions the boy, “What’s up, Carl?” She looks at him, and he looks back.

“She’s here, I know it.” He replies and then looks forward again, walking ahead of her.

Carol furrows her brows and decides to take harder and longer looks at the walkers on the floor.

The group arrive at the large, metal gate. The journey felt like hours for each of them, but extra long for Carl. He was antsy, and fully compliant to anything any of them told them to do. If Aaron or Eric told them to stop, he would. If they told him to go find a bird, kill it and bring it back, he would.

The gates finally screech open, Carl feels as if his heart is going to burst open. An alarm sounds in the back of his head but not one of worry, but one of intuition that told him she was here.

He looked into the gated community as the gate opened fully, and felt alienated as soon as he entered with his group. They were dirty, hair knotty and unclean against the pristine and organised residents of Alexandria.

People poke their heads out of houses and stare, smiling or looking upon them with apathy. Every face Carl doesn’t recognise.

They get told to hand over their weapons. Their refusal is argued, and eventually they give in. It’s hesitated and unsettling seeing all their guns and knifes piled onto a trolley.

Carl is the second to last person to place anything on the trolley, his handgun is held in his hands tightly as he walks over to the collection, placing it down and reaching for his knife-

“Carl?”

It’s a voice further along the pathway into Alexandria, and he looks up in slight confusion.

His blue eyes meet hers, they’re as recognisable as ever. Finally.

His body is practically overflowing with emotion - relief, joy, sadness and the most overpowering feeling of love.

The knife clatters to the floor, there are hands reaching for him, tugging on his clothes to hold him back and the leaders that he didn’t care to remember the names of tell him to stay put.

Instead he runs. It’s a run of desperation. He’s afraid that if he doesn’t run fast enough, you’ll disappear again in the aftermath of an explosion. You’re running too, a hand against your mouth to cover sobs.

The two of you meet halfway, arms wrapping around eachother as a form of physical touch to ensure that the other that this is real.

“You’re alive,” Carl whispers, breathing heavily and clutching the back of your head that was pressed against his chest, “I knew it.”

You’re both crying, holding eachother in a tight, cathartic embrace that released any inkling of doubt that the others heart wasn’t beating.

Carl’s hands clamber to hold you face in his hands again. You let him, raising your head to look into his eyes. He runs his thumbs against your soft skin, scanning your face.

His head lowers, yours lifts, and your lips meet in a greeting that was way past it’s due date. Eyes closed, experiencing something that has only been a dream for so long. You didn’t care that his lips were chapped, he didn’t care that yours were slightly cut up from you biting at the dead skin there.

It’s messy, teeth clashing and your noses bump one or two times, but all that you care about is that he’s here, and that he finally found you.

You pull apart, and your eyes fly open to witness his still closed like he was still in shock. His lashes flutter, and you make eye contact once again.

There’s a sense of melancholy realisation that slowly ebbs through him. The fact he hadn’t been there to witness you grow up alongside him during the time you were apart. He admires the change in your facial structure, features from before stronger and more prominent to show that you had grown up.

“You’re just as beautiful as I remembered,” His thumb wipes away a few of your tears and rolls over a small scar that streches up from your jawline to your cheekbone and his eyebrows furrowed in slight worry, “What happened?”

You press yourself further against his palms, relishing in the feeling of him again, “I survived, Carl.”

His name has never sounded so good before. His brain feels funny, his heart floating as he pulls you in for another kiss. It’s less messy this time, not that either of you care.

Carl pulls away again as he’s reminded of his mission, his forehead against yours, “Your jacket,” He gives you peck, and departs again, “I have your jacket.”

His hands leave your face to pull the rucksack of his back, and in panting breaths you gasp softly as he pulls the red fabric out of the bottom of the brown bag, holding it out to you.

“I cleaned it, sewed up the bullet hole,” He holds it up, showing the messy threading, “It’s not the best-”

He’s cut off by you taking it from him with a sniffle, pressing it against your heart and clutching it.

“I love you, Carl.” Your voice trembles, and he smiles, pressing a kiss against your forehead, brushing a few loose strands of your hair from your face.

“I love you too.”

You unzipped the red jacket, struggling to get it on; Carl moves forwards to help you slide it on over your arms again.

Where it rightfully belongs.

-—-

#*{ ‘. florawrites<3 #carl grimes x reader #the walking dead #carl grimes #twd #angst #the walking dead x reader #fluff #twd fluff #twd angst

2K notes · View notes

wynnyfryd · 2 months

Text

Trailer park Steve AU pt. 55 (12.2)

part 1 | part 54 | ao3

A cop picks him up just outside Dinwiddie, two and a half miles from where he left his car on the side of the road. She’s plump and squat, with red hair and a midwestern accent, like Mrs. Henderson if she grew up in Minnesota.

“Wisconsin,” she corrects. “Hop in, I’ll take you to Lorraine’s.”

“Thanks, Officer…?”

“Greene.”

Steve accepts the offer because his fingertips are so cold they’re starting to burn through his leather gloves, and as she drives them to the diner in town he explains the flat tire — debris flying off an eighteen wheeler, a crazy loud clang followed by a flapping thud-thud-thud, the smell of burnt rubber as he eased onto the shoulder only to remember that he never replaced his busted tire jack.

“Coulda been worse,” Officer Greene shrugs, looking at him with a small grin and tapping a gloved finger against her temple. “Coulda hit ya in the noggin.”

“True," Steve chuckles, "could’ve gone four for four on the concussions.” He has to cover his laugh with a fake cough because he gets a flash of concerned crazy eyes in response, which is pretty fair, actually. Sometimes he forgets the details of his life all sound insane. “Uh. Sports," he amends. "I play— yeah.”

The rest of the drive is quiet. Steve watches the woods, the shadows reaching like blunt fingers over the hills, and the snow turns to freezing rain and pools in all the potholes as they splash down the sad main street, past a junkyard and an old schoolhouse, past boarded-up windows and short, stubby buildings full of failing small businesses. Lorraine’s is a hole in the wall at the end of a neglected strip, half the bulbs on the sign blown out so it just reads Rain’s in flickering yellow light, and Steve thinks that's fitting because this place is shit. This place is shit, and he feels like shit, and he’s going to have to drive home to his shitty trailer and see Eddie’s van parked across the street or maybe it still won't be there at all and he— he fucking—

"Easy," Officer Greene says. "You'll chew a hole through your lip doin' that." She parks the car and turns to him, squinting. "You okay?"

Steve pinches the end of his nose.

In the diner, she slides into the booth opposite him and insists on buying him coffee and a short stack, because, "Well, no offense, young man, but you seem like you may be goin' through it a bit."

Steve winces over his coffee, cradling the warm cup with both hands. “Yeah, well,” he sniffs, “my, uh…" Your what, exactly? "I got dumped.”

He doesn’t know why he gives her the details — the empty bed, the sticky note. Sorry. Something in her eyes makes him feel like he can trust her, and when they finish their meal she reaches over and lays a hand over his. Tells him it sounds like he’s got a lot of other people who love him; tells him he should think about giving one of them a call.

With a lump in his throat and fresh tears in his lashes, he fishes quarters from his pocket and trudges over to the phone. Dials one of the few numbers he knows by heart.

“Hello,” Claudia greets, “Henderson residence.”

A truly ugly noise escapes him, wet and thick with phlegm.

“Hello?” she tries again. "Dusty, is that you? Are you okay?"

Steve’s not about to cry where all the waitresses can see. “Hey, Ma,” he croaks when he feels like he can breathe. “It's Steve. Can I... do you mind if I stay with you for a bit?”

—

part 56

tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie fic #trailer park steve au #my writing #my fic

275 notes · View notes

w0rmm1lk · 4 months

Note

May I request the class 1A boys (if u write for multiple in the same fic) reacting to their gn! S/o (who’s normally insanely calm and patient) finally snapping and ends up nearly killing a villain? Like reader snaps during a fight against a villain or smth because the boys (seperate but yk) got hurt and stuff? Sorry if this doesn’t make much sense, I suck at explaining things 😭

hi! i didnt end up doing all the boys but I did the ones I think I would b able to write for best hehe, for future posts probably gonna limit it to 5 characters per post!

characters: Tenya Iida, Denki Kaminari, Eijiro Kirishima, Mezou Shoji, Shoto Todoroki, Katsuki Bakugo, Izuku Midoriya.

reader: Gn

summary: the very well known 1a student (reader) who is known for being calm and understanding almost fucking kills someone.

warnings: blood mentions, near death experience, swearing, injuries.

other details: 1A!reader, reader quirk not mentioned but they use their bare fists to beat the shit out of the villain, villain is not any specific one.

👓Tenya Iida👓

👓- Iida was fast but damn the villain was faster.

👓- this resulted into iida now basically completely motionless on the ground yet still concious.

👓- usually if it was any of your other friends you would just take a deep breath and anylis whats going on to make sure things are delt with properly.

👓- but that iis not the case this time.

👓- it was almost like something snapped.

👓- nobody could actually figure out how you managed to catch the villain, especially with their speed.

👓- but bystanders were more focused on the fact that you were now repeatedly slamming their face into the sidewalk.

👓- honestly a miracle the villain survives that shit, but they 100% had brain damage afterwards.

👓- normally iida would step in but he could only really stare at you.

👓- partly due to the shoock, but also the fact that he straight up couldn't move from his injuries.

👓- after everything calmed down and iida recovered he gave your ass a huge lecture.

⚡Denki Kaminari⚡

⚡- he was shocked.

⚡- pun intended but also he was just straight up in shock.

⚡- first off, surprising he got these many injuries without short circuting.

⚡- guess his training rlly payed off.

⚡- well at least his quirk training.

⚡- thinks its sick as hell how you just beat the shit out of the villain.

⚡- their face will never be the same again.

⚡- hes kinda into it tbh.

🪨Eijiro Kirishima🪨

🪨- literally just makes the :o face

🪨- this man got one hit that actuqally injured him at you just cut loose.

🪨- he felt like not even he could do that much damage in unbreakable. (he totally could do worse but hes just having a moment leave me alone.)

🪨- aftwards will literally beg you to spar with him.

🪨- unfortunatley never gets to fight you while ur that pissed off.

🪨- honestly when he saw how beat up the villain was he thought that it was bakugos doing for a hot second.

🐙Mezou Shoji🐙

🐙- the way you reacted to him getting hurt lowkey reminded him of dark shadow during the training camp.

🐙- very similar situation tbh.

🐙- it was just one of his extended limbs that got injured, yet you reacted as if he had just been decapitated.

🐙- froze up for a second when he watched you just immediately run up to the villain you have been fighting for at least an hour and just absolutely demolish then within a few minutes.

🐙- had to restrain you a bit to stop you from actually murdering them.

🐙- was a little shocked at the sudden swap oof personality for that short time but was more focused on stopping you from being charged with murder.

❄️Shoto Todoroki🔥

❄️🔥- ^that face.

❄️🔥- like that is just his reaction tbh.

❄️🔥- i mean its not everyday you see the person thats just a slightly more emotionally available version of you almost kill someone.

❄️🔥- especially over a small cut.

❄️🔥- the cut wasnt even caused directly by the villain, it was a broken piece of glass that was flying around with other debri./

❄️🔥- i mean-- at least you caught the villain?

❄️🔥- and almost killed them.

❄️🔥- along with free medical debt.

❄️🔥- or no medical debt?

❄️🔥- idk how that stuff works in japan bruh.

💥Katsuki Bakugo💥

💥- fight me all you want but

💥- he just straight up finds it hot.

💥- like if you look close enough this mf is blushing.

💥- who knew that the one time someone makes bakugo blush is his partner attempting murder.

💥- originally wasnt going to hold you back.

💥- the longer he watched you beat the shit out of this guy he started to genuinley think you were going to kill them.

💥- once everything settles down you started back to you normal calm persona.

💥- bro was just like ????

🥦Izuku Midoryia🥦

🥦- panic.

🥦- like you dont even have to look at him, you just need to be near him and you can basically feel how panicked he is over this.

🥦- lots of panicked words, you can barely even tell whats he's saying through the rage but also the pure speed he's speaking at.

🥦- few words that were mostly intelligable you could tell he was saying you should stop.

🥦- even if you wanted to stop your body wouldnt let you.

🥦- ended up needing to use blackwhip to get you off.

🥦- not that it did much being the villai already had a broken nose and multiple broken ribs.

🥦- probably missing teeth aswell.

🥦- izuku is lowkey terrified to somehow piss you off now.

theyre all a little short but i think I slayed

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #bakugou x reader #bnha x gn!reader #mha x gn!reader #iida x reader #denki x reader #shoji x reader #kirishima x reader #izuku x reader #todoroki x reader #x gn reader

302 notes · View notes

hawkinsmethlab · 11 months

Text

Part Two

Read on AO3

The first time they kiss, Eddie is technically dead. Or, does CPR even count? Steve’s tempted to say no, because that’s not how kissing works. (He would know the best out of any of them, right?) The cracking of ribs under his hands and the taste of blood in his mouth, how desperately he’s blowing air into too-heavy lungs and listening to one of his best friends cry so hard he’s dry heaving.

But he doesn’t stop, not until there’s a pulse, however weak.

Eddie dies twice on the way to the hospital. They tell Steve later that he died again when he was on the operating table and nearly didn’t get him back.

Steve runs himself ragged over the next month, between volunteering at the community center, donating blood and making sandwiches, helping to clear the streets of debris, patrolling for Upside Down shenanigans and playing chauffeur for his gang of kids who aren’t acting so much like kids these days. He visits Max and Eddie as often as he can. Max still hasn’t woken up and nobody’s sure when that might be, but he gets to have his first conversation with Eddie about a month later.

He’s only been awake for a week, and still can’t do much of anything but talk, and even that’s hit or miss most days. Even when he can kind of hold a conversation, he gets tired too fast for it to mean much, but everyone Steve talks to is upbeat about his recovery.

He hadn’t been planning on actually sitting with him, there’s still so much to do, but Wayne had asked him to hang out while he ran to grab himself some lunch. Who is he to deny that man anything, especially something so easy as watching a half-comatose idiot?

Eddie wakes up after about a minute of Steve being there. When he notices him, Eddie’s eyes go glazed and he’s got a dopey smile.

“They’ve got you on the good stuff, huh?” Steve says.

Eddie nods, but his muscles are loose so it’s more of a roll. “Oh, yeah. I’d make a fortune off the stuff if I could get my hands on it. But, shh, don’t tell. I’ll get in trouble.”

“Okay, man, whatever you say. My lips are sealed or whatever.”

“Mmm.” Eddie squints at him then, frowns until he’s pouting. “Sorry you had to do that.”

“Do what?”

“Lay one on me,” he says, eyes closed now. “Bet you hated it. Bet it tasted awful.”

Steve rolls his eyes, fights back the smile his lips are trying to pull up into. “Appreciate the concern. Lucky for you, it wasn’t anything I hadn’t tasted before. And I didn’t. Hate it.”

Eddie’s eyes open so fast Steve worries they’re gonna fly out of his skull. “You what?”

“I was saving your life, dude,” Steve says. Duh. “Hard to hate something like that. I mean, maybe if it hadn’t worked then it might be a different story but--”

“Oh. Right.” Eddie relaxes back into his pillow. He’s trying to keep his eyes open, on Steve, but it’s a fight he isn’t going to win. He’s like a kid trying to stay up past his bedtime, and this time Steve can’t force down the smile in time.

“Just go to sleep,” he tells him. “Your uncle will be back soon.”

“Been sleepin’ forever, I’m sick of it. Keep havin’ weird dreams.”

“...Yeah, I’ve been there.”

Silence settles between them, broken by beeps of machinery, distant footsteps and announcements from the hallway. Eddie’s eyes are closed again, his brow still creased. Steve thinks he might have actually fallen back asleep until he sees his lips move.

Steve scoots a little closer. “Are you trying to say something?”

Eddie sniffs, make the face like he’s pouting again. “I said, I’mma make it up to you.”

“Make what up to me?”

“Bad first kiss.” Eddie shakes his head. “I can do better. Wanna do-over.”

Steve freezes like a deer in headlights. Like he has a gun to his head. Like he just heard the front door open and he knows it’s his parents coming home. He knows it’s the drugs talking and that Eddie doesn’t know what he’s saying, not really. At the end of the day he probably isn’t going to remember this conversation.

Eddie is in a hospital bed, hooked up to about a dozen different machines looking like he’s been hit by a train, his skin so pale that Steve can make out every vein, every bruise and cut and stitch. Long fingernails and peeling scabs that crawl up his neck like a fungus. He’s drooling a bit from the side of his mouth and his eyes are still crusty with sleep and he’s got a smattering of acne that’s cropped up on his forehead and nose, along the edge of his chin. His bangs are pinned back because they’re so greasy.

Steve’s heart races anyway.

There’s a correct answer here, the one he’s been raised with, the one beaten into him. The instinctual urge to brush it off as a joke (ha, good one, man) to take it as an insult (remember who you’re talking to, Munson) to ignore it altogether (just go back to sleep).

Then there’s the incorrect answer.

“Alright, Munson,” he says, softly, terrified. “Once you’re all better, you can show me what I missed out on.”

Through the exhaustion and the pain meds, Eddie grins. “Watch out, Harrington. I’m about to rock your world.”

Steve smiles. He doesn’t fight it this time. “Can’t wait.”

#stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie #my writing

1K notes · View notes

paintyoureyeswithavividmind · 11 months

Text

close to home | chapter five

plot: Daryl and the reader experience a bit of trouble on the road before arriving at the prison, where the reader gets quite a surprise

series masterlist

Pairing: Eventual Daryl Dixon x f!reader Word Count: 1,881 Warnings: violence, blood A/N: thanks for reading!

It was silent as you and Daryl drove through the old deserted neighborhood. The sun was steadily rising, and it was already warm; the day would be warmer than usual, and you wanted to die at the thought. You’d already moved your hair into a ponytail, and sweat was sticking your shirt under your arms.

You directed him to get onto the northbound extension and were soon flying down the road. The wind whipped around your hair, and every so often, you looked back to check on Tora. You wouldn’t hear her meowing over the wind, but you knew she was. You chuckled as you turned around, lifting your feet on the dash.

“What?” Daryl asked you.

“Nothing, it’s just been a really weird twenty-four hours.” You said, looking up at the clear blue sky. There was no sign of the storm last night.

Five minutes later, though, you believe that thought jinxed you. Half burnt from a lightning strike, a huge pine tree lay across the double-lane highway. Pine needles and debris from the storm covered the asphalt. You sighed loudly and unstrapped. “I don’t think we can move this ourselves,”

Daryl gave you a look that told you he didn’t get your sarcasm again and moved to get out of the car.

“Damn guard rails won’t let us drive on the grass,” He swore, spitting onto the ground.

“We can double back to the past exit,” You said, jumping down and walking towards the tree. “Poor guy,” You looked sadly at it.

“Poor us,” Daryl corrected you.

You rolled your eyes and were about to say something when those familiar groans caused your stomach to drop. You went to grab your machete, but you’d stupidly left it in the car.

“Your four o’clock!” Daryl yelled.

You turned around and saw about half a dozen dead ones roaming out of the forest. “Ah, shit,” You cursed, looking around for any weapon. There was a branch the size of your forearm on the right, and you grabbed it just as one of the dead ones reached you. You quickly dodged it, hitting the back of its knee with the branch and then ramming it into its head. When it dropped dead, you saw Daryl handling three alone and another two headed toward you.

You barely had time to react to the second dead one dropping to the ground, half its brain missing and dead on the ground, when the other one slammed right into you. Your head hit the ground with a smack as you held off the dead one with your forearm.

“(Y/N)!”

The branch had been knocked away, and you reached for it a few times before accepting that it was out of your reach. You groaned loudly and struggled against its strong arms. When it was alive, he must’ve towered over six feet.

“Daryl!” You yelled.

“I got ya,”

The head was pulled back, and a knife went through its skull. Blood dripped down on your face, and you winced, trying desperately to pull yourself out from underneath the heavy, decaying body.

Tora’s high-pitched wail caught your attention, and you looked up to see a walker bending into the car, reaching for the carrier.

“No!’ You screamed loudly, running towards the dead one. You collided with it and went flying down. With its attention on you, you quickly pinned down its arms with your legs and grabbed its head, pulling as hard as you could. With a sickening crunch, its head came clear off and went flying in the opposite direction.

With the body not a threat, you moved toward the car to check the carrier, which was completely undisturbed. You sighed with relief and then noticed the blood coating your hands. When you turned around, Daryl was staring at you.

“That was close,” You said, reaching into one of the bags to grab a water bottle and two of the only towels you have. After quickly washing away your face and hands, you handed the towel to Daryl, but he shook his head.

“Gotta hit the road,”

***

Turning back around added another twenty minutes onto your trip, but you quickly started to recognize where you were. Your stomach tightened in nervousness, and you picked at the dried blood in your fingernails.

Daryl seemed to pick up on your anxiety. “Don’ gotta worry. They’ll be cool with ya, might have to feel ya out first but it’ll be good. We need more people to help. We got a man who got bit the day before last. He might not wake up. We need more.”

You nodded but didn’t say anything. The sun was now high in the sky, beating down on you. Sweat was dripping on the bridge of your nose. The wind helped, but it was like blowing hot air on you.

“I trust you, Daryl,” You finally said, “It’s the others I’m worried about….” He nodded but didn’t say anything. “Next exit. You’ll probably know how to get there from here.”

You were right; once off the exit, Daryl knew how to return. Your stomach twisted in more anxiety, and you felt like you were going to throw up. As the prison tower came into view between the trees, you wanted, more than anything, to turn around and go back to the treehouse. But that was well over twenty miles away, and you and Tora nearly died getting here.

The gates appeared, and Daryl honked the horn a few times. You saw a kid at the gate who hesitated briefly before opening them up. Daryl slowed the car to a stop and glanced at you. “Be aight,”

You said nothing before slowly getting out of the car and looking at the kid. His gun was locked and loaded, but it wasn’t raised.

“Who’s this?”

“Your father back? Glenn and Maggie?” Daryl asked.

The kid hesitated briefly before nodding, “Got back early this morning. They are getting ready to go out looking for you. Who is this?”

“I’ll look the gates up. Go get your dad for me.” Daryl said.

The kid tossed Daryl the keys and eyed you carefully before taking off up the hill and toward the prison. You swallowed thickly and went to check on Tora in the back. She must be getting warm with the hot sun on her in the carrier. “I know, baby. I’m sorry.” You softly cooed to her.

A sudden commotion at the gate caused you to freeze, and you heard a few people yelling. You turned around to see guns raised at you. You took a step forward to block the carrier with your body.

“Aight, aight, everybod’ calm down,” Daryl said, moving to stand in front of you and the man with the gun. “Rick, this is (Y/N). She was in the town when we lit that fire, scavenging for supplies like us. Probably woulda run into her too. I saw her runnin’ out and thought she was you from a distance. We got pushed further and further away, damn walkers were everywhere,”

Rick didn’t say anything as he stared at you, clicking the gun. “Why’d you bring her back, Daryl? You know what we gotta do.”

“Nah, not this time,” Daryl said, “She saved my life. She helped me. She a good person, Rick. She got supplies, medicine, man,l and she got food. She was gonn’ be a doctor before.”

You leaned against the car, watching two other guys with guns. They were following Rick’s lead. You looked back at Rick, who was still staring at you.

“This was her car. Her supplies. She brought me back,” Daryl said, lifting his hand to lower Rick’s weapon. “She’s aight, I wouldn’t bring her back if I didn’ think so.”

“Glenn?”

Everyone’s attention turned back toward the woman walking down the dirt hill. A rifle was squared on her shoulder, but when she saw you, her steps stilled. “(Y/N)?

Your eyes widened as you realized who was standing there. Your mouth opened but no words came out. Hot tears pricked your version and you wanted to take a step forward but there were too many guns on you. “Maggie.”

Maggie dropped her rifle and ran past Glenn and Rick, throwing her body onto yours and hugging you tightly. Her body shook with sobs, and your wall of anxiety fell, and you wrapped yours around hers.

“Can someone please tell me what’s going on here?” Rick said impatiently.

But you and Maggie ignored him, and she pulled away, looking at your tear-soaked face, and grabbed your shoulders. “I tried to call you guys a million times. Atlanta fell so quickly, and I couldn’t… I didn’t know how to… I thought you were…”

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” You said, “I did too,” You pulled her in for another hug before your eyes widened, and you looked back. “Beth, Uncle Hershel, Annette…” Your voice trailed off.

“The farm was overrun. Beth and Dad are here. We’re the only ones. What about you? Liam?”

Your eyes dropped, and you shook your head, “He died saving me, Mags,” You cried, “We were cornered. I couldn’t get to him… he got torn apart right in front of me,”

Maggie immediately wrapped her arms around you and tried to shush your sobs. “It’s okay, it’s okay. You’re here now.”

You took a deep breath, and it felt like you were alive again for the first time. Like you weren’t some animatronic that did all of its daily tasks because you were designed to, not because you wanted to.

“Maggie,”

At the sound of her name, Maggie took a step back and looked toward her family. “This is my cousin (Y/N). Her dad is the older brother of mine. She’s family. Lower your weapons.”

There was a bit of hesitation, but they finally did. With the commotion mostly over, Tora made her presence known and meowed loudly, demanding to be let out.

“Oh my God,” Maggie laughed, “Of course you got the cat.”

“Damn near died for it today, too,” Daryl said, the first to intrude on you and your cousin’s conversation. “It’s a good cat. Knows how to hunt.”

Rick approached the car and looked around skeptically, unsure what to think. He poked and prodded through a few things before opening a box with the baby supplies you’d brought. He pulled out a onesie and looked at you.

“Daryl told me you got a baby comin’,” You said, “I can’t imagine it’s easy finding stuff like that. I wanted to make sure I had a piece offering,”

Rick stared at you briefly before turning to Daryl and nodding once. “Let’s get these supplies inside. I’d like to hear more about how you and Daryl met if that’s alright with you,”

“Rick, she’s family,” Maggie said, “We grew up together, I trust her.”

“It’s okay,” You said, glancing between them. “I’ll answer anything you want to know. After I see my cousin and uncle.”

#daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl x y/n #daryl x reader #daryl dixon x reader #the walking dead daryl #daryl dixion x reader #daryl x you #daryl x female reader

442 notes · View notes

sunonyoreface · 1 year

Text

He Knows - Simon “Ghost” Riley Pt. 13

An: Back to angst. Pt 14 will be up this weekend, it’s long (and spicy).

Hi there, this is a series about Simon Riley from COD. This series does not follow any of the established plots or timelines from the games. While I use the names of some characters, they are different from the ones in COD.

Summary: You’re held captive by 141 for reasons unknown.

Word count: 3030

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader

Warnings: angst, military setting, explicit language, graphic depictions of violence, use of guns.

Ghost has disappeared.

I woke up alone over an hour ago and haven’t seen any sign of him since. His weapons and gear are gone. There’s no note and as I stare out the window searching for any movement, the forest remains as still as ever.

However, the helicopter is still here. That means he hasn’t left. Maybe he went into the woods for something. Maybe more buildings are hiding in the trees. There’s one small shed connected to the east side of the cabin where the veranda ends, but I doubt he’s in there. It’s likely just firewood.

I glance at the nonexistent pile beside the wood stove. The fire has burned down to flickering embers, if I don’t add more fuel, it’ll burn out.

Maybe he was out getting more wood when someone hit him over the head and then dragged him away.

The thought pops into my head but even I have a hard time believing it. The attackers wouldn’t live to see another day.

I glance at the stove again. I don’t know how to start a fire, so letting this one burn out isn’t an option. I slip on my boots and grab a pair of leather gloves sitting where the wood pile should be. Outside there’s a light breeze, but it’s nothing compared to the cold in Russia.

A veranda wraps around the front of the cabin looking out across the field where the helicopter sits and into the surrounding forest. A built-in swing hangs at one end and an old straw broom lays knocked over near the railing. Several empty flower pots sit on each side of the steps and beside one, is an overturned metal bin. Three steps lead down to the snow-covered ground. Several days ago it would’ve been warm enough for the snow to melt before it refroze into the icy mess it is now.

“Shit!” as soon as my foot makes contact, I slip, just barely catching myself. Close call.

I was right. The shed around the side is stocked full of wood. I step inside the doors so I can pile the logs in my arms. My hand wraps around a log in the middle of the pile. As I pull an avalanche of split pieces tumbles to the ground. A coat of dust covers everything. My eyes water from the dust and debris floating in the air.

“Remind me who gave you permission to leave the cabin?” I jump as Ghost’s gruff voice echoes behind me. He sounds unimpressed. “Because it sure as hell wasn’t me.”

I turn around to see him in full gear, standing in the snow with crossed arms. I feel like a child being told off. I feel like I’m being patronized.

“I’m just grabbing wood,” I don’t try and hide the annoyance in my voice. I can already tell the man from last night is gone.

“That’s not what I asked,” he says bluntly.

“Fine,” I state. “I did.”

“You don’t have that authority,” he leans into the frame of the woodshed, blocking me in. Filtered sunlight peers around his shoulders.

“The fire was dying.”

“I don’t care.”

“I do,” I push past him with an armful of wood but as soon as my foot hits a patch of ice, I lose all control. My feet fly up from beneath me. The pieces of wood are launched from my flailing arms and shock knocks the breath from my lungs. There’s that terrible sinking feeling in my stomach as I prepare to collide with the ground.

Strong arms wrap around my waist and heave me upward. I’m pressed into Ghost’s chest as he looks down at me, shaking his head ever so slightly. The black paint he always has around his eyes is gone. Mustn’t have brought any extra with him. But now I see the bags under his eyes. He looks tired. Ready to crash tired. I wonder if he slept at all last night.

His arms slip away as he straightens his posture. “Get back inside,” it’s a short order without room to bargain.

I nod in agreeance but pick up the pieces of wood along the way. I’m not letting that fire burn out.

The sound of metal skidding across the wood deck rings in my ears as Ghost shoves the metal bin out of the way with his boot. Something’s made him irritable.

Inside, I don’t wait for him to start lecturing me. I head straight to the fire and start adding pieces of bark from the logs to the embers. Ghost stomps the snow off his boots at the entrance. He closes the door but doesn’t turn the deadbolt. His demanding eyes follow my actions while I choose to ignore his presence. The dust sticks to my dirty hair. I feel gross after the events of the last several days. Like the blood of all those dead men is building under my fingernails. I pick at the skin around my cuticles. It’s only time before they bleed again.

I grab the small axe leaning against the wall by the stove and attempt to split one of the smaller pieces. I hear the sound of steel-toed boots approaching behind me and focus on the task at hand. Somehow, I successfully split the small piece without missing or hurting myself. I add the kindling to the smouldering bark and watch as a tiny flame begins to lick at the wood.

I reach for another piece, but before I can pull it off the ground, his boot steps on it, stopping me dead in my tracks. The hairs on the back of my neck rise as I turn around to crane my neck and peer up at Ghost standing over me.

“What?”

“Listen.”

I sit back on my knees to get a better look at Ghost as his foot remains on the piece of wood. His hands hang loosely at his sides, ready to reach for his weapon. He taps his right index finger against his thigh.

“I’m all yours,” I notice the tapping falters at my words.

“Once the task force has recovered after the attack, they’re moving to the Ludza base. We’ll meet them there when it’s cleared,” Ghost doesn’t spare any details, but I have to assume he was talking to Price. Maybe with the radio in the helicopter.

“Are there any updates?” I ask.

“On what?” he responds. Ghost’s choice of words allude to there being multiple updates, all of which are likely classified.

“Was my father there?” I ignore all my other questions to ask the one I care about the most. I don’t know how much longer he’ll entertain me.

“His body wasn’t found,” so maybe he was and escaped? Or maybe he didn’t go at all. Maybe the risk was too high. A thought flickers in my head. I push it away so it doesn’t metastasize into something horrible. What if he simply doesn’t care?

No. That’s impossible. He wouldn’t go through all this effort just to not show up. He loves me. He’d do anything for me.

I clear my throat. “When do we leave.”

“Tomorrow. 0600,” Ghost curiously tilts his head, waiting for more questions, but they never come. I’m sure part of him wants to know how loyal I am to my father. Sure, I alerted them of the attack, but that doesn’t mean I’m in the clear. My intentions appear more cloudy than ever. Whose side am I on? Why would I help them over my own family? Why would I wait so long to tell them about the attack?

Truth is, I don’t know. Seeing anyone be killed feels wrong. No matter their crimes. Why should I be the one to choose? But even indecision has consequences.

He heads for the door without another comment. My hand clenches around the chopped log. He’s avoiding me.

“Is there any way I could have a bath or shower out here?” I change the topic. I need to scrub myself clean from the dirt of our actions. The showers at the base are filled with mud. Their sinks with blood.

Ghost feigns looking around the cabin for a washroom. My lip purses with irritation.

“Sure, knock yourself out,” He slams the door behind him.

Asshole.

I throw more logs onto the fire. Knock yourself out. Sure. Knock yourself out. I split another piece of wood with the axe. Sure. My stubby nails press hard into my palm.

I raid the cabinets: basic survival gear and a whole lot of MREs. There are however several pots and pans and a kettle. We don’t have running water, but there is snow I can melt over the stove.

I need a tub.

My eyes shift outside to the veranda. Sitting there is the metal bin Ghost kicked only moments ago. That’ll do.

It’s heavy, but not unmovable. It looks like a tiny watering trough used for horses. I cross my fingers that it doesn’t leak.

After a couple hours spent melting and boiling snow, several more trips to the woodshed, and only one fall on the ice. I’ve made myself a lukewarm bath. It’s better than nothing. I entirely expected Ghost to yell at me for being outside again, but I haven’t seen him in hours. He truly is avoiding me.

Showering on the base was uncomfortable. The water was cold. Maximum time limit was five minutes. And I had to be supervised. Soap was nice enough to keep his back to me the whole time, but he was still ordered to be there. I was just glad it was him and not someone with worse intentions. I wish he was here now. Things are less awkward when he’s around.

Sitting in the tub, I have more time to myself than I’ve had in weeks. It’s small, so I have to keep my legs tightly bent at my knees to fit, but the rim is tall, ending at my shoulders. I filled it right full. The lye soap bar glides between my fingers as I softly run it along my skin and in my hair.

I feel sore everywhere. From the bed. From standing watching Ghost torture men all day. From the lasting marks of the men I’ve encountered.

I look down at the bruises now: most of them have begun to fade, with the exception of the fresh fingerprints wrapped around my upper arm from Ghost. The dark blues on my thighs have started to yellow with only a little remaining purple. My arms are bare, but my sides and back are the worst. The one time I was pushed onto a stair railing. That one’s the worst. The ugly mark above my hip looks like it should hurt more than it does.

I wrap my fingers around the marks Ghost left. Where did the gentle man from last night go? Was he real? Or is he just as evasive as campfire ghost stories? The man with the skull mask.

It’s too late if you see him, you’re already dead.

I see the looks he gets from the other soldiers. From his teammates. Ghost’s reputation precedes itself. They respect him. Of course, they do. But there’s more to their eyes. There’s fear.

If they’re scared, without a doubt I should be too. I know I should be. But a nagging part of me is more curious than anything. And a large part of me is still angry. Angry that he drug me into this mess. Angry that he doesn’t care how his teammates treat me. That he let these things happen. That they were planned.

If I was smart, I’d try and get away. I’ve thought about it. God, I’ve thought about it more than anything. But also, I want him to pull me close. There’s a burning desire to see the man everyone is so scared of. I want to feel him beneath my fingertips. I want him to leave more marks. To find his place in the heat of my flesh.

I press down on the marks until they throb under my hands.

“Fucking hell,” Ghost draws in a sharp breath as he opens the door. Without even fully stepping into the cabin, he’s already turning to leave. His knuckles are white from gripping the knob tight and he keeps his eyes averted to the ground. Behind him, I see the sun starting to set. I didn’t realize it’s that late already.

“It’s fine,” I call out to him. Ghost pauses, reluctantly finding my eyes. There’s a dark intensity to them as they fight the urge to wander. His chest deeply expands as he adjusts his breathing. “Same thing as the supervised showers, right?” But it doesn’t feel the same as having Soap guard the doors.

I don’t get a verbal response, but he does step inside the cabin. Ghost heads to the table and starts to strip from his gear, refusing to look in my direction. The rifle thuds against the wood when he sets it down. I hear a sigh of relief as his vest slides off.

“Bloody fucking hot in here,” he grumbles.

“I was using the stove all afternoon,”

Again, he doesn’t respond. I hoped he wouldn’t be so uptight when he returned, but his posture says otherwise. His back is tight and his hands clench at his sides like he doesn’t know what to do with them. He walks over to the futon, then turns for the kitchen like he’s looking for the spot furthest away from me. Then he paces back over to the table and starts disassembling his rifle.

“What were you doing out there all day?” I ask, peering over the tub. He hunches over in the chair as his knees brush against the underside of the table. Ghost’s eyes are intently trained on the task at hand. He gently handles the various pieces as he lays them out to be cleaned. My eyes follow the veins in his forearms as they flex with each twist.

“It’s classified,” he mumbles, keeping his head down as he starts to clean the barrel. Figured.

I force my head under the surface one last time. The water has long lost its warmth. The air in the room is miles cozier, but I wasn’t about to abandon all my hard work so soon. Ghost’s presence ruins my peace.

“Don’t look,” I say to him as I reach for the towel draped across the wood. I keep my eyes on Ghost who keeps his eyes on his gun.

I shimmy my underwear on under the towel then reach for my bra and hastily fumble with the clasps. I feel a small sense of relief after putting the two on. I quickly step into my pants and then finally let the towel drop as I’m doing up the buttons. As I turn and bend over to grab my shirt, I feel a dark set of eyes wander over my uncovered skin.

“Is that from my men?” there’s a hollowness to Ghost’s deep voice that echos off the walls and ripples the water in the tub. I already know which mark he’s talking about.

“I told you not to look,” I mutter through my teeth. He doesn’t get to start this now.

“Y/n,” the chair scrapes against the floor as he stands. Heavy boots thud against the floor as they slowly approach from behind.

“Don’t act so surprised,” I tug the long sleeve shirt over my head and cover the bruises. “You said this was all a part of the plan. That you planned this.”

“I didn’t know-” he starts, but I cut him off. He has to be fucking kidding me.

“I told you!” My voice raises as I whip around to face him. “I literally told you!”

“Y/n, that was never part of my plan, I wouldn-”

“No! You don’t get to pull that on me.” Something in me snaps. “What? Do you need to see every damn bruise to believe me? You think I’d lie about this? Fine.” I pull up the back of my shirt. “That one, across my spine, is from when one of your men kicked in my knees while I was trying to walk drugged and blindfolded. So is this one,” I hike my shirt up higher.

“This one,” I turn so he can see the ugly bruise on my side, the one that originally caught his attention. “Is when I was pushed into a metal stair rail by your men. That was almost three weeks ago, Simon. This is nothing compared to what it was before. So, yeah, They’re from your men.”

I drop the back of my shirt back down and then reach for the neckline. I pull it over my shoulder until you can see the marks he stained my body with yesterday.

“But not these ones,” my voice turns sullen. His eyes are glued to my skin. My cheeks are burning and my hands shake. The air in the room is thick and smokey. I reach for Ghost’s hand and surprisingly he doesn’t pull away when I grab onto him. I wrap his fingers around my upper arm, overtop of the dark bruises that match him perfectly. “That’s all you, Simon. Their actions hurt no more than yours.”

Something indescribable flickers across Simon’s face. In the same instance, he tears himself away from me. As he takes a step back I notice a new emotion behind the mask: something adjacent to fear.

He turns on his heels with conflict on his mind, storming out of the cabin. Something has changed. I’ve cracked some part of himself buried deep within. My words struck a bone within Ghost – no, within Simon – and it rattled him deep enough to abandon all of his weapons. It’s an action that is completely out of his character. That alone should worry me.

They all lay neatly on the table just as he left them moments ago. Sure, the rifle is disassembled and otherwise useless to me, but the handle of the handgun is pointed in my direction. I feel my fingers twitch at my side.

PT14:

https://at.tumblr.com/sunonyoreface/he-knows-simon-ghost-riley-pt-14/isleu0k3o30h

#simon riley #simon ghost riley #he knows #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost imagine #ghost x reader #COD MW2 #cod ghost #cod imagine #cod ghost imagine #MW2 #MWII #mw2 imagine #mw2 fanfic

1K notes · View notes

sweetsreverie · 1 year

Text

Thanks to You

Thanks to Y/N's quick thinking, 141 escapes a sticky situation with their lives... Barely. pairing: task force 141 x reader wc: 1,320 warnings/notes: canon-typical violence, near-death experiences, my attempt at angst after mostly writing and reading fluff, incorrect military terminology probably.

Terrorism in Mali had been on the rise for months, and the team had been notified of a growing terrorist cell in Bamako, the capital. The team had arrived early in the morning, now you and the rest of 141 were waiting for exfil that night after successfully raiding the base of operations.

While you were inspecting some of the stolen weapons and ammo that was in the building, your radio along with everyone else’s crackles to life.

“Bravo team this is Watcher-1. We've got eyes on four vehicles heading your way. They’re not friendly. Stay alert.”

You look over at Price and the others, and Ghost lets out a huff in annoyance more than anything.

“Fucking hell.”

“They must have called for reinforcements once they knew we were here-” You say quickly as you look over at Price, and he nods in agreement.

“Precisely.”

Just as Price had finished speaking, the five of you heard the vehicles outside, along with dozens of voices speaking a language you didn’t understand. You had hardly any time to react before grenades were blasting the doors open, and you were ducking for cover. Quickly assessing the layout of the place, you identify three doors ahead of you, and you know there’s a door behind you. Hopefully you could use it to escape.

“We’ve got to get to the truck outside if we’re to catch the helo for exfil.” Soap calls as the five of you begin to fire your rifles at the combatants that were entering the building.

“We’re not going anywhere until these fuckers are dead!” Ghost shouts over the sound of gunfire, and you briefly glance at the double doors behind you. The truck was parked a few dozen yards away behind a treeline, if you ran, you could make it. It’s going to take quick thinking to get out of here with your lives.

“We take this back door to the truck- Go! I’ll cover ya!” You call out to them, and Price looks at you briefly before he tosses a frag grenade towards the other side of the building.

“Hell no, there’s too many of them Y/N.” Price says firmly, his knuckles turning white as he grips his rifle.

“We don’t have time to argue about it!” Ghost shouts, and your mind is racing, trying to think of how the hell you’re going to get out of here with the team.

“Wait- I- I planted C4 when we finished clearing the place-” You ramble quickly, and Soap’s eyes are wide as you explain.

“Laswell wanted us to destroy any contraband we found- I planted it to take this building down, I can detonate it if you guys go for the truck!” You say with wide eyes, and the corner of Soap’s mouth raises slightly. They hadn’t even noticed you had done it. Sometimes you were just that quick and quiet.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here then. Go! Go!” Price shouts, and the five of you move away from your cover and duck out of the back door of the building as the gunfire continues from behind you. Bullets whizz by, flying past you and hitting the concrete walls.

Once you’re out and a few dozen yards away from the building, you activate the detonator. The five of you duck briefly as a loud boom sounds through the area, and the building comes crashing down. The screams of the men inside nearly make you sick, even though they were just trying to kill you.

“Steamin’ Jesus Y/N- Can’t believe you thought of that. We all got outta there thanks to you.” Soap calls over to you as you all pile into the truck.

You gather your bearings once you’re seated, and you cough a few times to clear your airway of some dust and debris from your surroundings. When you pull your hand away, there’s a splatter of blood on the palm of your glove.

Fuck.

Gaz notices the way you briefly freeze, and he sits up in his seat stiffly.

“Y/N- You good? Hey-” He says before he turns on his flashlight to see you in the dark truck, and when the light shines on your abdomen and waist, Gaz and Soap see your uniform was stained with blood. Your dark blue coat was shining with the blood that was rapidly flowing from your middle.

You don’t know when it happened, and you didn’t even feel it until now, now that the adrenaline has worn off.

“Captain- Y/N’s hit, we gotta move fast.” Soap calls out, and when he leans over and begins to undo the velcro of your vest, you let out a whine as you’re slightly jostled by the motion. Searing pain was blooming throughout your body, and every movement made by the truck worsened it.

Soap moves your vest to the side before he unzips your jacket, and he sighs when he sees the lower half of your gray shirt was now almost totally soaked in blood. Amongst the blood, he sees two exit wounds; you had been shot from behind.

The pain was growing to be unbearable, and as you close your eyes, Soap gives your arm a firm squeeze.

“Hey- Y/N, you gotta stay with me, aye? It’s not your time yet. We’re gonna get you fixed up.” Soap speaks quickly as he leans over and begins to apply pressure to the wounds as best he can, and his heart breaks when he hears your cries of agony.

The truck soon comes to a stop at the set rendezvous point. Luckily for you, the lights from the helo soon appear as the helicopter begins its descent to get your team out of there.

“C’mon kid, you’re not getting away from us this easily. Someone’s gotta help me keep Ghost and Price on their toes.” Soap says as he begins to help you out of the truck. Ghost comes around the side to help Soap move you, and he puts his arm around your back so you could lean against him.

You’re the youngest of 141, and they were going to make sure that you had a future with them.

The next time you woke up, although your vision was bleary, you recognized your surroundings as the infirmary on the base. You remember what happened. Soap’s words, and him and Ghost loading you into the helicopter. The rest is fuzzy.

Considering you felt no pain, you could only guess what kind of cocktail of medications the doctors had you on.

As you regain consciousness, you hear voices nearby. You recognize Ghost first, followed by Soap and Gaz. You guessed Price was working on the debrief. How long were you out?

Just like that, a few pairs of footsteps approach, and when the nurse pulls back the curtain, you’re met with Ghost, Soap, and Gaz. Ghost has his hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket, Soap is holding a stuffed dinosaur and Gaz is holding a few of your favorite candy bars.

“Maybe I should get shot at more often.” You murmur, and Soap grins while he hands you the stuffie and the candy that Gaz had been holding.

“Looks like you’re feeling good then. You gave us a scare back there, Y/N.” Gaz says while Soap sits down in one of the chairs near your bed.

“I feel okay- The drugs are helping.”

“Your quick thinking saved our asses back there. I wish you hadn’t gotten hurt though.” Soap says seriously, and you look down at him with a little smile.

“I’m young, I’ll heal in no time. At least it wasn’t one of you.” Ghost rolls his eyes at that, but you can tell he’s trying not to laugh.

“And… There it is.” He says, having been waiting for your smart ass to say something. That’s how they knew you were feeling like yourself again.

#task force 141 x reader #task force 141 #call of duty modern warfare 2 #modern warfare 2 #call of duty reader insert #simon ghost riley #captain john price #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #modern warfare reader insert #call of duty angst #modern warfare angst

896 notes · View notes

im-totally-not-an-alien-2 · 1 year

Text

Danny had been following...ok, stalking his bio dad for a while now. He didn't have anywhere to go after Amity blew up and Clockwork just came out of no where almost a week after the initial incident to pretty much say, "Hey! You're adopted! Also you're a clone baby! This is the name and main alias of your parent and here's how you get to your home dimension!" Then he was gone.

Ancients.

Again, its not like he had anywhere to go and he had nothing better to do. So following around his fourteen year old father (his original?) and his scary bat mentor around a gross crime filled city at night seemed better than nothing. It felt kinda wierd calling him dad in his head but at the same time he didn't want to call him anything else. His inner Jazz said it might be his subconscious grasping for any safe or familial connections it can find, but whatever. He'll call him dad. Who will ever know?

He knows Clockwork told him not to interfere with any of the battles here. He was only ever meant to be a fly on the wall (actually he wasn't even supposed to be here but the old stopwatch couldn't really stop him) but it was so frustrating to see this Red Hood guy appear one day and start hurting his dad and not being able to do anything without exposing himself.

But nothing prepared him for the new Robin.

He hated the new Robin. He had everything Danny ever wanted and he chose to treat his family like that? The anger he felt towards RH was nothing compared to what he felt towards the new little bird. Damian would look around whenever he was alone, likely feeling they eyes on him from Phantoms intense glare. Good. He wanted the kid to know he was unwelcome.

Danny may have died at eight and become a superhero, but that didn't mean he couldn't hate another child vigilante if he was given enough reason to. Danny stopped aging after the explosion that ruined his afterlife and his inner Jazz had a lot of theories about that but in reality he knew why.

He had been waiting.

He knew the bats were mortal and one day Batman would be too old to fight and Robin -now Red Robin- would need a protégé of his own, right? Then he'd pop in and reveal himself as Tim Drakes long lost clone son and everything would be perfect.

Damian didn't just put a wrench in those plans. He ruined them entirely! If Batman is replaced by Damian than Red Robin will likely always be a sidekick.

And sidekicks don't need sidekicks of thier own.

So Phantom made it his afterlifes mission to make Damians stay in Gotham as miserable as possible to make him leave. He would make sure Damian would go back to whereever he came from at the first available opportunity, even if he had to possess the whole city to do it.

----

Danny took cover with some other kids in a nearby clothing store. The riddler was one of Batmans common rogues and was dangerous. He and the others watched in horror as a third party, likely a gang of some kind that didn't appreciate a hero battle on thier turf, stupidly fired a freaking rocket launcher at the two of them. The projectile missed the mark by a large margin and hit a nearby business tower, sending rubble and debris down of the two fighters. Riddler was quickly pinned while Batman eventually got pinned after a few really cool evasive maneuvers. Red Robin went to assist while Robin went to fight the gang members. A lucky shot from one of the gang members got RR in the leg, sending him down momentarily.

Danny managed to rally the other kids to help dig Batman and Riddler out from where they were trapped by stealing a bunch of black hoodies for them to wear and ripping up a black shirt for them to wear as blindfolds. They could see out of them just fine, but it would hide thier identities from all parties.

Together they rescued the pair and Danny silently rejoiced at helping Red Robin limp away and treat his wound at a safer location. As much as he wanted to let this interaction last, he knew he had to bouce once RR started asking him questions.

Phantom later looked at himself in the reflection of a piece of building material. He had been told before that a ghosts appearance could change based on significant events in thier afterlives. Seeing his former symbol on his chest had disappeared and the smooth crisp edges of the black blindfold that had materialized on his face he knew what had happened. And he knew he would do anything to be with his father again.

His efforts to get rid of Damian intensified.

#fanfiction prompts #prompts #dp x dc #danny fenton #danny phantom #robin #damian wayne #tim drake #red robin #batman #bruce wayne #oh boy #tim drakes clone baby #stalker clone baby phantom au #danny: why wont you go away?!?!#damian: i swear someones out to get me!#tim: its probably bad karma for all the stuff you did

1K notes · View notes

hp-hcs · 6 months

Note

am just gonna bombard you with requests until instructed otherwise because i've found my new favourite writer✨

but how about the theo's x obscurus male reader (yandere or not, both theo's or not) honestly i'll gobble up whatever given - yxdls

freaks — yandere! theodore nott x obscurial! male! reader

tws: implied/referenced child abuse; snape being a dick

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

To be honest, nobody had really ever noticed Y/N L/N until he came back from winter break with a black eye and a broken nose; and with just one snide comment from a certain Potions professor, he promptly exploded into the most terrifying thing any of them had ever seen.

An Obscurus.

It’d been the first class back from the break. Someone clearly must’ve hated the fifth years, because the new schedule listed Potions as the first class on a Monday morning. Exhausted, all of the fifth years had trudged in and taken a seat, too tired to care about any accidental inter-house mingling.

Professor Snape was having none of it. His beady eyes flashed as he surveyed his class of half-asleep teenagers.

“When an adult says good morning, it is polite to respond.”

“Good morning, Professor Snape,” the class mumbled in a completely exasperated tone.

His lip had curled back into a sneer. Opening his mouth to, presumably, berate the class, he was interrupted by the late arrival of a student.

“Mr. L/N. How wonderful of you to join us. We surely wouldn’t want to waste any more of your precious time.”

The boy in the doorway tried to shrink in on himself. He looked so small and lost with that busted up nose and eye. He started to make an apology, but made it barely two words in before Snape struck again.

“Perhaps it would be beneficial for you all to take a note of Mr. L/N as living proof that Charles Darwin’s theory was not without some error. Mr. L/N, if you would research the term natural selection and write ten inches of parchment on the subject. You can turn it in to me tomorrow morning. Take a seat.”

The boy’s cheeks burned with embarrassment and shame as he scrambled to a seat in the back row.

“Natural selection,” the professor intoned. “The riddance of those who are not well-suited to their environment. That is, abnormalities or freaks of nature.”

The class glanced back at the previously unknown boy. Who was this kid? Why did Snape have a vendetta against him?

Something in the ashamed boy’s eyes flashed. At the word ‘freaks’, he visibly broke.

A low rumble filled the classroom, making Snape pause mid-sentence. With a resounding crack, the flagstones just inches from the professor’s feet split and shattered, like someone had taken a sledgehammer to them.

Snape jumped back, his head snapping up in a panic. The walls began to shake and rumble threateningly. From the belittled boy in the back row, an odd dark mist was beginning to form, slowly swirling around his body before engulfing him completely.

The kids around him scrambled away in a panic, the entire class rushing to the doors. Theodore sat still, stunned as he watched the terrifying scene.

One of his friends tugged on his sleeve, shouting something that was immediately swallowed by the sound as the odd swirling mist began to pick up speed, whipping papers and quills around the room.

The crack that ran through the flagstone floor began to spread with an ominous rumbling, the stone walls beginning to shake and spiderweb with fractures. A dust cloud of debris emanated from every fissure, choking up the air and reducing any visibility.

A sound, like a small child crying, seemed to echo around the room. Theo, stuck in place, watched with wide eyes as the mist- no, whirlwind, began growing, getting more and more violent.

The whirlwind lashed out, reducing Snape’s desk to splinters. The crying got louder, and a sharp burst of magic from the whirlwind sent Theodore flying, hitting the ground hard and scrambling for cover under a table.

For just a split second, so fast that Theo barely had time to notice, the mist of the whirlwind parted, revealing a white glowing form in the center. The form was vaguely humanoid in shape, curled up on the ground in the fetal position with its hands clasped tight over its ears. Its shoulders heaved with the force of its sobs, and then it was gone, swallowed back up by the storm.

Theo wracked his brain for the beaten boy’s name, scrabbling for any memory he had of the kid who had always previously gone unnoticed.

“Y/N!”

The storm…paused, sort of. The debris that had been in the process of being thrown across the room halted midair, hanging suspended for a split second before whipping back around with a stronger fury.

The shattering of glass made Theo instinctively cover his face, smashed potions and vials sending shards of certain death flying through the air.

“Y/N! Y/N, you have to stop!” Theodore shouted, pleaded.

The storm howled with shrieking fury, leaking anguish and total despair.

“Y/N! He’s wrong about you!”

A chair was sent hurtling towards him.

Ducking, Theo continued talking, raising his voice over the wailing of the storm.

“I want to help, Y/N!”

The storm paused again, for longer this time. A cauldron, suspended midair just inches from whacking into Theo’s skull, dripped some sort of potion onto his leg, burning something awful.

That was a problem for a different time, Theo figured.

“I want to! I want to help! You don’t deserve to be treated the way you are!”

The storm drew back a bit, the iron cauldron clanging to the floor and spinning around in circles as the dark mist of the storm retreated.

Theo tried his last saccharine sentiment. “You deserve to be happy!”

With a loud whoosh, the storm completely vanished, quills and chairs dropping to the floor with a loud clatter. The boy—Y/N—sat on the floor in the same way as the glowing form had; fetal position, hands over his ears. His skin crackled, and dark sparks snapped and fizzed from it, although he seemed to pay no mind.

Theodore stumbled to his feet from under his table and carefully picked his way through the debris of the classroom to kneel down a comfortable distance away from the crying boy.

“Hey, hey, there you go. That’s better. Are you alright?”

Y/N looked up with a tear-stricken expression, wiping his sleeve across his face and sniffling. “‘m not a freak, I swear. Please don’t send me back.”

“You’re not,” Theo soothed. “I won’t. Snape was way out of bounds with that one.”

Y/N sniffled again, a fresh wave of tears streaming down his face. “He called me a freak.”

At the sight of the boy before him, sobbing pathetically over his douchebag teacher, Theo felt himself burn with rage.

How could anyone hurt this boy? Who’s done absolutely nothing wrong?

“I’ll make him pay, sweetheart. Don’t worry.”

#harry potter #fuck jkr #hp #hp x male reader #x male reader #gay #x reader #theodore nott #theodore nott x reader #theo nott x reader #theo nott #yandere theodore nott

149 notes · View notes

my-cowboy-hat · 9 months

Text

Risk and Endearment

Summary: Bounty hunting with a Mandalorian is a dangerous job, but you know the risks. Don't you?

Pairing: Din Djarin x f!Reader

Word count: 2.1K

Warnings: blood, injury, near-death experience, angst, PINING, hurt/comfort, fluff, cuddly Grogu my beloved

A/N: I'm not sure where this came from or why I started it, but it got me writing again for the first time in a while so I'm not complaining. I've never posted any of my own work to this blog but I think I'd like to start.

I hope you enjoy reading this, please feel free to comment your thoughts!

The explosion comes from nowhere.

One moment, you and Din are fighting a particularly elusive bounty, quickly gaining the upper hand, and the next, debris is flying everywhere.

You don't remember the initial impact to your abdomen, or maybe your body just didn't register it through your shock. Time slows and the sounds around you start to echo in your ears. The first thing you notice is that your hands are wet and there is a coppery taste on your tongue. The next is a sharp, pinching pain slowly growing from your stomach.

Have you been impaled by something? You wonder why your thoughts are so calm when everything else seems everything but. A quick glance down tells you, yes, you have certainly been impaled. A long, thin metal rod protrudes from your stomach and the dusty gray shirt you wore is almost fully darkened with your blood.

When your ears slowly stop ringing, you can hear Din cursing frustration as the explosion manages to be enough of a distraction for the bounty to escape.

"Din?" You call out with a wince. He turns to you and you see his body jolt at the state you are in, "Din, I- I think we need to get back to the ship."

You think you might be in shock.

You manage to take a few steps backward with the intention of turning toward the direction you knew the ship to be in, but suddenly the world started to spin and you can't place where you are anymore. You hear Din yell your name as you begin to fall, and a pair of armored-covered arms wrap around you before you could land.

All your senses start working overtime when your brain suddenly catches up with the series of events. You can hear fire crackling around you and you whip your head around wildly in order to get a grasp on the situation. Worst of all, you can feel the excruciating, agonizing pain from your abdomen. You cry out when you feel Din place his hand on the area next to the rod to apply pressure.

"Dank ferrik!" Din grunts, "No, no, no."

"Ship," You breathe, "We have to get back to the ship."

"The ship," he repeats, and then you're being lifted in the air. You groan with the movement but manage to hook your arm around the back of Din's neck.

"Just hang in there. We're not far." He tries to reassure you.

The trek to the ship is difficult for you to remember. The pain searing through your body only seems to increase with every step Din takes. Your eyes flicker from the story night sky to the lip of the mandalorian helmet, trying to focus on one or the other. The rest passes in a blur.

Din says your name again and suddenly you're on the ground again. Cool metal blankets your shoulders as you're laid on your back. You shake your head as another wave of pain hits you and you slap your hand against Din's armored shoulder before gripping the cloth covering his arm.

"You're okay," Din tells you, but you don't think you believe him.

"I'm so-sorry," You whimper, a tear falling from the corner of your eye. You feel it slip down the side of your face and it tickles your ear. "Din…"

"Don't talk," his voice is gruff as he cuts your shirt free from your bloodied skin.

You start to panic and your breathing becomes ragged. So you start speaking. You say the only things that come to your mind at that moment.

"D-din I-" You let out a harsh gasp that turns into a sob, "I'm gonna die. I'm gonna- I don't wan- wanna die."

"You're not gonna die," his voice is firm, but you think you hear his own tears in his voice. "I won't let you die. Hear me?"

Faintly, you register that his gloves are off.

"Din, I- I- I- I can't- it hurts,"

"I- I know, Cyare, I know."

You don't know what he's doing. You think your stomach might be going numb. You can't really tell in all honesty, but it's a welcomed feeling, you think as your sight begins to blur.

"Take- take care of th-the baby. He-he needs you." What's happened to your voice? It sounds muffled in your ears. You feel the tears streaming down your face freely now. The pain is unlike anything you have felt before. You knew that even if the injury doesn't kill you, surely this pain will.

"He needs you too," Din's voice sounds far away now too. Why? You don't want him to go.

"An-and care… f'yours- self t-too. I love you. Th-theres a-a bag und-er my cot. Credits, and- and- extra ration pack- ah! I love you, Din. I love you. I love you."

The edges of your vision begins to darken and it takes everything in order to keep your eyes open if only to keep looking at your Mandalorian's blurry form. But this is not your Mandalorian, is it? Your Mandalorian wears a silver helmet. This one has shades of brown.

You hear him say your name when your eyelids become too heavy. He sounds so upset and urgent but you can only hum in response, the numbing feeling slowly taking over your whole body. Maybe now... Now, it might just be okay if you rest your eyes a bit.

When you wake, it's to a small hand tapping on your cheek.

You let out a small grunt when you attempt to peel open your eyes.

You hear a small, concerned coo from where something sits heavy on your chest and there's another tap on your cheek. When you finally manage to open your eyes, your vision is in hues of blue, and small black dots dance as they take in the wooden ceiling above.

You hear another coo and you dip your chin to see your small, green child looking at you with his big dark eyes. When he sees your eyes, his ears perk up exponentially and he collapses forward with a soft squeal. His small hands hold your neck and he nuzzles his head against your chin.

You lift a heavy hand to his back gently and whisper, "Hello darling."

You can't remember much, but flashes of the explosion play like a distant nightmare in your head, along with a fear of death you didn't know you had. You remember the pain in your abdomen and the sound of a distraught mandalorian.

You were alive. You survived when you were certain you wouldn't see another day. When you were so sure you would never see Grogu or Din again.

Din.

"Darling?" You whisper, tears stinging your eyes, "Where's your father?"

You're only given another small coo in response, the baby refusing to remove himself from his hug.

With the hand not holding Grogu, you trace down the edge of your ribs and softly over your stomach. Your body jerks in the anticipation of pain rather than the pain itself and you let out a soft whimper. You take in your surroundings as a distraction and find yourself in a small room of a wooden hut. A light breeze slips through an open window on one side where a dresser stands under the seal. There's a chair to your left with a pillow and a thin blanket thrown over it.

The room seems barren otherwise, minus the bed you were occupying.

You wonder what planet you were on. How long have you been asleep?

Your head pounds in the way it does when you wake up after sleeping for too long, or when you take a nap that just wasn’t long enough. It did not help your confusion.

"Dank Ferrik!" You hear a curse coming from another room and Grogu quickly sits up again on your chest, ears drooping at the sound.

The door to your room is opened and your Mandalorian steps through, "Grogu, what did I tell you? We need to let her sleep. She'll wake up when she-"

He stops when your eyes flicker up to meet the T of his helmet.

"G'morning," You greeted softly.

Din breathes your name in a way you've never heard before. Like a prayer. "You're awake."

"Where are we?" You question. He steps forward hesitantly and you watch his gaze travel over your form, landing on your stomach.

Grogu gently slips off your chest to lay at your side.

"We- we're on a planet called Sorgon. I- it was the closest one I could think of with people I trust."

"How long…?"

"Almost a week. The medic here gave you some medicine to keep you asleep for a bit longer so your body could heal easier."

You nod and try to blink away the tears threatening to fall. You never thought you'd see him again. Hear his voice.

When you sniff, that seems to snap Din to attention. He makes a move to grab the kid but you shake your head vehemently, "No, no please let him stay. I thought I'd never- I wouldn't-"

Din pauses, "I know, cyare."

Cyare. You have a faint memory of that word being said but you don't know what it means.

"You…" He clears his throat, "You almost didn't make it."

You reach out to him with your hand and he takes it instantly. His shoulders were stiff and the edge of his helmet kept dipping forward in an almost jerky sort of nod. He takes a knee next to your bed.

"You saved me."

"Your heart stopped."

"It's okay," You tug his gloved hand over your chest, above your sternum, where he could feel your heart beating soundly. "You made it start again. Thank you, Din."

He doesn’t respond, at least, not with words. He only squeezes your hand a bit tighter and lets out a shaky breath that crackles against the modulator of his helmet.

By your side, Grogu snuggles into the crook of your shoulder, eyes drooping.

"He hasn't slept well," Din informs you, "I… He wanted to heal you himself, but I-" he cuts himself off and looks away.

He had stopped Grogu from healing you. Good.

"It would've killed him," You say softly, "I wouldn't have been able to forgive myself, or you, for that matter."

Din only nods and his gaze falls to your hands, still laying on your chest. Your fingers graze down the side of his glove until you reach the exposed skin of his wrist, absent-mindedly swiping a thumb along the bumps of his veins and the small scar that you discover on the side, just below the joint of his thumb.

You realize, even after all this time with the Mandalorian, you've never touched his skin. You've seen him without his gloves, of course, and even occasionally a peak of his lower neck when he was bare of any armor. Now, however, you feel him for the first time, Din. His wrist is smooth under your touch, maybe a bit smoother than you'd imagine. Perhaps wearing so much gear does wonders for skin care. You smile softly at the thought.

When you see how rigid Din’s posture has gotten, you give him an apologetic smile and begin to pull away when he suddenly grips your hand firmer in his. Your breath catches in your throat when he brings it up to his helmet where his lips lay just beyond.

And suddenly, Din is speaking again. Just one word this time, barely above a whisper, "Mesh'la."

You don't know what it means, but he says it with such sincerity and softness that your face warms under his covered gaze.

"You should rest," He continues, lowing your hand but not letting it go.

"I've rested long enough for the next month, Din."

"Are you hungry?"

You nod and he makes a move to stand but you tug his hand, "Wait…"

He pauses at an awkward half-kneel next to your bed and tilts his head in question.

"Just…stay? Just for a little while longer?"

"You should eat, Cyare."

Cyare. He's called you that before. You hear the echo of his voice frantic, and breaking while you laid dying on the hull of his ship. You think it may be a term of endearment, just from the way it falls so kindly from his lips. It makes you hope he loves you in the same way you love him.

You'll learn what it means one day. You'll learn the words he calls you with such reverence. You'll learn the whole language for him, you decided. Maybe you'll learn the words that could express what he means to you in ways the common tongue could not.

"I will," You promise. He doesn't know it's a promise for something else but that's okay. "Just sit with me a little longer. Please?"

Din stares at you for a moment. You wish you knew what he was thinking. Finally, he nods, "Always."

Thank you for reading!

#din dijarin x reader #din djarin x you #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x you #the mandalorian fanfiction

242 notes · View notes