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celtic-crossbow · 22 days

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Blood Ties Chapter 22

Series Masterlist

Warnings: A bit of angst; Poorly written smut; oral (m rec) A/N: We all knew he'd be pissed and he has never been on good terms with emotions. This poor man, I swear. Regardless, he's getting better! We'll be moving forward soon!

The sun was warm against your skin when you finally felt awareness creeping into your subconscious. You must have slept all night. There was only the slightest hint of worry before you realized a warm chest was rising and falling evenly below your head, with only the slightest hint of a wheeze, the calming cadence of a heartbeat against your ear. You were safe and warm in bed with a recovering Daryl. He still felt feverish but it wasn’t so drastic anymore. Had Carol given him the tylenol since you had apparently fallen into a coma?

Stretching your legs, you smiled and snuggled closer, the baby obviously wide awake as well, rolling against the sore patch of skin you actually laid on. You had almost forgotten about it. Truly had almost forgotten about the entire ordeal. The hunt, the injury, your father, and—oh, god—the fact that Daryl had known you were gone and had to be sedated. Hadn’t you talked to him? Had he answered? It was then that you decided to look up at him—

And he was staring right back at you.

He didn’t say a single word, not yet, but his face said it all. Stoic, eyes calm but with a blue inferno burning just behind the surface. His hand was on top of yours, his fingers beginning to drum against your skin.

“Good morning?” You smiled behind a wince, knowing you were about to be reprimanded beyond anything Hershel could have said the night before. He only hummed, an upward jerk of his chin returning your greeting. “You’re mad.” You knew he was, and he had every right to be, but you stood by your decision to hunt, to find some form of independence whilst protecting him and caring for the group.

“Mhm.” He replied simply. If the impending backlash wasn’t looming, you would have thought it was amusing. The fact that he had yet to say anything at all was more daunting than any words he could have spoken.

“Are you gonna yell at me now?” You moved back just the slightest bit and propped yourself on your elbow.

“Mm-mm.” Daryl shook his head. His fingers continued to drum on top of your hand. You distantly wondered if that hurt the IV lingering in those veins.

“Can you say something?” You sat up completely and pulled your hand away, rubbing at your sore belly with the other before you thought better of it but it was too late. His eyes had already moved to that spot and squinted. The hand closest to you, reached out to grasp your sweater and pulled it up. You let him. There was no sense in trying to hide it. The bruising was a bit worse but not so much that you were compelled to call for Hershel. “It’s fine. I promise.” He didn’t just let the fabric fall back into place. He jerked it down before retracting his hand. “Daryl.”

“What?” His voice was raspy, downright gravelly and he coughed from the use of it.

“I know you’re upset with me, and I—”

“Upset. Right.” He nodded, suddenly invested in the IV, turning his hand over as if he was contemplating tearing out the tubing. Keeping his head still, his eyes moved back to your stomach. “Hershel checked it?”

“Yeah, first thing I asked him to do.” Anxiety was bubbling up inside your chest. Somehow, his impassiveness was much worse than the anger you had expected. “The baby’s fine, doing pirouettes and shit in there.” His jaw was moving back and forth, a sure sign that he was chewing on the inside of his bottom lip. “I knew you’d be furious with me, but it was something I had to do.”

“Don’t gimme that shit, Y/N.” There was finally a hint of vexation that, oddly enough, soothed some of your worry. “Didn’t hafta do nothin’.”

“You needed—still need—to be in this bed. No matter what I say, you’re always busting your ass and running your health into the ground to provide for us—for me. I couldn’t let you—”

“I know what m’doin’ an’ I don’t regret it. You’re the one pregnant an’ s’my job to make sure you’re both eatin’ an’ safe.” The archer snapped, pushing himself up a little higher on the pillows, his arms trembling from the effort. “Ya had no business out there. Could’a got a lot worse than a fuckin’ bruise.” He swallowed hard, adam’s apple bobbing while he looked down at your belly again. It occurred to you then that he had improved enough to say full sentences without gasping, making your endeavor even more worth it.

“I won’t apologize. I got a bruise. You got fucking pneumonia!” You squared your shoulders and could have sworn you saw a flutter of admiration before his eyes returned to that stoney glare.

“Then don’t.” He hissed lowly. “Only reason I ain’t throwin’ ya outta here is cause I need to keep a eye on ya so ya don’t do something even more stupid.”

“I’m a fucking adult! I don’t need your permission! Maybe I’ll go back out today!” You wouldn’t, and you knew damn well that he had grounds to act how he was but it just wasn’t who you were to back down. It just wasn’t.

“Over my dead body.”

“Well, I won’t be waiting long if you keep this shit up!” You gestured vaguely toward him, to the whole of him. He’d been on death’s doorstep, the very reason you had gone out in the first place. Was there no way for him to understand where your head was when you made that decision?

“Ain’t fuckin’ drugged today.”

Well, that was very true, and now he knew to watch for Hershel. There wasn’t a single doubt in your mind that he would plow right through anyone who stood in his way. You were oddly thankful for that. He was getting better but he still wasn’t there. Not by a long shot, especially if the worsening of his voice was anything to go by; the way he started to wheeze and visibly hold back coughs that he needed to allow to happen.

“It’s done, Daryl, and I’m here. I’m alive. The baby is fine. Can’t you just let it go and focus on getting better?”

“Can’t you just stop bein’ a horse’s ass an’ take care’a our baby instead’a worryin’ ‘bout me all the goddamn time?”

Your hands flew up toward the sides of your head, ready to grasp handfuls of your own hair and rip it out. “We’d both like for you to be here when they’re born, you absolute stubborn, clueless jackass! We both fucking love you and want you to fucking be here!” You realized your mistake the moment the words fell from your tongue but you refused to take it back.

Me too, crazy girl.

You gasped, watching the change wash over him from irate to docile to confused. Goddamn it, you had been so tired, you had missed it and it was likely he’d not admit it again without the influence of a drug loosening his tongue.

He loved you. And you were fighting with him when all he wanted to do was protect you and the little life you had created together. You wanted to cry, wanted him to say it again. You had to find middle ground, had to find a way to make him comfortable enough to show you that part of him.

With a quick curl of his lip, obvious disdain, whether toward his own weakness or your actions, he leaned toward the bedside table for the cup of water. The sound he made when you reached to help could only have been described as a growl. “Don’t need ya to mother me.”

“I’m not mothering you, Daryl.” You snatched up the cup and held it out to him, the snarl he gave the gesture making you think he wouldn’t take it. In the end, thirst overpowered petulance. Still, he glared at you over the rim as he drank deeply. When the cup was empty, he tossed it across the room rather than handing it back. “Stop being such a child. There’s one baby in this room and that’s enough.” With a sound of utter frustration, you made to get off the bed, halted by a firm hand on your forearm. Middle ground, middle ground, middle ground.

“Where’re ya goin’?”

“To get more water. You need to keep drinking.” When you moved again, he tugged you back.

“You’re stayin’ right the fuck there.”

You tried to pull free but he held fast, just tight enough to stay you but not enough to hurt. There was a conscious effort to keep your tone level. “Let go, Daryl. It’s just downstairs. I’ll be right back.”

“Nah.” His eyes narrowed, challenging. The staredown was rather intense and it was you who relented. His intentions weren’t out of anger even though that’s what he was displaying. He was scared. You had sacred this seasoned hunter, a man molded out of pain and a past that he still hadn’t shared with you.

You acquiesced to his demand, sliding back toward him and up to the pillows to sink into them beside him. The shocked expression didn’t linger, reverting to stoicism before he released his hold and placed both hands on his lap. You didn’t stop him when he began to tinker with the IV tubing. As long as he wasn’t trying to remove it.

“I know I scared you and for that, I’m sorry.” You occupied yourself with rubbing your hands over the swell of your abdomen. You wouldn’t remind him that you didn’t feel a single hint of remorse for doing what you did, but the way he was handling this, you had terrified him. You were fully aware of that before you had left, but seeing the effect firsthand had you feeling horrible. As difficult as it was, you watched him and refused to turn away, bidding him to look at you. When he finally obliged, he looked so defeated, your heart crushed under the weight of his despondency.

You could picture him tearing out that IV, blood flying, Carol begging him to stay in bed. Hershel would have run to the door by then, hearing the commotion. The old man might have tried to block the exit but he wouldn’t have stayed when he saw the determination, the anger and the fear. No, he would have gone for the morphine then and alerted Rick and the others.

Hershel said he took on all three. Feverish, breathless, and weak, Daryl had fought three healthy men to try and get to you. Even when you were in no immediate danger, he had been so desperate.

When exactly had he become your person?

He once touched you so roughly, simply claiming you for pleasure. It wasn’t something you could ever hold against him. It had been the same for you. You had just wanted to keep feeling something when the world around you was dying.

Daryl was all you ever wanted to feel now. You wanted to be surrounded by him, drown in him. Breathe him in and let him flow through your veins.

Before you could say another word or think another thought, the archer was leaning toward you and curling a hand around the back of your neck to pull you in, simultaneously dragging the nasal cannula from its position, just in time for his mouth to cover yours. It was desperate, full of a need that he couldn’t articulate, and any objections you had were swallowed eagerly. Your hand came to rest on his cheek, lips moving against his, opening for him when his tongue probed the seam of them. His right hand found your belly, laying flat before twisting into the fabric of your sweater. You were the one to separate, nuzzling your cheek against his when you felt his grip on your neck tighten. It was too easy to reach and remove his hand, moving back only enough to bring his knuckles to your lips.

“Scared the shit outta me.”

“I know. I’m right here, Daryl. I won’t do it again. I promise.”

There was a sound from deep in his chest, amplified by the rattle of what little fluid remained, as he shook his hand from your grasp and wound his arm beneath yours to pull you closer. “Y/N, I—” When you angled your head to search out his gaze, he avoided you, his cheeks tinted but not from fever. With a soft smile of understanding, you worked his fingers loose from your sweater, one by one, avoiding the IV line.

“It’s okay.” You whispered against his ear, shifting back and kissing those knuckles just as you had the others. It was one of those moments you had played out in your head while hunting. Daryl needed reassurance. He needed to understand that when you promised, you meant it.

He needs you. He’s always needed you just as much as you’ve needed him.

He was watching you, brow drawn inward, as if he didn’t know what was happening, where to go next. This time, you would take the lead. He had been so open, so gentle with you after the incident in the forest. He had shown you his insecurities to soothe your own. Now, you’d show him that you were there and that you planned to stay.

Your lips slotted over his and this time, it was him to grant you access, your tongue licking eagerly into his mouth to savor that familiar taste of him. You couldn’t get enough, but you needed to keep things slow. He was still sick. You needed to take care of him. He chased you when you pulled away, halted only by your splayed fingers on his chest.

“Let me.” You stated softly, the corners of your mouth lifted when he settled back onto the pillows. Your sweater was the first thing to go, bra following shortly after, any shame you felt over your body quickly dissolving under the heat of his gaze. He said nothing but the hand limited by the IV came to rest at the hollow of your throat, his calloused palm flat as it explored each breast, round and fuller from the pregnancy. His touch was gentle, the memory of you explaining that part of you was sore and sensitive. Fingertips grazed your nipples and you gasped, quick to grab his wrist below the tubing. His hand was guided to his lap, where he left it.

Pulling your lip between your teeth, you slowly dragged the sheets away. Daryl was still only clad in boxer briefs, his desire for you already obvious. When you sat yourself on his thighs, your damp heat through the leggings lured his attention but only momentarily. His eyes lifted right back to yours. There was no objection when you slipped your fingers into the waistband of his last shred of clothing, creeping backwards toward his feet and pulling the fabric along with you.

He was fully hard before you pulled the underwear off his feet and tossed them aside, finding him once again chewing the inside of his lip. He watched you stand and slip off your own clothing, but he remained stock still, only his eyes shifting with your movements. Completely bare to him, you crawled forward, your belly heavy below you but unhindering. However, your thighs trembled ever so slightly to hold your embarrassingly slick core away from his groin, not yet ready to give in to that desire.

His hands moved up your sides, over your ribs and back down to your hips, settling there. Each kiss you initiated was accepted and returned, small and chaste, your own hands exploring the planes of his chest and abdomen. Muscles twitched beneath your fingertips, his pulse jumped against your lips while your mouth carved a path to his collarbone. That special spot that made him suck in a sharp breath and, surprisingly, tilt his head to grant you better access.There was no scoff or sarcasm, no resistance, no attempt at control. He just gave it up to you. Maybe he just needed it.

“Just let me take care of you, okay?” Your request was a whisper against his skin, each word spoken into a different area, your mouth ending just over his right nipple. Your tongue flicked against the nub, your lips puckering to blow cool air against it just to watch him shiver. You’d never tell anyone that the badass bowman had sensitive nipples. It’d be your own little intimate weapon. You paid attention to the raised skin of old injuries, a brief kiss to each one. He was so beautiful, scars and all. You wished he could see himself as you did.

His breath stuttered with each wet press of your exploring mouth, muscles shuddering while pre-seminal fluid smeared over your skin on your journey. His cock twitched against you, the tip pressing into your sternum, your own nipples pebbling with your arousal. Daryl’s stomach spasmed when your tongue dipped into his navel, circling once before you continued downward.

It was difficult to suppress a chuckle when he growled, your intentional avoidance of his aching length not going unnoticed. His hip bones were prominent and deliciously inviting. You licked and nibbled over the ridge and then moved to the other side to do the same, eyes locking onto his hands fisting into the sheets. It wasn’t your intent to torture him, though the prospect of exploring that option in the future was indeed enticing. Before he could protest, your hand was wrapping around him, his body quaking with a heaving sigh of relief.

Rubbing your thumb over the tip, you collected some of the wetness there, finding it just enough to help your hand slide down in a smooth glide. Once, twice, and on the third stroke, he lost the battle with self control and his back arched, right hand holding the bed sheets so tightly that you could see the IV catheter that lingered in a vein just beside his knuckles. For a moment, you thought the simple touches were bringing him to orgasm but with a noise of discontentment, his eyes sought out yours. His gaze was dark, clouded with lust. There was no way you could deny him.

You never looked away while wrapping your lips around the head, swirling your tongue around the girth before dipping it into the slit. You yearned to continue, literally ached to take him over the edge positioned just as you were but his breathing was too fast, too unsteady. With a pout, you pulled off of him and climbed upward to place a hand on the side of his neck.

“M’good.” He argued without hesitance, but fell into a coughing fit. Worry overriding desire, you shifted back slightly and let him sit up to get himself under control. His forehead rested just above the valley of your breasts, your fingers idly carding through his hair. When you tried to place the cannula back onto his face, he languidly swatted at your efforts.

“You’re not.” You pressed a kiss into his hair, hand releasing the device and gliding over the scars on his back. He didn’t react and that would always make your heart flutter, this time to a degree you were sure he could pick up in such close proximity. “Catch your breath. I’ve got you.” It took a few moments and you remained patient. Surprisingly, so did his erection. When he was breathing easier, he lifted his head, cheek and nose nuzzling your neck.

“Y/N.” He rasped, his hands smoothing over your sides and around to your back. “Need ya.” There was so much more than a sexual desire within that statement. It wasn’t something he actively tried to conceal. He wanted you to know of your importance in his life. For that time, it was as close to a declaration of love as you would get without some sort of influential stimulant.

“Daryl.” With a hand on each side of his face, you guided him, your lips meeting his. “Lay back for me.” The command was soft against his mouth, but he did as he was told. Even as he moved, you were reaching between your bodies and guiding him to your entrance. He met no resistance, eased by your arousal, and slipped inside. Your walls stretched and molded around him, dragging a whimper from somewhere deep within you that melded with the groan vibrating over his tongue.

His hands scrabbled to your hips, jaw clenched and twitching, words grating out of him. “Are ya—”

“I’m fine. Just—” You exhaled and gave yourself a moment to adjust. “Just relax, okay.” You felt his grip loosen, only slightly but enough for you to pay closer attention to how his jaw was just shy of going slack. “Let me take care of you.” You placed your hands over his—mindful of the IV—with the first roll of your hips, his head pressing back into the pillow. Fighting the urge to chase the pleasure you knew awaited you was just simply so arduous but necessary. You needed him as desperately as he needed you. Maybe it was selfish to have him like this while he recovered, but you had come so close to losing him. He had been so scared that he was losing you. This was something so far beyond carnal.

The rhythm you settled on was slow, leaning forward slightly to press your palms into the pillow on either side of his head. It allowed you to dip forward, stealing kisses and nuzzling against his cheek while you rode him so agonizingly slowly. His breathing only picked up slightly, if not a little ragged, rough palms exploring your hips, your thighs, the round of your belly. Periodically, his hips would jerk, a silent plea for more that you couldn’t give him, not then. He let you soothe him, allowed you to keep him on his back when you both knew he could change that if he truly wanted, sick or not.

“Christ,” Daryl grunted, squeezing your waist. “Are ya tryin’ to kill me?”

You risked a chuckle, rising on your knees until he almost slipped out of you before sinking back down. “Quite the opposite.”

“Goddamnit, woman, I ain’t gonna break! Can ya just—”

You silenced him with your tongue shoving straight past his lips, swallowing the frustrated growl and drawn out moan that followed, your walls purposefully squeezing him. You’d get him there.

Eventually.

In fact, you were almost certain it was you suffering the most. You were in control but forced to refrain, the hormones raging through your blood demanding a satisfying release that was just not approaching fast enough. Your clit was stiff and throbbing and yet to be touched. You were barely catching yourself before taking on a pace that would send him into a frenzy.

As if reading your mind, his left hand wedged its way between your bodies for his thumb to press against your neglected bundle of nerves, igniting a fire deep in your belly. “Daryl.” You panted, rocking against him while his digits continued to work at you. “Oh, god, don’t stop.”

“Didn’t plan on it.” He rasped, urging you forward to kiss you hard, teeth and tongues clashing. It wasn’t long before you could hear it in the way he grunted against your mouth, suppressing whines as well as wheezing. You could feel it in how he twitched and swelled within you. Regardless, he didn’t leave you to guess. “M’gonna—”

“Just let go.” You would be right behind him. Hell, maybe right in front him. You had just taken the liberty of attempting to swallow down any sound he might make when he reminded you how he could play your body like a finely tuned instrument and added just enough pressure to his strokes to send you spiraling, forcing your own shout against his tongue.

The high you rode was seemingly endless, pulse after pulse and wave after wave. The contractions of your velvety walls had Daryl following you almost immediately, his release warm as your body welcomed it, pulled it deeper. His hips were driving upward in steady, shallow thrusts to meet your downward presses, keeping you suspended in bliss with him until you were too sensitive to move. Even in the aftermath, you had enough presence of mind to squeeze his bicep when the pressure became overwhelming.

Your forehead rested against his when reality began to flicker back into focus, his wheezing breaths the first thing you were able to hone in on and react to accordingly. With clumsy movements, you grabbed the nasal cannula and positioned it on his face, pulling him to sit up so you could rub at his back, encouraging him to cough.

“Shouldn’t have let you take that off to begin with.”

“Quit fussin’, it ain’t that bad.” He promptly coughed but shot you a look when you opened your mouth. “Feel like a old man in a nursin’ home.” He rasped, trying again to clear his lungs.

“But your dick still works just fine. May have gotten me pregnant, Dixon.” Your concern melted into laughter that had his eyes squinting.

“Think s’funny?” He snapped harmlessly, a hand pressed against his chest.

“Just imagine how Hershel would have reacted if I’d needed to go get him.”

“Nah. Don’t really wanna.”

He was still inside of you, softening but the sensation somehow a comfort that you weren’t ready to give up. Fingers smoothed back his hair, just long enough now to be tousled and spiked, the epitome of proper sex hair. Fingertips whispered over his jaw, once and then again, the love you felt for the man threatening to doom your heart into an explosion.

“Daryl, I—”

He caught your wrist, that uncertain, conflicted look in his eyes. Like he didn’t understand how you could be compelled to feel so strongly for him. Like he just knew you could find better in almost any man that wasn’t him. Maybe he didn’t remember what he had said, after all. Maybe you had read into his earlier words simply on a mission to find what you wanted to hear.

His thumb grazed over your knuckles, back and forth. “I know.”

You wanted him to hear it again. Over and over until he believed it. Leaning forward, you brought up your other hand to mimic the previous actions of the first, lips brushing his, preparing to remind him of exactly how you felt and would continue to feel.

As if on cue, there came a small knock on the door, your wide eyes meeting before you both turned to stare at the entryway.

“If you two are done,” came Carol’s small voice, quivering with laughter, “I have Tylenol.”

#murda writes #blood ties #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #the walking dead #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl x female reader #pregnant!reader

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sehnsuchts-trunken · 1 year

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Jake Seresin And The Unfortunate Hat Situation

jake seresin x fem!reader 3k words

summary: You’re visiting Jake’s family in Texas for the first time and so far, it’s been going well. Just that Jake may have forgotten to mention the hat rule.

another cowboy fic because i fucking can

disclaimer: strong allusions to smut. im not kidding. this is basically straight up dirty talk all the way through

a/n: i’m warning you once about all the inaccuracies in here and thats it. read at your own risk. i have literally no clue whatsoever about texas and/or cowboys and did not have it in me to research cowboy history for hours on end, like- i tried, okay? i really did try. i know facts about cowboy hats now that i never felt the need to know (though “dont sleep with your cowboy hat on”, um... yeah? thanks? i totally would have done that otherwise) but i still do not have the information to back this shit up lmao

top gun masterlist

(yes i did have to use an everybody wants some gif. during the past week ive rewatched this film more times than i can count and i will take every opportunity i get to talk about it)

“Enlighten me”, you chuckled, spreading your arms, a bottle of beer in your right hand. “Why are none of the cowboys wearing cowboy hats? Isn’t that kind of their thing?”

You were visiting Texas for the first time - a week off of work, away from the Navy and the Dagger Squad for a bit, to meet Jake’s friends and family back home. You’d talked to most every one of them over the phone whenever he had found the time to call, but you’d never actually met them in person before this. So it had been an adventure from the start: getting on a plane in San Diego to take you to Texas where Jake had grown up, being picked up at the airport by his mother, driving two hours to the farm they owned (”You grew up on a farm?”, you’d asked when he’d told you, wheezing at the mental image of teenage Jake herding sheep), meeting his dad, being surprised by both his sisters, getting to see his childhood bedroom.

And then, to top it off: the sound of his alarm at the crack of dawn this morning to go teach you how to ride a horse.

Needless to say that you’d been buzzing with nervous energy for the past few days. Not that you weren’t happy - it was just all a bit much at once.

After lunch he’d taken you into the city and you’d gone shopping for some real cowboy boots. He’d planned to take you to a bar in the evening, to introduce you to some friends. After all you only had a week here and neither of you felt like missing out on something.

When you’d wanted to try cowboy hats in the store too, Jake had snatched them from you and grabbed your hands, pulling you close to him, telling you that you’d get one when you’d become a real cowgirl. Since you doubted that would ever happen, you’d pouted and tried to convince him with kisses and, when that hadn’t worked, half-hearted threats, but he wouldn’t be persuaded even the slightest. He’d only looked down at you with raised eyebrows until you’d caved and satisfied yourself with cursing under your breath.

So here you were: Cowboy boots, jeans shorts and a button-up and no cowboy hat in sight.

Actually, there was one in sight. Jake was wearing his, in all his Texan glory, laughing with some of his friends at the bar. The thing was, he was the only guy wearing his hat. There were some cowboys strutting about with them on their heads, but most of them didn’t have one - hat hair, yes, but no hat. Hence your initial question: “Why are none of the cowboys wearing cowboy hats?”

“Shit, Jake didn’t tell you?”, Kendra - one of Jake’s only female friends here, who’d immediately decided she liked you and pulled you to one of the tables for some girl talk - let out a laugh. “No wonder it’s still on his head. We were getting worried already.”

It was pretty clear to everyone that you weren’t from around here, so you saw no reason to hide your confusion.

“Now you’ve lost me entirely. What?”, you asked, masking your frown with a laugh. You’d been here for hardly two days and you didn’t think you’d felt as embarrassed ever before. You knew about literally nothing. At least you’d done somewhat well at horseback riding, which could’ve been because of Jake’s arms around you and his hands over yours as you - he - held the reins, but either way you were proud of yourself for not falling off and landing on your ass.

“It’s like this: Ladies didn’t wear hats for a really long time. Cowboys wore the hats. So when you saw a lady with a cowboy hat on - that was her man’s. A sign that she belonged to him. Property shit and all.” She waved it off as if dismissing the concept. “Changed over the past few decades, of course. Better that way too. Ladies can wear whatever they want now. But the thought kind of stuck. You see a guy without a hat, he’s probably taken. You see a girl with a hat, that’s probably her man’s. And before you ever steal a hat, you should know the hat rule.”

You raised your eyebrows. Your stomach did weird little flips as she talked. Jake hadn’t explained any of this to you.

“The hat rule?”, you asked. Kendra grinned and leaned in, pretending to let out some big secret.

“You wear the hat”, she said and paused for a second for dramatic effect, “You wear the cowboy.”

You breathed out.

“Oh.”

Oh my ass, you thought.

Jake hadn’t let you buy your own hat for a reason. And then he’d gone ahead and not given you that reason. What the actual fuck.

You would’ve loved to wear his hat. You would’ve loved the thought of him claiming you like that, letting you wear his hat, showing everyone that yeah, you were Jake Seresin’s girl. But no. He’d left you completely in the dark, hadn’t let a single word slip. And he was still wearing that goddamn hat himself.

Like a single fucking guy, not a man in a loving relationship.

Somehow, now that you knew, you were more annoyed by the fact that he was wearing it than that he just hadn’t told you at all. God, he could’ve left it at home. He could’ve taken it off. He could’ve just put it on your head without telling you why if he didn’t want to.

And right there, that was the part you just didn’t understand. Why hadn’t he told you? He should have known you well enough by now to realise that you would absolutely adore wearing that hat. Not only because you wanted to wear a hat (which you did) but also because you wanted to wear his hat (which you did even more). After all, it wasn’t only him claiming you - it was you claiming him as well. And as horrible as the history of that hat rule was, in this present day you felt like it would only have been fair of him to tell you. You wanted to have that chance of showing him off. Of him showing you off, which he did so happily back in San Diego.

“Hey”, Kendra said, her expression a bit more serious as she put a hand to your arm and pulled you from your thoughts. “I’m sure Jake didn’t mean to hurt you. He may seem like a bastard, but he’s actually a real sweetheart.”

You snorted at her, nodding along.

“He is”, you agreed. “Which is kind of why it hurts even more. I don’t get why he wouldn’t just tell me. It’s not like he’s ever been scared I’d say no to him or something.”

Kendra smiled and squeezed your arm reassuringly.

“Try not to worry about it too much. Just ask him when you get home later, yeah? Communication is key.” Her smile turned into a grin. She winked at you. “And hey, you can always wear my hat if you’d like.”

You forced yourself to smile as well as you took a sip of your beer. “If I actually were single, I’d definitely take you up on that offer, but I’m not, and I don’t think Jake would like it much.”

Her grin only deepened. She had dimples, you realised, and the hat on her head matched her eye colour. You were glad to have her here with you. She was someone you were sure you could become good friends with over time.

“That makes it even better”, she said conspicuously. She leaned back in her chair, crossing her ankles over the edge of the table as she tipped her hat back. “He never told you about the hats. You don’t know anything in his eyes, honey. Use it against him.”

There was a twinkle in her gaze that told you she was looking for nothing short of mischief and you had the distinct feeling that she’d been the ‘bad influence’ on Jake in high school that he’d talked about so often. She seemed like a troublemaker. But she also seemed genuine. And she was right - in Jake’s eyes, you were getting to know one of his friends, talking about some girly stuff (which he probably assumed was himself), having a nice night. Not learning about cowboy customs that he’d just so forgotten to mention.

Jake usually didn’t get jealous. He trusted you the same way you trusted him. But he got possessive nonetheless - always with a hand on your back when you were talking to someone he thought was flirting with you, kissing you at the most inappropriate times, making sure that everyone knew you were his. Now he’d had the goddamn chance and hadn’t taken it. And you didn’t fucking know why.

But you were damn determined to find out.

Kendra slid the hat off her head and offered it to you. You took one deep breath before you reached for it.

You let your fingertips skip over the rim for a moment. Were you really about to do this? Then you put it on your head.

Alright. If Jake wasn’t going to tell you about the way this worked on his own accord, you’d make him tell you.

Kendra emptied her beer and you followed suit before the both of you got up. She grabbed both bottles in one hand, turning to you to send you another of those winks.

“I’ll bring these back to the bar and get us new ones. The dancefloor’s all yours.”

With a nervous smile, you adjusted your newly aqcuired hat and made your way onto the dancefloor. There was soft music playing in the background - country, of course, loud but not loud enough to disturb conversation. It wasn’t late enough for that just yet. Which was honestly a relief, since you had zero clue whatsoever about line dancing or whatever it was they did down here. This way there were only a few couples twirling each other back and forth and some people moving to the beat all on their own. You let out a breath and closed your eyes, allowing yourself to really feel the music: the guitar, the steady drums, the vocals.

Slowly, you started swaying - from one side to the other, turning, twirling, one step, then the next, heels here, toes there. A grin was making its way onto your face. The music grew, not as much in volume as in pace, and you didn’t know just when you had started to forget about everything except your movements (like the people watching, for example), but then the song changed and you gasped as you realised you knew it. Eyes fluttering open, hands coming together to clap, lips twisting into an actual laugh as you sang along, catching Kendra’s gaze and waving her over.

She joined you with a laugh, grabbed your hand to twirl you around, and god, her voice was heavenly. For just a split second you wondered how Jake hadn’t ended up falling for her. You certainly would have.

And speaking - more like thinking, but whatever - of the devil, you felt an all too familiar hand on your shoulder. You turned at the same time that Kendra let go of you, allowing you to admire your boyfriend in all his furious glory.

Not that he actually looked furious. Not to anyone but you, not with that facade he wore whenever anyone got under his skin. But you, well... You’d been with him long enough to understand that twitch of his jaw, that tension in his shoulders, that flicker in his eyes. And yet - the cowboy hat still sat on his head.

“I got it from here, Kendra”, he said, eyes fixed on yours, as you held your breath. She snorted, but still made to move away, muttering something under her breath that you didn’t catch. Then Jake spoke again. “Take your hat, Kendra.”

He grabbed it from where it rested on your head and threw it at her without looking away from you. She sucked in a breath.

“If you throw my hat again, I’ll kick your ass, Seresin”, she said and you could tell that even though they were friends, she wasn’t kidding. Shit, the people here were really fucking serious about their hats. Another reason why you were mad at Jake for not telling you about any of it.

“Next time, don’t set it on my girl’s head”, he growled - growled, really, you didn’t know what else to call it. She scoffed and walked off.

“How could she know I was your girl?”, you whispered, challenging him even though he already looked like you’d crossed some line that he’d drawn without telling you. “How could anyone?”

For a few moments, he kept quiet. You defiantly stared up at him. Should he think whatever he fucking wanted to, this was entirely his fault.

Then something changed in his expression.

“You found out about the hat rule”, he said, “And the first thing you did was go and put on somebody else’s.”

“Well if my boyfriend doesn’t want to have me wear his hat-”

You couldn’t react as quickly as Jake had gripped you by the waist and pulled you close to him, forcing you to tip your head back to keep looking at him. He was, in fact, so close now that you could just kiss him and honestly, you were tempted. Just as tempted as you’d been when he’d come out of the bathroom looking like that, just as tempted as you’d been when you’d left the house, just as tempted as you’d been in his truck. But you were also stubborn. And you had good reasons not to kiss him right now (even though they were getting harder and harder to remember by the second).

“Darling, I’d go wild for you with my hat on.”

You swallowed. Hard.

“So why am I not wearing it?”, you asked through gritted teeth. You couldn’t quite believe just how easily this whole situation was getting under your skin. But it seriously hurt your ego - and not just that. The fact that Jake hadn’t told you about something so important in his hometown, some, as ridiculous as it may be, piece of culture, something that would so clearly show everyone that you were dating him, really, actually, seriously dating him, stung more than you wanted to admit. It was like someone had asked him outright if he was taken and he’d said no.

“‘Cause I told you to wait”, he drawled, “Didn’t I? Wait ‘til you’re a real cowgirl.”

Curiosity and frustration were mixing in your stomach, a weird, dangerous combo. You grabbed for his collar, pulling on it just a bit too hard - nothing he couldn’t stand his ground against. You were feeling insulted by all this and you found that you should let him know.

“What’s a girl like me gotta do to become one in your eyes, hm, Hangman?”

Hangman. You only called him that when you meant business. It was like a mother using her child’s full name whenever it got in serious trouble. Jake stiffened, fingers digging into your hips so firmly that you were sure you’d be able to see the marks in the mirror later on. You’d hit a nerve. Always did when you called him by his callsign. No more Jake, no more baby, none of that.

“Behave”, he said, eyes fixed on yours, that one word carrying so much more meaning. You didn’t care. For once, you really didn’t fucking care. You wanted him riled up, wanted him furious, wanted him right at this breaking point. So you smiled.

“Like a dog?”

He’d smashed his lips on yours before you could react.

All teeth and tongue, decisive, possessive, angry. You didn’t want to give in as quickly as you did. But he hardly left you a choice - he was everywhere, arms wrapped so tightly around you, chest pressed so firmly against yours, not giving you the option to escape, to duck away, to tease him any further. So instead of doing that, instead of making him run after you more, you let him have the control. All of it. Instead of turning, instead of making him chase you, you pulled him close to you by his collar with all the force you could manage, pulled him into you, pulled him with you as you stumbled backwards from the sudden change of weight, put your entire trust in him to keep you upright. You couldn’t breathe. You didn’t want to if that meant letting go.

Not with how much emotion you were putting into this fucking kiss.

Jake was the one to break away first. Pupils blown, cheeks reddened (you were sure you looked even worse), panting. You loosened your grip on his collar and ran a hand through your hair instead.

Somewhere in the back of your head, you remembered that you were still in a bar, still in the middle of the dancefloor, still under the watchful eyes of his friends. A different part was screaming at you to fuck it and fuck him right here, right now.

“Shit”, he breathed, resting his forehead against yours. His hat let a shadow fall over both your faces. “You’re gon’ be the death of me someday.”

“Hopefully not too soon”, you teased, a smile playing on your lips as he pulled back just a bit. “I still gotta find out how to become a cowgirl after all.”

The corner of his mouth quirked up as well. He raised his eyebrows, examining you for a second.

“You really wanna know, sweetheart?”

You let out a laugh. “Fuck yeah.”

He leaned in close, breath ghosting over the shell of your ear, and you had to swallow. This felt intimate, somehow.

“You’re gon’ be a cowgirl once you rode your cowboy.”

Your breath caught in your throat. He pulled back with a grin. Smug, you realised. He was so fucking proud of himself for this - for having caught you off guard like that. You couldn’t let him win that easily. Not with that already inflated ego.

“All of this just to get me into your bed?”, you chuckled. “Damn, Seresin. Lotta work for no reason, hm? I’m in it at the end of every day anyway.”

He shrugged - as best as he could with his hands still on your waist.

“What can I say? I aim to please.”

You couldn’t help but grin too. The angry, sizzling tension had dissolved into something much more pleasant, much more dizzying. Something that set your skin ablaze and your mind on fire. You grabbed one of his hands from your waist and intertwined your fingers with his.

“Want to get out of here?”, you asked. He leaned in and kissed you with a smile - slow and steady and sensual, wholly different from before.

When he pulled back, you were breathless again.

“Always.”

#top gun #x reader #top gun x reader #jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #hangman #hangman x reader #jake hangman seresin #jake hangman seresin x reader #cowboy fics

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nghtwngs · 1 year

Text

silly human traditions

description: you’ve never had a new year’s kiss before. neither has the doctor. you decide to change that tonight.

pairing: tenth doctor x reader (you can probably read it as eleven too!)

genre: fluff, friends to lovers, mutual pining

word count: 1.2k

warnings: alcohol consumption (by the doctor), ten might be ooc bc im literally rewatching eleven’s episodes (im on the second christmas special rn!) and i think ive lost his voice but i hope that’s not the case

a/n: happy new year!! i wrote this up like real fast bc i was thinking about kissing ten and well… yeah

You walk into the TARDIS’s control room with a huge grin plastered on your face. “Doctor, we have to celebrate our first New Year!”

The Doctor looks up from the control console and turns his head to face you. “New Year?” His eyebrows are furrowed, lips curled down into a frown. “There’s no concept of time in the time vortex—how would we celebrate New Year’s?”

“Well, my phone’s calendar doesn’t change.” You pull out your device, opening the calendar app and holding it up for him to see. “It’s currently December 31st. And also we celebrated the holidays this past week.”

He pulls out his glasses out of his suit and puts them on. He squints at your screen anyway. “Well, I guess so. How’d you figure we do that?” He jumps up, running over to you. “What about a planet where everything is made of water? Or we could watch a galaxy of stars fizzle out into nothing but dust!”

“Well, Doctor, I was thinking we could just, I don’t know… spend it on Earth? Watch the ball drop in Time Square or something? Hm, actually maybe not that.”

“You little humans and all your traditions.”

“You love it.”

He mirrors your cheeky grin. “Alright, then! I think I have just the place.” He rushes over to the console, doing his thing. The TARDIS makes her signature wheezing noise, reminding you to hold on tight. “New York! Present year… well, for you anyway. Two hours ‘til midnight. Dress well. We have a party to crash!”

You make a sound of excitement, giving the Doctor a chaste kiss on the cheek. “Amazing.” You run off to the TARDIS’s vast wardrobe to find an appropriate outfit.

After finishing getting ready, you pop back into the control room to find the Doctor fiddling with his tie. He’s dressed in a black suit. A classic. You think it suits him well. (Pun not intended.)

“No bow tie this time?” you ask, walking over to him.

He just shakes his head. “Nah.”

“You clean up nicely,” you say, tightening his tie for him.

He smiles so softly at you that it makes your heart ache with need. “You do too.”

You clear your throat when the intensity of his gaze hits you. “Well, we better get to the party. Don’t wanna miss anything else.” You link your arms, dragging him out of the TARDIS.

Turns out, the party he took you to crash is filled with a bunch of celebrities. No one either of you care for, but celebrities nonetheless. It makes you feel important to be around all these people. Like you’re important enough to be around the Doctor, who you’d say is the most famous of them all. It makes you feel special. Being here. With him, but maybe not with him.

He doesn’t even bother to correct anyone when they mistake you for being an item. You often wonder if there is any deeper meaning behind that. It makes your heart stumble off beat. But that’s silly. A ridiculous, quite pathetic notion.

Silly human things, you suppose.

But it’s okay. He makes you feel special. Anyone the Doctor chooses to be his companion is special.

The very best of humanity, he’d say.

The Doctor has a sip of some random alcoholic drink you were both offered (you declined) and sticks his tongue out in disgust. He immediately places the glass back onto the tray. “That was dreadful. Absolutely dreadful.”

You can’t stop yourself from giggling until he grabs your water and chugs the entire thing. You grumble, “I was about to drink that.” But your words come out much too soft, too fondly for him to believe you’re really upset over it.

He leads you out onto the balcony with his hand on your back. You forget all about your drink.

“Oh my, God!” You double over, holding onto the Doctor’s arm. “They were sentient? How can grass be sentient?” You both continue to wheeze like it’s the funniest thing the two of you ever heard.

“Yeah, they were quite rude honestly. Telepathic. Said my hair looks ridiculous,” he muses. His voice suddenly goes quiet. He leans into you, staring into your eyes like it’d make you any more honest. “Does my hair look ridiculous?”

You run your fingers through his locks, making sure not to mess them up. “Your hair looks great. I always like it.”

“Yeah? You think so?”

You nod in agreement.

Cheers erupt from inside, and you’re worried you missed the countdown. But there’s still another five minutes left.

“Do you have any resolutions for the New Year, Doctor?”

“Resolutions? Why would I need resolutions? Is that some human tradition? Why do you have so many traditions?”

“People just want to have goals, I guess? I never really stuck with mine. And well, it’s really just that and uh… the New Year’s kiss.”

“New Year’s kiss?” He frowns.

“Yeah, they say if you kiss someone at midnight on New Year’s, it’ll strengthen the bond between you? I don’t know. It’s silly. I’ve never had a New Year’s kiss before, so I couldn’t tell you if it’s true or not.”

“Huh.” There’s his thinking face. Nothing good ever comes from his thinking face. Not unless you’re in a life or death situation, and you don’t think you are right now. At least you really hope not. “Do you… Would you like to test that theory out?”

You almost choke. “What?”

“Well, I mean, it’s not like we have to or anything.”

“I didn’t peg you as the superstitious type.”

“I’m not. But no harm in trying it out, right?”

No, there’s a lot of harm in trying it out, you want to say. You think your heart might explode out of your chest. That would be a horrible way to start out the new year. He’d have to find another companion whose heart stays in their chest cavity and away from both of his.

“Yeah, no harm at all.”

Why can’t your mouth just stay shut sometimes?

You hear the countdown start.

Ten.

He holds your chin between his index finger and thumb.

Nine.

His warm eyes look into yours.

Eight.

You’ve never been touched with such gentleness before.

Seven.

His scent is so clean and warm and so him.

Six.

The proximity is completely dizzying.

Five.

You think you can feel your knees buckle.

Four.

How can he look at you as if you’re the only interesting thing in the universe?

Three.

When he’s seen it all.

Two.

A quick glance at your lips.

One.

The Doctor presses his lips against yours. It’s wonderful. He tastes like berries. When in the world did he have berries? Your arms slink around him, pulling him as close as possible. He doesn’t seem to mind. He cups your face with his hands. What a brain melting kiss. The strings of his hearts are knotting with yours. You want to be consumed by this feeling.

It doesn’t register that you have to breathe for a minute, but you think you’d kiss him forever if you could. You have all the time in the world anyway. You wonder how long can Time Lords go without air. Probably much longer than humans, yeah? You, with much reluctance, pull away.

He pecks your lips again. He grins cheekily at you. “A while.”

You scoff. You hate it when he does that. And when he smiles at you like that. Your neck grows hot even though it’s cool outside. “It’s midnight.” You’re still breathless.

“It is.”

“You’re my first New Year’s kiss.”

“You’re mine.”

Maybe it’s true; the bond between you does feel stronger this year. You kiss him again and then some more.

#tenth doctor x reader #tenth doctor imagine #10th doctor x reader #10th doctor imagine #eleventh doctor x reader #eleventh doctor imagine #11th doctor x reader #11th doctor imagine #doctor who x reader

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themaclean · 14 days

Note

hi i just came from ao3 and firstly, i have read ur vaultghoul fic probably 20 times already it’s just so good with spot on characterization and amazing writing, thank u so much 🙏

secondly, i was reading the comments on it and came across one abt wanting to see a pre-war au where cooper and lucy start an affair and immediately my ears perked up like 👀 all i could imagine is her being cast as his love interest, her being a big fan of his already, and them having a wedding scene where they fuck in her wedding dress after they call cut

n e way so sorry for rambling haha but unfortunately ive got the brainrot now

I MEAN HYPOTHETICALLY -- I'm mobile (and somehow wrote 2k words still wheeze) so I'll finish this when I'm on my PC but I played around with the idea a bit thanks to this ask. :)

...

Summary; Cooper Howard x Lucy MacLean, 2077 AU where Lucy and Cooper star in a movie together.

...

There's a whole host of ways that Vault-Tec could have cracked down on Cooper. Given the infringement of their security protocols and the divorce and the way they choked him out of all the good roles...

It wasn't such a far stretch that he'd have to take place in the biggest circle jerk of a film production where his super-fan shoved his daughter into a starring role using Cooper's connections.

Because, so far as the public knew, he was still a supporter of Vault-Tec and he'd do just about anything to sell that delusion.

Cooper crushed the heel of his palms against his eyes, a limp cigarette hung between his teeth.

The girl was a nightmare.

Stiff, picky, absent-minded. No emotion, either, no semblance of self-awareness. It was like some Disney Princess popped out of the cartoons in the worst way, quick to parrot the lines she was meant to say with perfect diction but nothing more than that.

And it was somehow his fucking job to coach the girl -- Lucy -- into a leading lady. The idea was that she was the daughter of the Overseer, played by her actual father, and Cooper was some vault dweller from another section.

The whole thing was convoluted. He did cowboy flicks and the sort that had a showdown at the end. This sci-fi garbage went right over his head, this future projection of the what-if. He didn't have time for the what-if.

He had a daughter he needed to vy for custody of and an expensive divorce on the horizon. And Barb had the best lawyers money could buy and he'd never thought they'd end up like this. There was no pre-nup and nothing to protect him.

And he didn't have a goddamn lighter.

"You shouldn't smoke."

Cooper near growled around the butt of his cigarette, only just keeping himself civil at the last moment. He turned towards Lucy, unable to mistake her for anyone else. There was something about her vacant, pretty face that irked him, those giant goddamn eyes.

"It's bad for you. I read an article about it."

"Maybe you'd be better off reading your lines again," Cooper said with a wave of his hand. He dug in his jacket pocket, the one he'd worn to set.

Bingo.

Lucy crossed her arms and leaned against the vault railing. It was strange to do the filming down, a hundred feet or so beneath the surface, but it made for impressive sets. They were around the corner from the rest of the camera crew and cast.

And they were alone for the first time since shooting. Most times, Cooper had a few stage hands or interns at his heel. And he didn't see Lucy around much, except for scenes. Didn't chase her down, didn't much think of her.

Except now he's aware she's still in the wedding dress she'd been in earlier. Stage blood soaked the stomach of it, thick streams of blood from where she'd been stabbed. But he'd saved her and they'd shared a chaste kiss for the camera.

And then he hadn't seen her.

"I thought you'd be a better kisser."

Cooper didn't withhold the glare, couldn't bring himself to give a fuck. "Pardon?"

"Just -- the kiss. Didn't really..." Lucy narrowed her eyes at him. "I grew up watching your movies. My dad is a big fan. I always figured you'd be a good kisser, but you aren't."

"You ain't much yourself, either," Cooper said with a raised brow. "Like a fish, sweetheart. Cold."

"I'm not a fish," she snapped back. "That's very mean. I -- I know I was mean first but I just thought you could do better."

Cooper couldn't help but laugh to himself at this miserable brat who'd sought him out to complain about an on-screen kiss. He took a long drag, his gaze slanted across the backs of his knuckles.

"You're here 'cause your daddy yanked some strings," Cooper shrugged a shoulder. "My only obligation is to make a movie for the studio. I'm not your damn boyfriend-for-hire, trying to get you off for the cameras."

Cooper was a professional and on his best behaviour -- usually. But the long days of filming for a corporation rooted in the exploitation of the country he'd fought for... That patience wore thinner with each moment he was alone with this brat.

"I'm here as an actress -- "

"You can act?" Cooper asked, mock surprise as he pressed a hand to his chest.

Lucy had the gall to look offended.

Cooper took another drag, his hip notched against the railing. "It's a movie, darling. I've been doing this shit for years. They ain't gonna let people tongue each other to high hell."

"That..."

"That is exactly how it works," Cooper said as he ashed his cigarette onto the grate beneath his feet. "It's not about you, it's about the shot."

Lucy looked at him like he'd slapped her. "I know it's about the shot."

"Could've fooled me." Cooper huffed out a breath. He'd kissed plenty of women for his films and he was a consummate professional. If the audience bought into it, that was all he needed. He didn't give a damn if his co-star got butterflies over it.

Especially not the daughter of some jackass at Vault-Tec, for a project that was nothing more than an empty propaganda piece. But he didn't have much choice.

"I'm here because it's important to my father. Vault-Tec wanted to keep as many roles as they could within the company -- "

"Nepotism."

"To promote the culture they want within the movie, which is carefully curated -- "

"Cultish."

"To their... Could you stop doing that?"

Cooper crossed his arms, his cigarette nearly finished. The vault had good enough ventilation that the smoke disappeared but the smell lingered. He pushed away from the railing, his expensive smile slack across his lips.

"I had my fill of the Vault-Tec propaganda, sweetheart. Don't make a difference if it's from a pamphlet or a pretty girl, I'm just doing what I'm being paid to."

"Wasn't it your wife -- ex-wife -- who brought you in originally?"

Cooper's neck twitched as he looked down at Lucy, as she smart-mouthed her way right into some shit she didn't know anything about. He tipped his head to the side, the annoying collar of the vault suit biting into his jawline.

"So you believed what Vault-Tec thought originally." Lucy toyed with the stain on her white dress, her fingers tugged at the frayed edge. "What changed?"

"Nothing," Cooper said, his voice flat.

Lucy met his eye, her head tilted to contrast the angle of his head. She settled a hand on the railing, uncertainty replaced her uppity edge from before. "I'm not trying to spy on you or get information. You just -- had your life together, and then you're getting divorced."

"It happens," Cooper said, aware now that she was between him and the crew. The vault split into spidery webs in all directions, though. He could leave her if he wanted. But then he'd end up who knows where, deep in the belly of this steel nest.

But they were alone, and she'd inched closer to him.

Cooper saw the leading ladies he worked with as colleagues. Sometimes they'd have to kiss or imitate gentle moments or intimacy -- but for the most part, he could compartmentalise it. But Lucy didn't act. She couldn't. She was an atrocious leading lady and she read everything as if she were saying it herself.

Like a porn actress, saying shit to get through to the action, rushing through the writing like it didn't matter.

It wasn't her fault. He had the sneaking suspicious she had no interest in acting or in this movie; that she was only doing it because her father asked her to do it. Maybe even so she could have an excuse to meet him, he realized dimly as she looked up at him with wide hazel eyes.

That separation -- of leading lady and of a romantic partner -- muddled with her. Because he didn't even like her. He didn't want to get to know her. He hated her father and he wanted nothing to do with this company.

And she was closer to him than not, and they'd kissed a handful of times, and she'd said he sucked at it.

Cooper rolled his jaw as Lucy didn't have the guts to do more than she had. Her moony eyes fixed up at him like a challenge. And then he felt his resolve snap because it wasn't like he had much to lose. This wasn't a real acting gig and she wasn't a real leading lady.

His hand snapped out, fingers and thumb dug into her cheek. He brought her close, to see what she'd do. The answer was -- not much. She didn't shout or push him away, their mouths inches apart as he hovered close to her, examining her beneath his lashes.

"Bad kisser -- that what you said?"

Lucy swallowed hard enough to nudge his hand. "Well, you were. I'm not going to lie to you to spare your ego."

Cooper made a soft sound from the back of his throat as he kissed her. The distant crack and shift of the crew as they moved their cameras from one vault room to another should be a deterent but Cooper doesn't care.

He's single, isn't he. Has been for a few months. He'd not acted on it, hadn't felt the urge to, but he's as trapped as ever in the shadow of what Barb had done to him. It's only fair he make use of that shadow to indulge, even if it's just to prove a point to this girl Lucy.

There's some inherent amusement to how she melted into the kiss. She wanted it far more than she'd let on, that soft mewing, moaning neediness as he stroked her long brown hair out of her face. He threaded his fingers softly through her hair, hand on either side of her face, fingers combing through her hair.

Her back was arched over the railing as he gave her the kiss she'd probably expected earlier, the one he wasn't about to throw out on camera. There's standards for cinema and he didn't want to waste film or time.

But then her fingers were on the zipper of the stupid fucking vault suit. He didn't stop her, even as she yanked it down and slipped her hand along his stomach.

If anything, he pushed harder against her. The fluffy white skirt of her wedding dress made it hard to get much for himself. But with a yank of her knee and the shift of her weight, he had her seated on the railing. Her shoulder caught one of the metal frames, to keep her pinned in place.

If this were any other job or any other actress, he'd give a fuck.

But it's Vault-Tec, through and through.

#anonymous #my writing #vaultghoul #answered

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pearlsinmyhair · 8 months

Text

₊ ⊹ the price of the name.

synopsis: reader has had a hard life, and now she’s an orphan. but someone just as lonely comes into her life to take her under his wing.

warnings: death. suicidal thoughts. grief. angst. miguel being a hardass. cursing/adult language.

notes: ok, here we go. the last part. star girl kisses hobie on the cheek, and they have some romantic implications. HOWEVER. i did not write them to be romantic. i just see hobie as a very physically affectionate person (especially since i’m this way.)

part i | part ii | part iii | part iv

word count: 2.6k

part v : void

　　　. 　　˚　　　　*　　　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚

cursed daughter,

uttering insanities no one believes,

do you regret taking the vow?

“you die.”

it felt like the ground was dropping out from under you, like the void had somehow traveled from your dead universe to this one to drag you down where you belonged.

in the grave. in the ground. gone.

you were staring at lyla. or maybe you weren’t. her orange form blended and swirled as tears overflowed your eyes and dripped down your cheeks. all the fight, the rage, the energy, was gone. snuffed like a candle flame.

just like you should be right now.

“i was supposed to die.” you whispered, more to yourself than miguel or lyla. “but i was somewhere else.”

anger lit in your chest fast, ignited by the frustration that had grown for months in your mind, words yelled at mirrors and whispered to the ceiling.

you turned to miguel, still on the ground as you raised your voice.

“i was somewhere else because of your sorry ass beating a mother fucking teenager to death! because i had to protect a child! from you!” you stepped up, rising slowly even as your knees shook. “if i hadn’t been worried about miles or you or your determination to keep the canon intact, then it would have been fine! i would have died, and everyone in my universe would have been okay!”

deflect, ignore the problem, fight, rage, scream.

you hated how similar you were to miguel.

you hated him.

he stood still as a statue, watching you with a defeated expression as you self destructed.

“y/n…” he tried, voice the softest you had ever heard it.

and you broke.

your knees buckled, but he was there in an instant, hands looping under your arms so that you didn’t fall. he pulled you into him, even as your fists beat against his chest.

“i hate you so fucking much. i hate how you make me feel and i hate what you did and i hate you-“ you sobbed, trying and failing to grapple with the weight of what had happened.

and through it all he just held you, tucking your head under his chin.

“i know, mija.” he whispered, his hand resting against the back of your neck to pull you against him.

“if you hadn’t been an asshole and chased a kid then it would have been alright. all those people would be alive and-“

“and you’d be dead.” he finished, his arm around you tightening slightly. “and i think we both know i wouldn’t let that happen.”

you felt repulsed, like his hands were burning, a betrayal to a boy beaten by the same palms. but you were also desperate, clinging to a life you lived for nine months only to be stripped from it completely. you wanted this contact, craved this hug.

your mind cried TRAITOR and your heart cried HOME. it was a contradiction that made you ache, a reminder of what was gone and would never return.

your hands clenched the material of miguel’s suit tight, bunching it as you wheezed. you felt so small, and yet so large. grief scratched at you with newly sharper claws, and guilt followed at its heels.

miguel’s hold tightened.

your mind switched to analytical thinking, trying to procure a solution, to fix what you had broken.

the answer came clearly, emerging from the darkest spot of your mind like a banished creature.

“you need to kill me.”

miguel pulled back just enough to look down at you, his hands moving to your upper arms to grip you in an unyielding hold. his eyes filled with a solemn determination that made you want to sob, made you want to scream.

“it won’t bring them back.” he whispered, resting his forehead against yours. “nothing you or i or lyla or anyone does will bring them back.”

the void at your toes, ready to swarm. an ocean of black silence, waiting to drown you.

“there has to be a way, miguel. please. if my universe collapsed because i didn’t die, then maybe if i died it would come ba-“

“do you think i didn’t try that when gabriella’s universe disappeared?” he asked, voice firm but expression soft. “i tried for weeks, never truly sleeping. i went through data and experimentation just for a chance to reassemble a universe. it doesn’t matter.”

your chest tightened, your breath limited as you tried to force a rhythm.

in, hold, out.

all those children.

in, hold, out.

mothers and fathers.

in, hold, out.

AND ITS ALL YOUR FAULT.

miguel pulled you into him, wrapping his arms around you.

the thoughts muted, the world dark and warm as you pressed your face to his chest. his arms, keeping you safe from the outside.

the tears didn’t stop for a long time, and neither did your choked cries. but it didn’t matter to him. it didn’t matter that there was a wet patch in his suit that most definitely included snot as well as tears.

he guided you through breathing, moving his hand in rhythmic circles on the upper plane of your back as he whispered “in, and out” over and over until your heartbeat calmed.

miguel knew that this was just the beginning. there would be late nights and frustrated yelling and breakdowns for a long time. it would take months to heal, months to work this guilt out of you.

but he’d be there every step of the way.

he refused to leave you again.

“you’re a hypocrite.” you whispered, and again he pulled back to look at you.

your eyes were set in firm decisiveness, as though you’d been thinking about this for some time. his gut twisted and his frustration flared slightly, but his inclined his head to let your speak.

you took a breath. “you’d save me for the sake of your own benefit. you care for me- i make you less lonely.” she held up her hand when his mouth opened, and his words died on his tongue. “you’d let my entire universe die just to have me.”

your voice faltered as tears balled in your throat, but you swallowed and carried on. miguel needed to hear this, and you were pretty sure you were the only person he’d hear it from.

“that’s selfish. incredibly so. but.” she trailed off, piecing the words together and preparing for his rebuttal. “when miles wants to save his father, it’s a cardinal sin.”

“y/n, it’s diff-“

“no, it’s not.” you cut him off, and again his mouth shut. he had forgotten just how quick your words were, no doubt sharpened by your temporary grounding.

“you’re sympathetic to me, but you slam a boy, a boy, miguel, into a train because he wants to save his father. meanwhile, you’d save your daughter without so much as a second thought? that’s hypocrisy.”

his eyes widened slightly, but he didn’t interrupt.

“all i ask is that you give him the same grace. can’t you understand why he refuses to follow your orders?

miguel sighed, keeping his eyes on you.

“miles is an anomaly, he’s was never meant to be spider-man-“

“enough of that. that has nothing to with the canon event. the universe didn’t collapse when he was bitten. it’s not his fault.”

“he is the beginning of this, the reason why there even is a spider society.”

your eyes narrowed, anger rising as you remembered the broken boy with bandages on his chest. “so you’re going to traumatize him? as punishment? he doesn’t deserve this blame, and you should never have reinforced it into his head. he’s fifteen, miguel. fifteen and scared. and now his head is full of your rhetoric, full of this hate that he doesn’t deserve. it’s not fair.”

you paused, and miguel worked his jaw, speechless.

“there must be another way. the canon has been flexible before. we can’t bring my universe back, but maybe we can save his. without making him watch his father die.” a tear slipped from your eye as you shoved down your sadness, forcing yourself to move on in order to help miles.

miguel’s thumb caught the tear before it fell, and you leaned into his palm.

“i think you need to sit this one out.” he whispered, eyes full of concern as your own blinked open. “i made the mistake of training you too early after your mother died, i won’t make the same mistake by allowing you to rush into this while you’re falling apart.”

you watched him, processing his words.

he was right, of course. it wasn’t healthy to push grief aside for later, especially this kind. the kind that poked at your throat and dug into your stomach. but the clock was ticking. a little less than two days.

you wanted nothing more than to curl up into a bed and cry. but you didn’t have time.

“i need to do this. and i need you to be there with me when i do, at my side. not against me. and after we figure this out, i’ll go to therapy and we can eat ice cream or whatever shit people normally do when they’re sad. ok?” you said.

this was the price of the name. sacrifice. pain. suffering. all for the greater good of the people.

miguel’s thumb stroked across your cheekbone as his jaw feathered.

“please. let me finish this.” you whispered.

miguel’s decision appeared in his eyes before it came out of his mouth.

“is this our tradition now?” he asked, and your face broke into a watery smile.

“fucking shit up despite our metal health? i guess so.” you laughed as you rubbed the heel of your hand against your eye, rubbing tears from your face.

“lyla?” you called, and she appeared at your shoulder. “can you help me reach hobie?”

lyla nodded, but miguel’s eyes hardened. “what do we need him for?” he asked, already sounding exasperated.

you smiled. “if you want to really fuck the system, you call the anarchist.” you said as you tapped at your watch.

i need some help defying the canon. you in?

it only took a few seconds for a reply.

let’s raise hell. meet you at my place in an hour.

i have miguel. but he’s leashed.

miguel looked over your shoulder, scoffing at the message.

“leashed?” he asked, and you smiled wickedly.

“you will be if you don’t listen. i’m not above webbing you to a wall and taking Rapture away from you.” you patted his shoulder. “just behave.”

you opened a portal when a thought rose suddenly.

“do you have any causal clothes?” you asked over your shoulder, and miguel raised a brow at you.

“for what?”

you grinned. “hard to be incognito in a spider suit. we need to blend in where we’re going.”

he smirked. “and what about you? think no one’s gonna stare at that suit just as much as mine?”

your teeth flashed as your grin widened. “i have clothes at hobie’s place.”

miguel’s amused expression dropped, and the glint in his eye told you that you may have to stand in front of hobie when he came back.

when he returned with clothes, grumpy as ever, you turned to the portal and jumped in, miguel at your heels.

₊ ⊹

“i cant fold it right, mine keeps bursting open.” you sighed, showing miguel the embarrassment of an empanada in your hands.

he shook his head at you, having already made a pile of at least ten. “it’s too much filling. you’re smart: use deductive reasoning.”

you elbowed him in the side, and he pretended to be wounded, letting out a fake gasp of pain.

you had both gone to the grocery store as soon as you entered earth-138, grabbing the necessary ingredients for a meal for the kids.

you had resolved that, if miguel couldn’t fully verbally apologize yet, then he could at least make them dinner.

and miguel had dragged his feet, refusing to give his input as you walked the aisles of produce and food. but when you fixed him with a glare and a sharp word, he had straightened up, explaining what exactly you needed.

and that brought you here, assembling empanadas with salsa verde and mexican rice on the counter of hobie’s house boat.

the group was late, though hobie had messaged you telling you that it was because they were talking miles into actually going in. the boy was terrified, but hobie and gwen were assuring him that everything was fine.

miguel placed the empanadas in the oven as the door to the boat clicked open and the spider band stepped though.

thank god it was spacious, you thought as the filed in.

you stepped forward to hobie, who embraced you with an arm around your waist and his mouth to your ear.

“one word and he’s a dead man.” he murmured to you as his eyes stayed fixed on miguel over your shoulder.

you garnered that miguel was staring back based on the tingling feeling of your skin.

“i got it. but noted.” you replied, pressing a kiss to his cheek as you pulled back.

his hands found your shoulders, leaning down to level a look at you. “you good?” he asked earnestly, his eyes concerned.

your smile was small, but it was a start.

“i’m good. better now.” you whispered, and he squeezed your shoulders.

he moved to the side, and your eyes caught miles’s, who stood with his arms limply at his side in a corner of the room.

you walked over to him, and his jaw clenched.

“i’m so sorry.” he whispered, and your heart ached.

“its not your fault. fate is a bitch sometimes.” you said as you slung an arm around his shoulders and pulled him close. his arms wrapped around your back gratefully.

you reached a hand to gwen and pavitr, and they joined the hug.

“my baby spiders.” you cooed. “i missed you.”

you pulled away to look around at the others, nodding to noir and peter b and fist bumping peni.

you met miguel’s eyes, and he nodded.

deep breath. it’s not like this is the end of the word or anything.

“we have less than two days to find a solution to save miles dad. the cannon is temperamental, but it is flexible. there must be a way other than jefferson’s death that can prevent earth-1610 from collapsing. any ideas?”

you gazed around the room to blank stares and thoughtful expressions. silence pressed against your ears as no one replied.

“my dad stepped down.” came a hesitant voice.

you turned to find gwen staring at you with a hopeful expression.

“he stepped down from being captain.” she said again. she looked to the side at miles. “after he found out my identity.”

something like hope grew in your chest as you glanced again at miguel. he looked back with a soft expression, tilting his head at you.

“he’ll never step down.” miles sighed, his fingers finding his temple.

“but it shows that there’s wiggle room.” you said, and miles’s eyes peeked at you.

“nothing is black and white. it’s not simple, but it’s a start.” you said as you walked over to the oven, getting out the empanadas.

“brain food?” asked peter b, and you smiled.

miguel stood beside you, preparing plates.

“not bad, y/n.” he said, and you leaned your side against his for a moment.

“where there’s a will, there’s a way.” you said, passing out plates before taking a seat next to hobie on the floor.

you looked around at the group, a smile rising on your face.

“spot’s on the move in 1610.” announced lyla, and hobie turned to you.

“okay, star girl. what’s the plan?”

　　　. 　　˚　　　　*　fin　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚

taglist: aka my little stars

@brittany69 @ladyfairenvale @teamwolverine @kinkybandages @lunamhm565i @dhadiirah @pearlssdiary @zeyzeys-stuff @alexisabirdie @ifuckyourmom @hagdgishr @migueloharaslxt @ladynecromancer @leviathxn @khaylin27 @dulceteris @mouthfulofpearls @alecmores @kissitoffme @mvlanchqly

oh my goodness. thank you all so much for your love and kind words. this is my first finished series, and it’s crazy to think that it all started with a thought of

“what if miguel had a daughter who’s universe collapsed?”

and it’s become a series with followers and people who love it. i’m so incredibly thankful for both your love and your patience- i went through a very hard friendship breakup that kind of ruined my spirit for a while. hence why this took so long.

i know there will be some of you who are not satisfied with this ending. i myself am never truly honestly satisfied with what i write. but i wanted to get this out into the world. BUT. my asks are always open for questions, requests, and headcanons for this story. it’s very dear to my heart, and i’m just so amazed at you all.

my little stars, i hope you enjoyed ‘the price of the name’.

all my love,

pearl ♡

#—the price of the name #miguel spiderverse #miguel x reader #dad!miguel o’hara #dad!miguel x daughter!reader #miguel ohara x fem!reader #platonic!miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara

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shion-yu · 2 months

Text

A Safe Place (part 3) [day 18]

A feverish Cliff is seen in the emergency room. For @monthofsick Day 18 “Unfamiliar surroundings”. 2,965 words, original work, TWs emeto, hospital content.

Part 1 | Part 2 - I swear this was supposed to be 2 parts but now it’s gonna be 4? Lol whoops.

Elliot supported Cliff into the busy ER. It was a Saturday, of course there were a lot of people there, Elliot thought regretfully. Silly to hope otherwise. Elliot eased Cliff into a seat as close to the reception desk as possible and then checked Cliff in, presenting Cliff’s ID and health insurance card. He was grateful Cliff’s wallet and phone were the two things his boyfriend had actually brought with him when he left his parents’ house, although a jacket and his inhaler would have been useful third and fourth choices.

“What’s this visit for?” The receptionist asked after scanning the cards and handing them back to Elliot.

“My boyfriend is having trouble breathing,” Elliot said, hoping this concerned her as much as it concerned him. “He has asthma, he’s wheezing, and he has a high fever. He didn’t know who I was earlier.”

The receptionist stood up a little to catch a glimpse of Cliff in his seat, who did look like he was struggling. “Okay, we’ll get him triaged as soon as possible,” the receptionist said. Elliot chose to believe her for his own sanity’s sake. “In the meantime, have him wear a mask.”

Cliff sagged against Elliot when Elliot sat next to him. He was in no shape to do paperwork, so Elliot tried to fill it out as much as he could. Fifteen minutes passed. Cliff was whimpering in pain and his wheeze had grown louder. “Just a few more minutes, Cliffy,” Elliot said, hoping it wasn’t a lie. Thirty minutes passed. Cliff was now insisting he was fine after all, and that they ought to go home. But that was when he was lucid, which would last only a minute before he’d follow up by saying something that made very little sense and reminded Elliot exactly why they couldn’t leave. Finally, about forty minutes after they’d checked in, a nurse called Cliff’s name and brought them to a small room between the waiting room and the actual ER. Elliot repeated the story he’d given the receptionist although more aggressively this time as the nurse nodded and took Cliff’s vitals.

Elliot never wanted Cliff to be so sick. However, his vitals did prompt some action and for that Elliot was grateful. Cliff’s fever was 103.5 now, his oxygen running lower than expected at 92%, and his heart rate and blood pressure were both high. The nurse led them to a stretcher in a curtained off bay and told Cliff to change into a gown. Elliot had to help Cliff climb up, his boyfriend’s coordination poor. His hands were shaking too hard to button his own gown up, so Elliot did it for him.

“Don’t feel good,” Cliff mumbled, swaying even as he sat up on the stretcher.

“I know, just lie back,” Elliot said. “They’re gonna help you.”

Thankfully, this time they only waited about ten minutes before a new nurse came in with a small bucket full of supplies. She introduced herself as Anna and said she was going to insert an IV, take some blood, and hook Cliff up to oxygen and fluids. She was also going to swab Cliff for flu and strep, but Elliot explained the urgent care had already done that. “Well, this tests for some other stuff too, it’s a full respiratory panel. I’d recommend we just do it anyways.” Elliot agreed on Cliff’s behalf; Cliff seemed to be communicating only in nods at this point.

Nurse Anna looped some oxygen tubing over Cliff’s ears first and plugged it into the wall. She also attached a blood pressure cuff and oxygen probe that she said would stay on for now for monitoring. Elliot felt like all the devices only made Cliff look sicker. Anna swabbed Cliff’s nose, which made him cough harshly to the point of gagging, and then got ready to insert an IV.

Cliff looked to Elliot in panic, swallowing rapidly. ‘Faint,’ he mouthed to Elliot helplessly. “Um, I think he passes out when there’s needles,” Elliot spoke up for him. Cliff nodded gratefully.

“Well you’re in the right place if you do,” Nurse Anna said. She lowered the head of the stretcher and told Elliot to hold Cliff’s hand as she looked for a vein in his other arm. “I’ll go super quick,” she reassured them, and she was right. It was quick. But Cliff turned sheet white and got really sweaty and by the time she’d collected enough tubes of blood, flushed and secured the hub and hooked him up to a bag of fluids, Cliff was barely conscious. “Don’t worry, it happens,” she said. She put a pillow under Cliff’s legs and told him to breathe deeply through his nose. Elliot found her calm demeanor the only thing keeping him calm, because it seemed terrifying even if it was normal. Cliff followed her directions and eventually gained some color back. Anna said his blood pressure was coming back up and that he should just lie there with his feet up for a few more minutes, then left the room.

“I’m sorry,” Cliff apologized miserably for the tenth time since they’d come back here.

“Baby, please, stop apologizing,” Elliot told him. “You’re here because you have to be and you’re not doing anything bad or wrong. Just rest.”

Cliff’s eyes filled with tears and he covered them with his forearm. “I suck,” he whimpered, Elliot’s words clearly not having reached him as intended. Elliot sighed and put one hand on Cliff’s head to stroke his sweaty hair. It wasn’t worth fighting Cliff on this right now. Elliot just had to be there for him.

Cliff fell asleep to Elliot’s relief. Elliot texted his mom what was going on and hoped this wasn’t as bad as it felt. Cliff snored quietly until a woman came with a huge portable x-ray machine. “Sorry to wake you up,” she said, “Cliff? I’m here to get your x-ray. I’ll go fast.”

Cliff opened his eyes and stared blankly at her. Elliot wasn’t sure if Cliff knew what was going on at this point so he stroked Cliff’s arms and explained, “Cliff? She’s gonna take the pictures of your lungs now.” He helped the x-ray tech manipulate Cliff’s torso so that he was lying on a hard board. Elliot stood in the doorway while they did the films.

“Alright, take a nice deep breath for me and hold it,” the x-ray tech said. “I know, good job, got it. You can cough.” And cough Cliff did, that same desperate wet cough that had made Elliot’s mind up to bring him here. He managed to catch his breath, but it wasn’t over. “One more,” the tech said, moving the boards and machine around to point at Cliff’s side now. “Again. Deep breath. One, two, and good. Let it out.”

This time Cliff didn’t seem able to stop coughing. He coughed until each gasp sounded like a Herculean struggle and Elliot wasn’t sure that any of that air he was gulping in was actually reaching his lungs. The machine that was measuring Cliff’s oxygen levels started to beep and the tech told Elliot she was going to find the nurse. Elliot held on to Cliff and tried to soothe him, but it didn’t seem to work. Cliff just kept coughing until suddenly his eyes flew open and he spewed a sharp wave of vomit from his mouth all the way to the end of the stretcher. Elliot winced, pulling back and trying not to look at the mess. Cliff spluttered and coughed between additional harsh gags that produced little besides a stream of thick brown saliva that pooled in his lap. Elliot prayed the nurse would come in soon and hesitantly rubbed Cliff’s back. He didn’t know what to do and Cliff seemed frozen, unable to lift his head or close his mouth.

Thankfully the nurse showed up then and said, “Oh no!” Oh no was right, Elliot thought anxiously. “Did we just get coughing too hard?” She glanced at Cliff's oxygen levels and turned a small green dial on the wall, which made a quiet hissing noise for a second as the flow of oxygen increased. “Don’t worry hun, we’re going to get you cleaned up.” She found a change of sheets in one of the cupboards behind the stretcher and changed the blankets and top sheet in record time. She checked Cliff’s fluids which were nearly done and then charted standing in the room for a few minutes on her rolling computer.

Cliff was silent, hunched over holding a pink plastic basin in his lap in case of another incident, and Elliot couldn’t tell if he was just out of it or humiliated. The room still smelled of putrid stomach acid; Elliot breathed through his mouth. His phone dinged in his pocket and he saw an alarmed text from his mother. He didn’t have time to reply though, as the doctor walked in at that moment.

“Doctor Jim,” Anna greeted him politely, scooting her computer farther away from the bedside. “He just threw up coughing and I turned up his oxygen.”

“I’m not surprised,” Dr. Jim said. He looked to be in about his forties, was mostly bald and had tiny round glasses that looked too small for his face. “Cliff? I’m Jim, I’m a physician here. How are you doing today?”

Elliot thought that was a stupid question. Cliff looked at Dr. Jim with hazy eyes and mumbled, “Sick.”

“Well, that makes sense. You’ve got yourself a nasty case of double pneumonia,” Dr. Jim said. Elliot’s heart sank. “Has this ever happened to you before?”

Cliff shook his head no. He moved his hand to the edge of the bed that Elliot understood as a silent signal to hold it, which he did. “Well, I think it’s best if we admit you for observation overnight with the vitals you have. I’m going to order two IV antibiotics and some steroids, try and get that swelling down in your lungs and hopefully you’ll be feeling better in no time. How’s that sound?”

Cliff didn’t answer. “That sounds fine,” Elliot said, squeezing Cliff’s hand. “Can I stay with him?”

“Once we move him to the floor, visiting hours are eight to eight,” Dr. Jim said. “But you can stay with him for as long as he’s in the ER.” He turned to Anna and gave a few other orders for Zofran, Tylenol, albuterol and budesonide treatments. It all seemed so casual to them, but Elliot was still disturbed by how sick Cliff looked and seemed to him.

Dr. Jim physically examined Cliff next. Cliff shuddered and Dr. Jim apologized for his cold hands, but Elliot knew that the temperature hadn’t had anything to do with it. He hummed a lot, wrote down some notes, and then left with a “Hope you feel better soon.” Elliot wondered if he told all his patients that, or just the ones who could actually get better soon. Nurse Anna also excused herself to get the ordered medications, leaving Elliot alone with Cliff once again.

“So… pneumonia. That sounds pretty bad,” Elliot said. “Why didn’t you tell me you felt so sick?”

“You were at work. I didn’t want to bother you,” Cliff said in a tiny voice. “And then I tried to text you but none of the letters in my phone made sense.”

Elliot felt his chest clench painfully hearing that. “Cliff, you wouldn’t have bothered me.”

“But I’m bothering you now,” Cliff whimpered.

Elliot frowned. “I didn’t say that.” Silence from Cliff. Elliot sighed and grasped Cliff’s hand in his own. “Cliff, Cliffy, can you look at me?” It took a second, but fever-bright, hazel eyes eventually focused on Elliot. “You’re my boyfriend. I want you to be okay. Can you at least try to trust me?”

“I do trust you,” Cliff whispered, voice hurt.

“Then let me care about you.”

Cliff fell quiet again and Elliot sat back but kept Cliff’s hand in his. Cliff had his eyes closed, but it didn’t do much to hide the tears that escaped from the corners of them. Elliot didn’t say anything, just brushed them off of Cliff’s cheeks with his sleeve. Once Cliff was asleep, Elliot finally allowed his own silent tears to fall.

Eventually a CNA came to bring Cliff down to the short-stay unit. She rolled Cliff’s stretcher down the hall and into an elevator. Cliff looked nervous and kept glancing at Elliot, making sure he was still right next to him. Elliot always was. They got to a small room that had a real hospital bed in it and the CNA and Elliot both helped Cliff take two steps from the stretcher onto the bed. It was painful for Elliot to see how difficult even this brief transfer was for Cliff, and Cliff started another one of his long coughing spasms afterwards. Elliot rubbed Cliff’s arm, unsure what else he could possibly do to help. “Water,” Cliff croaked hoarsely between deep, rattling coughs.

“Sure. Um…” Elliot looked around him but this room was barely more than an ER bay. It didn’t even have windows. “Let me go check,” he said, and went to go look for the nurse’s station. There were two tired and rather bored looking, middle aged women sitting at computers at the end of the hall. “Excuse me? My boyfriend just got here and he could use some water…”

“I’m almost there,” one of the nurses said, which Elliot thought was a weird thing to say when she very much wasn’t almost there. Regardless, they didn’t seem to like him hovering very much so Elliot went back to Cliff’s room. There was nowhere for him to sit, so he stood at the bedside. Cliff had managed to stop coughing at least.

The nurse, despite her indifferent demeanor, did show up with a little bin that contained hospital socks, meds and a large plastic jug of water. “Clifford Barrows, hmm? I’m Carey. And you are…?” She raised an eyebrow at Elliot.

Suddenly feeling extra protective, Elliot quickly said, “His boyfriend.”

“Alright. Mr. Barrows, are you okay to have Elliot in here?”

Cliff nodded a yes. Elliot thought it was so weird to hear Cliff called by his last name. They seemed too young for that.

“Well, your boyfriend will have to leave after I finish this admission paperwork as visiting hours are over soon, but remind me to get you a chair for tomorrow,” Carey said. She started a myriad of questions, which included Cliff’s emergency contact.

“Make it Elliot,” Cliff said quickly, looking at him. “Um, will my dad know I’m here?”

“You’re eighteen, right? Not unless you tell him,” Carey said. “But I see your dad is the primary insurance holder so he may see the invoice after you’re discharged. It shouldn’t show any details though.”

Cliff grimaced but nodded. At least there would be no confrontation in the actual hospital, Elliot thought to himself. Carey kept asking questions, which ranged from did Cliff smoke to could he walk up a flight of stairs to did he have any plans to hurt himself right now. They seemed a little ridiculous to Elliot, but Cliff was able to answer all of them with simple yes’s and no’s pretty quickly since he was for the most part entirely healthy.

“You’re easy,” Carey said, winking at Cliff. “Boyfriend? Visiting hours are over now honey, so you say your goodbyes and you can come back at 8am tomorrow morning.” Elliot thought she was kind of like those old ladies at diners who yelled at you for your order but called you honey so you couldn’t feel totally attacked.

He nodded and gave Cliff a quick hug. He thought about kissing him, but Cliff didn’t like to be kissed in front of other people so he just squeezed Cliff’s hand instead. “I’ll be back in the morning,” he promised. “Get some rest and tell them if you don’t feel good, okay?”

“Okay,” Cliff said. He looked scared, so Elliot hugged him again and kissed the top of his head this time.

“I love you,” Elliot said. “I know you can be strong for me. You’ve got your phone right here.”

Elliot didn’t look back as he left, because he could feel Cliff’s kicked puppy expression trailing him and knew if he did, it would be ten times harder to leave. He walked to the parking lot without thinking, got in his car, and drove home without Cliff beside him. He made it to the park a block away from his parents’ house before he pulled over and cried for a solid ten minutes.

Cliff was going to be okay, Elliot told himself. Cliff was stronger than he seemed, and realistically Elliot couldn’t be there for him every second of the way. But he’d promised Cliff they weren’t going to the hospital, and then he promised Cliff that he’d be right there next to him the whole time. He’d broken both of these promises and now Cliff was sleeping in a hospital bed, in a tiny room with no windows and only a crotchety old lady to keep an eye on him. Elliot felt just terrible and wondered if he’d made the wrong choice dragging Cliff to the ER. All he wanted was for Cliff to be okay, though, and he really hadn’t seemed okay today.

Elliot wiped his tears away and told himself he had to be strong. This seemed so intense and adult, but Elliot couldn’t let it overwhelm him. He tried to remember the coping mechanisms his therapist had taught him back in high school. Deep breaths. One second at a time. He could do it, and so could Cliff. Elliot turned on the car and returned home by himself.

[Part 4]

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sandwicz · 10 months

Text

Twisted Wonderland as quotes me and my friends said + teachers too pt. 2

Warnings: profanities, mention of cockroaches, some might be ooc, Rook

✧-------------------------------------------✧

*in the science club*

Rook: "i made a reverse filter :D"

Rook: "i turn clean water into dirty water"

Trey: "..."

Vargas: "Trappola... This is why you won't have a girlfriend in the future"

Epel: *shows a poster he made thats just memeable and very messy, kinda like a sh*tpost. Its for his presentation that's 30% his grade*

Epel: "Apple to coconut how bad is it"

Epel: "Apple = good, coconut = bad"

Epel: "all the fruits are included in between"

Ace: "its cherry then"

Epel: "idk if that's good or bad. i like cherry so its good"

Yuu: "Pear. Actually no its mango"

Epel: "I like mango so its good"

Yuu: *made a huge robot cockroach the size of a basketball(that walks slow) that's made out of cardboard for a project*

Yuu: *shows a pic and video of the project to some students*

Yuu: "cock"

Yuu: "this took forever"

Yuu: "i hate it"

Yuu: "it hath grown wings so it shall fly to the sun"

Yuu: "and i will sit and stare and salute as my papermade icarus flies ever onward”

Yuu: "... i think i lost it"

Floyd: *pokes jamil to show him the cockroach monstrosity* beetle?

Yuu: "i gave him wings don't you dare call him a beetle"

Jamil: *distraught and trying so hard to stop himself from burning the cockroach down* ...

*lets pretend NRC teaches students other languages other than english*

Leona: "what the f*ck the teacher slapped my hand"

Ruggie: "LMAO"

Jack: "what. ...why?"

Ruggie: *while laughing hard* "HE KNOWS YOU'RE SMART ITS JUST THAT YOU DIDNT WANNA PUT EFFORT"

Leona: "... this is why"

Ruggie: *still laughing while wheezing* "in the maths part of the (insert language here) exam Leona doesnt wanna calculate so instead, he wrote 0s to some of them and called it a day”

Jack: "..."

(yes our teacher did put math questions in our language exam)

Ace: “people are doing math the wrong way you guys be talking about x and y but never u and i”

Cater: “if i could rearrange the alphabet i’d put u and i together”

Cater: “you know why i like RNA better than DNA, because there’s U”

Riddle: “all these pickup lines and u all still single”

Deuce: "how do i fix my bad haircut"

Ace: "grow hair"

Deuce: "great idea"

Deuce: "never thought of that"

Deuce: "any other ideas"

Epel: "bald"

Ace: "bald"

Epel: "it's about drive it's about power"

Epel: "we stay hungry we devour"

Student A: "Sir Trein sucks, he doesn't deserve any teacher's day letter"

Deuce: *is pissed off* "HAA??!! U SHUT YOUR ASS"

Deuce: "What's your beanfest team HAH?"

Deuce: "I'll wipe it out."

Student A: " Your team."

Deuce: "oh."

Student A: "💀"

Vargas: "do you have a partner?"

Riddle: *confused at the sudden question* "...no?"

Vargas: *pats his shoulder* "no? Find someone in the future"

Yuu: "i read fire balls as furry balls"

Ace: "HAHAHAHA JACK'S FURRY BALLS LMAO"

Jack: "..."

Jack: "i hate you."

Riddle: *flabbergasted* "Cater. Yuu played tetris during class? Around the teacher?"

Cater: "Yeap"

Yuu: "ehe"

Riddle: *dissapointed noises*

Trey: "i'm surprised you didn't get caught"

Yuu: "ehe"

Floyd: *gets grouped with Epel, Lilia and Riddle for a group project*

Floyd: *decided to make a gc and determine the name of it*

Floyd: *names it "adorable midgets + floyd gc :D"

*few moments after they finally realized the gc name*

Epel: "FLOYD YOU MOTHERF*CKER IVE JUST REALIZED THE GC NAME"

Riddle: "YEAARGHHH FLOYD IT'S OFF WITH YOUR HEAD"

Lilia: *enjoying the chaos*

*in the middle of class*

*sound of a notif from an online shopping app*

Trein: "Who's notification is that? It must be from Cater, isn't it? Always shopping and checking social media"

*a few seconds later*

*sound of a notif from another online shopping app"

Trein: "Tsk tsk tsk... who is that? Who likes shopping so much? You already have an app for it and you have another one?"

Idia: "..." *hiding behind his tablet*

Bonus for all of yall, in case yall need it:

Yuu: *jokingly* "so how's the exam results? Were you dissapointed in us?"

Staff/character of your choice: “You can never disappoint me, i’m always proud of you”

Everybody: *tears up*

143 notes · View notes

lovebunnie · 4 days

Text

“don’t go,” tim whispered into the air. the words felt ill fitting on his tongue. when it came to hawkins fuller, tim learned never to lean too far forward because there was no guarantee hawk would catch him. tim was proficient in taking his longing for more and channeling it into God. he was used to being hurt by the desire of wanting something.

but he figured, he was already dying. there wasn’t much more hurt to be had. besides, hurt from hawks hand was familiar enough for tim to be nostalgic for it.

everytime hawk walked away in the past, tim held his breath and waited for the moment he knew would never come. it was always hawks back to him and even the times where tim was the one to go felt hollow; all tim had ever wanted was for hawk to chose him, just once.

and maybe hawk would turn around and walk out one last time. maybe this was about a clearing of consciousness and of pitying a dying old man in his final time of need. but tim reached out into the cold air, hand trembling, and knew if this was the moment where everything ended, atleast he could turn his back to the closing of the door if need be.

hawk didnt leave. not for the first time, he crawled under the covers and held tim in his arms, kissing his forehead and anchoring him. it was a familiar position; he didnt have very many things he considered familiar anymore. what was new was the way hawk practically clung to tim, the sterile smell of the room around them and an occasional wheeze tim let out involuntarily. tim loved hawk so much in that moment he feared he would break.

and when tim told hawk what he is scared to tell himself, hawk held him tighter and sweet talked to him, ive got you, im here. something settled in tims chest and he hoped when he woke up, hawk would tell him again.

#space.txt #space snips #fellow travelers #guyssssssssssssss :(

13 notes · View notes

maxsix · 2 months

Text

"Okay, I’ve got some news.” Hongjoong says as he sits down at the dinner table. “The NASA flight team offered me a job training their new pilots and um, I said Yes.”

“Yeah, we already about knew that.” Wooyoung says as he attempts to rewire a black and green lego robot named ‘Duke Lego’.

Yunho perks up in attention, leaning forward to peer closely at his older brother’s face, no doubt searching for signs of hidden reckless agendas. It reminds Hongjoong of the German Shepherd puppy they had when they were kids.

“When you say ‘job’, what does that mean exactly?”

“It’s just training some new pilots in a simulator. The facility is only half an hour away from here. I won’t be gone for long, just once a week. I’ll still keep my old job but we could really use the extra money.”

“Can I come?” Wooyoung asks, carefully resting Duke Lego on the table.

“No.”

“Why not?! You said I could!”

Yunho observes his brothers with judgement. “Seriously, Hongjoong? You said he could go? To NASA? This guy? Because that’ll end well.”

“Shut up Yunho!” Wooyoung scowls. “I know more about this than you!”

Hongjoong waves his hand to silence the bickering. “My first day is tomorrow. It’ll just be meeting the pilots and going through some routine training. Nothing crazy.”

“So I could technically go.” Wooyoung reasons, “If it’s nothing crazy? I won’t touch anything I swear!”

“Still no.”

“Will Seonghwa be there? Can I show him my robots?”

“No!”

“Wait, what if I want to go too?” Yunho interjects. “Nobody asked me if I wanted to go!”

“Neither of you are going!” Hongjoong groans. “At least, not on my first day. I’m just telling you all this so you know where I’ll be. The Park Uncles will watch out for you while I’m gone.”

“We don’t need a babysitter.” Yunho rolls his eyes. “Well I don’t.”

“I don’t either!” Wooyoung echoes.

“Sorry about your personal opinions on that but you’re both going to the Mill, they still need a lot of help with all the summer holiday orders. I’ll see you at around dinner time.”

Both younger brothers look like they want to keep protesting but when nothing else comes out, Hongjoong dismisses them to their rooms for the night so he can prepare himself for tomorrow.

He’s already read the information pack front to back, several times, but NASA seems to have left out one important detail: what on earth they expected him to wear. It has him standing in front of his small closet for a good five minutes, deciding nothing but concluding it’s been at least year since he’s actually bought new clothes.

Apart from the one black suit reserved for weddings and funerals, there’s a few plain t-shirts, cargo pants at various stages of life, assorted shirts he never wears, random items that Yunho had outgrown and his favourite dark brown leather jacket. He has two pairs of work boots, identical except for their colour. It wasn’t much of a selection.

But then again, he hasn’t had to dress for any other occasions lately. As much as Jonghoon hassles him about it, dating in the time of global death is just not in the cards, not now and likely not ever.

Ascending down the stairs the next day, he knows he’s worn the wrong thing because instead of the usual ‘good morning’ he’s just greeted with a burst of laughter. Maybe the white button down shirt was slightly too tight across the chest and maybe the black trousers had shrunken to the point where even walking was a little difficult.

“You look like an accountant Michelin man.” Yunho cackles. “You can’t seriously go out like that!”

Wooyoung’s wheezes don’t even pause to comment and Hongjoong wonders if he might choke on his breakfast at some point.

Defeated, he trudges back upstairs and settles for his least grease stained black cargo pants, the least faded black t-shirt and his leather jacket. Maybe he’ll be under dressed but at least he’ll feel like himself and it’s what the boys are used to seeing him in.

“Is this better? It’s still professional right?” Hongjoong asks, pointing to the new outfit. “Do I look like I know my shit?”

“Well, kind of?” Yunho nods, answering truthfully as he chews his toast. “But do you actually know your shit?”

Hongjoong lets the swearing slide this one time. “Yeah, of course. Kind of.”

Wooyoung stops eating breakfast long enough to tell Hongjoong that he looks smart and professional enough for NASA. With his head of dishevelled black hair and an old crumpled t-shirt stolen from Yunho, the fourteen year old isn’t exactly a qualified fashion expert but the approval is appreciated nonetheless.

“Thanks, Kiddo.” Hongjoong smiles. “And that’s why you’re my favourite.”

“Hey!” Yunho protests before deciding that the marmalade loaded toast in his hand was more important. “Ugh, whatever.”

The wall clock reads 8 a.m and Hongjoong wants to get to the facility early, just in case. He leans down to bite the opposite end of Yunho’s toast and ruffle his hair before rushing out the door, only grimacing once at the obscene amount of marmalade he just swallowed.

“Uncle Moonie will come get you in an hour. Be good. I’ll see you at dinner.”

He’s waved off with a duet of low energy mumbles, as if he was just leaving for a trip to the local grocery store and not a highly classified job at NASA.

The truck is just about to set off when Hongjoong notices an envelope on the dashboard, ’LEGOjira’ is scrawled across the front in Wooyoung’s handwriting and inside there’s a small black and red robot figurine shaped like the famous prehistoric monster.

He sticks it on the dashboard.

Teenagers.

The facility is a large converted warehouse that used to manufacture car parts and machinery. NASA gutted it clean and trucked in the simulator and flight control room for the instructors. It all sits on a large plot of government acquired land that’s surrounded by gravel, concrete and layers of metal fencing. Trying to appear unobtrusive and nondescript always had the opposite effect but then again, maintaining a certain public facade wasn’t something many people cared about these days, even at corporations like NASA.

There are three security gates going in and Hongjoong holds onto his ID tag like his life depended on it. The security guards here still wear the same crisp regulation uniforms and Hongjoong definitely feels like he and his dusty truck are underdressed.

NASA told him he would be granted full security clearance here, a fact which does nothing to stop the nausea from churning around his stomach as he drives through. Maybe his mind has tried to move on but his body still remembers the trauma of training. NASA also never specified how much of his disobedience would show up on his records and he half expects something unfavourable to ping on a computer somewhere along the way.

“Name and ID please sir.”

“Kim Hongjoong. I’m here for the flight training.”

He hands over his ID and watches nervously as the guard confirms his name on the electronic database, reads the screen excruciatingly slowly, eyes him for a few intense seconds, before handing back the ID badge and buzzing the gates open.

“Carpark is to the left Mr Kim.”

There’s another ID check point on the other side of the carpark. Then another at the entrance to the building itself. Nothing pings and nobody has to know about the way his stomach unknots itself in relief.

Once the truck is parked and Hongjoong is walking towards the simulation centre, he sees a young boy, he guesses around Yunho’s age, running ahead of him in a hurry. The sight of the familiar blue training jumpsuits causes something to catch in Hongjoong’s chest and his footsteps falter on the pavement. Memories of his training years flash through his mind again, some good, some terrible, and while it’s not something he could call PTSD, it’s not exactly without complicated feelings either.

“Kim Fucking Hongjoong.” A familiar deep voice calls out from behind.

He knows that voice.

He’d recognise that voice anywhere in the universe.

“Choi Fucking Seungcheol.”

A grin takes over his face as he turns to take in the unexpected appearance of his old friend and mentor: still tall, still committed to black shirts that could never fully contain his broad and solid chest, still letting his dark hair grow longer than it should be, still an imposing presence despite the lopsided smile he’s wearing now.

Still hugs like a bear.

“What are you even doing here?!” Hongjoong shakes his head in disbelief. “Did they drag you out of retirement, old man? How did they even find you?"

“I’m only three years older than you, you little shit!” Seungcheol reprimands gently with a push. “They must be real desperate dragging two decommissioned liabilities back.”

“They didn’t tell me you’d be here.” Hongjoong says. “If I knew, I would’ve said yes a long time ago.”

“They didn’t tell me either.” The older man says as they walk to the simulation centre together. “Typical NASA. Those sneaky bastards.”

“How did they even find you? I heard you skipped town once your brothers graduated.”

Seungcheol nods again. “I did. We moved a few towns over, made a life running the textile plant there. Too many bad memories here, you know? But they found me in the end. Guess you can never really outrun your past, huh?”

Hongjoong hums in understanding.

"I’m sorry about your family. I’m sorry we didn’t keep in touch, it’s just been -“

Seungcheol claps him on the shoulder and chuckles. “Don’t apologise. Things have been a nightmare for everyone. I didn’t want to be found, you could’ve tried your best and I wouldn’t have been ready to come back. I told the first three suits they sent to fuck off but gotta hand to that last snotty one for his persistence. How’d they get you?”

“Got caught at their headquarters accidentally.”

“Breaking and entering? Again? Of course you did.” Seungcheol shakes his head laughing. “Some things never change.”

Hongjoong shrugs, smiling. “So have you been okay though?After …everything?”

“Can’t complain. The knee is fucked up now so I doubt they’ll actually let me fly again but the brain is still in working order so I guess they want me to use it to train these new kids. What about you? I’m sorry to hear about your family too.”

“Well, it’s been a lot since I left training but me and boys have been okay. I can’t complain much either.”

They finally reach the entrance to the simulation centre, Seungcheol pauses to swipe his badge and gives Hongjoong another lopsided grin.

“Ready to meet the next bunch of psychopaths?”

“Well, they can’t be any worse than us.”

There are eight basic trainees in total. Five males and three females. All far too young. All wearing grim serious expressions on their faces as they are introduced to their new instructors by Yeosang, who was no doubt sent by the Directors to watch over the proceedings, in case it was another PR disaster. Hongjoong doesn’t mind, he’s just relieved to see another familiar face.

“As you know, Dr Lee and Commander Song have been urgently required on another mission. I would like you to welcome your new flight instructors, Commander Choi Seungcheol and Pilot Kim Hongjoong. They have updated your flight manual and I expect you to treat them with the same level of respect here.”

Hongjoong doesn’t miss the way there’s a ripple of surprised murmurs when their names are called out. He knows it’s not all positive, rumours travel far and their reputations tend to crash into rooms before they do.

Yeosang watches the group closely but doesn’t pause, instead he launches straight into orientation of the venue and vital safety procedures before allowing the trainees a small break to inspect the rest of the facilities. Hongjoong tries to remember if he ever looked that young, optimistic and impressionable.

He wonders when he suddenly felt so old.

Yeosang ushers them into the simulation control room, a smaller replica of NASA’s actual flight control deck, where they would be spending most of their time running the simulations.

“Thank you both for honouring your commitment to the mission. I apologise for not informing you of your fellow instructor’s identity but well, we weren’t sure if you’d have agreed to it otherwise.”

“Bit of a risky gamble isn’t it Kang?” Seungcheol says, “Thought NASA was all about mitigating risks.”

“Last time we tried to contact you, you told us to go to hell, repeatedly. It was always going to be a risk."

Seungcheol rolls his eyes. “Ok listen, you dragged me out of retirement for this so cut to the chase and give us the run down on this squad. What do we need to know about these kids?”

Yeosang purses his lip at the demanding tone but nevertheless, keeps his cool long enough to provide them with a folder containing the profiles of each trainee.

Hongjoong flips through each one before something catches his eye. It’s the profile of the boy he saw running past him this morning.

“Woah, woah, wait a second.”

“What is it?”

“It says here that this kid is sixteen.” Hongjoong says, pointing to the profile page of the male trainee.

Seungcheol flips to the same page and starts chuckling to himself. “You gotta be kidding me.”

“He’s way too young, Yeosang.” Hongjoong says, shaking his head. “You can’t put a sixteen year old into orbit! I get that these are desperate times and we’re the last two people to talk about regulations and ethics but this is a step too far.”

Yeosang folds his hands neatly in his lap and takes a breath, like he’s been prepared for this question all his life.

“He is sixteen and it is his legal right to apply for training. He will not be the first selected for active duty and he will not be approved to fly until he is at least eighteen.” Yeosang says in what Hongjoong now knows is his “NASA PR” voice.

“May I remind you that while we need pilots in the immediate present, we also need to plan ahead for future missions. Training the reserves starts now."

“He’s younger than Yunho!” Hongjoong says in exasperation as he scans the rest of the profile. “Where did you find this one anyway?”

“He’s an orphan.” Yeosang says plainly, causing them both to look up. “His parents died in a farming accident a few years ago. He’s alive because he was at school that day. There were no surviving relatives so he was cared for by a generous family then enrolled in the NASA Children’s Space Program once his academic and physical abilities were made known.”

Since the global crop pandemic everyone had a sad backstory to tell, but even Hongjoong regrets asking this one.

“He grew up at NASA.” Yeosang continues. “He’s as familiar with our facilities and operation protocols as you two are. It wasn’t a random choice born out of desperation, he demonstrated potential and earned his way into this program. Don’t forget that you were both also teenagers when you joined.”

“That was eight years ago.” Hongjoong counters. “You know it was a different time then. We had strict training regimens that were monitored by multiple departments, it wasn’t just two de-commissioned pilots in a warehouse.”

“I assure you that we have tried our best to replicate the rigorous training program that you were subject to. The trainees have all passed the physical boot camp without complication. Due to their age, the younger ones haven’t completed the theory component yet but Seonghwa, Doctor Park, has been tutoring them and we expect they will do well on their final assessments.”

“It’s not good enough to do well.” Seungcheol says with a frown. ‘Doing well’ barely gets you into the air. Doing the best is what gets you back home in one piece. Is your selection criteria still a total nightmare? Are they still getting regular psychiatric assessments?”

“Yes.” Yeosang confirms.

“Good. They’ll need it.”

“The report from Dr Lee and Commander Song says they have all passed basic training and familiarisation with the simulators.” Hongjoong reads out. “But nobody got a perfect score or anything close to it.”

“That’s why you’re both here.” Yeosang reminds them. “We need to separate the best from the good. Half of this group won’t make it. We all know that and so do they.”

“You think your sixteen year old will?”

Yeosang smiles again, an unsettling combination of threatening and serene. “Depends if his instructors are any good.”

The first training session was mostly spent on familiarisation with the simulator in its new home and ironing out any electrical issues. Between short civil exchanges and longer technical lectures, there wasn’t much time to hear any whispers about either instructor’s dismissals but Hongjoong can sense the unease. They don’t trust Seungcheol. They don’t trust him.

NASA never revealed how much of their dismissal was made public. The disciplinary hearings had been private and a team of lawyers made sure the case never made the news but there were still plenty of rumours. Hongjoong knows the trainees want to ask but it’s not the type of information he wants to provide to people he doesn’t yet trust either.

Between the two of them, Seungcheol is the more experienced: a flight prodigy at the age of seventeen, military pilot at eighteen and in possession of an IQ that made his academic career look easy. He had led several successful missions and logged in twice the amount of flight hours as his nearest counterpart at the time. With such a rare gift and understanding of aerodynamics, Seungcheol was consider on track to become one of NASA’s most decorated commanders.

Hongjoong had met Seungcheol in the first month of his aerospace training, he was fresh out of military service but still lacked any real discipline. NASA had accepted him based on his test scores and aptitude for flying, hoping that the brutal training program would smooth out his wild edges and if that failed, then giving him the toughest mentor in the program would hopefully do the rest.

It was a gamble that paid off.

Seungcheol was known for being academically and physically intimidating. Around the same time, Hongjoong was developing his own reputation as the uncontrollable rebel in the program. They had few actual friends and maybe it was due to this that they hit it off; with Hongjoong being one of the few trainees who refused to be intimidated by someone else’s brilliance and Seungcheol endlessly amused by the younger trainee’s stubbornness.

“An immovable object meets an unstoppable force.” Professor Park had once said, joking that they were the only two who could deal with each other without causing injury to public property.

Seungcheol had set him straight as best he could. Not with gentle coddling words or shouting loud threats but leading by example and teaching Hongjoong what it truly meant to work hard, bear responsibility, accept consequences and ultimately, become a man of service.

But he couldn’t teach him everything in the time they had.

There’s no cure for a rebellion in the blood.

When Hongjoong was dismissed for disobeying direct orders during a mission, Seungcheol had stood up at the disciplinary hearing to call the Directors out on their hypocritical bullshit. It had been a career death for the both of them: Hongjoong was denied any qualifications and Seungcheol’s once promising career abruptly came to an end.

They were both forced to move on, and they have for the most part, any bitterness that still lingered didn’t have much of a target anymore. The Board of Directors from that time were now either dead or retired. There really wasn’t anyone left to complain to.

“How do you want to run the simulations?” Seungcheol asks him now.

“You lead.” Hongjoong replies. “You have more experience.”

“You just want me to be the Bad Cop.”

“Well, if the shoe fits….”

“Okay, you punk.” Seungcheol snorts. “In that case, I want to start with scenario three. I don’t want to do the exercises in order, what’s the point of simulation training if they know what to expect.”

Hongjoong smiles, “Just admit that you want to see them sweat.”

Seungcheol feigns offence, placing a hand on his chest like he’s wounded. “I am here to teach. If someone cries along the way, then we’ll have a whole day to discuss the hazards of tears in space.”

It doesn’t exactly go down well.

“Commander Choi?”

“Yes?”

“We haven’t completed scenario two yet.”

“I know.” Seungcheol says, “We will be completing the scenarios out of order. If you have memorised the new manual then none of this should be a surprise.”

“But-”

The trainee is quickly silenced when Seungcheol quirks an eyebrow in their direction.

“Any other relevant questions? No? Good. You’ll be flying solo, oldest to youngest, let’s get to it.”

Scenario three involved problem solving through a failed launch procedure. Each trainee was expected to demonstrate proficiency in running the launch sequence check and identifying the critically abnormal fuel temperature in the quickest time possible, anything beyond five minutes would be considered catastrophic in real life and an immediate fail in simulation.

“Kang Seulgi. 4:15. Your launch routine lacks focus and precision, stop wasting your time.”

“Kim Mingyu. 4:00. You are too slow to report, it would’ve cut your time by more than 10 seconds. I expect faster communication next time.”

“Kang Taehyun. 3:50. You almost missed two other launch check points. Stick to your routine. Bad habits raise bad pilots.”

One by one, they watch the pilots navigate through the simulations with varying degrees of success. They’ve been decent enough, all able to pass, but there’s no standout.

Seungcheol sighs and sits back in his chair, his once crisp shirt now creased and rolled up to his elbows. “This isn’t good enough. They’re not good enough. Maybe they won’t die at launch but this type of crew won’t survive a single orbit if they stay like this.”

Hongjoong hums in thought, making the notes for their evaluation report. Part of him agrees with Seungcheol’s frank assessment: the young trainees were inconsistent, either making mistakes in haste or slowing down in panic. The other part of him knows this is basic training, there was still advance training and final flight training to go.

But bad habits do raise bad pilots and now wasn’t the time for any leniency.

Still, they couldn’t both be the Bad Cop.

“At least we know what we’re working with now. It’s something to build on.”

“We haven’t had a total disaster yet, so I’ll give them that, but we were both minutes faster than this. You did this in under three minutes.”

“Well, you did it in under two.” Hongjoong says, flipping to the final candidate. “Ready to see the last kid?”

Seungcheol nods. “This should be interesting.”

They restart the simulation and watch as a dark head of hair and some thin broad shoulders make their way into the booth.

With the lights dim, sound playing and motion detector track running, the simulation was hyper realistic and easily overwhelming for new trainees. Every warning light was accurate, every sound and alarm identical to the real thing and if you crashed, the impact was very much felt.

“This is flight control, proceed with your launch check.”

The kid is quick to process, very quick, and follows a launch check routine that feels eerily familiar. He reports the abnormal fuel temperature within two minutes but then stalls to call mission abort. It pings something in Hongjoong’s head that both thrills and concerns him.

“This is flight control, you have a panel of warning lights and alarms. What’s your status report?”

“The fuel temperature is not in target range. I ran diagnostics and all the other equipment appears to be functioning correctly.”

“What is your next step pilot?”

“I…..I need to correct the fuel temperature.”

Seungcheol looks over to Hongjoong with a curious expression but lets the simulation continue.

They watch as the teenager tries, without success, to turn off all the warning alarms. He is methodical but frustrated and quick to lose his cool, a trait that only years of training and experience can overcome.

“This is flight control, there are critical error warnings on our end, what is your status report.”

“No, I can do this!” The trainee shouts, sounding every bit the sixteen year old they read about. “Sorry, Flight control, I… I ran diagnostics on the fuel temperature again but I can’t get any updated readings on it, I don’t know if it’s working or not, the telemetry is unreliable…”

As the clock counts down, Hongjoong is muttering for the teenager to just give them the right answer.

He barely makes it.

“Flight control, launch is futile. Request to abort mission!”

“This is flight control, mission abort confirmed.”

Seungcheol takes his headset off and sits back with a strained sigh. “What a damn maniac. Remind you of someone?”

“He does.” Hongjoong nods, concerned but fascinated why their youngest trainee would even try something usually reserved for advanced flight training. “He was trying to save the launch with a manoeuvre they don’t teach until advanced training.”

“You know that’s almost a fail.”

“He was fastest in finding the abnormality and the only one to question telemetry accuracy.” Hongjoong counters as he watches the teenager climb out of the simulator.

They had expected some slumped shoulders or physical evidence of defeat but what emerges is a body that stands tall, defiant, and coiled with anger. There’s a scowl on his face, like he already knows how badly he messed up. Whatever critique he gets from Seungcheol is unlikely to be as brutal as his inner monologue right now.

“That’s a future liability, right there.” Seungcheol says, shaking his head. “Ballsy though.”

“Well he is sixteen.”

“With an IQ of 140 and about 8 different bad habits. That’s like giving a missile a brain and mental health problems.”

“Geez, Seungcheol, he’s still just a kid. Put him out of his misery, I think he’s about to break something in there.”

“Choi San. 4:50.”

#Ad Astra: The Theory Of Relativity #Ateez #Ateez AU #Ateez fic #hongjoong #seonghwa #yunho #wooyoung #yeosang #Ad Astra stuff #this will also posted on A03 later if you prefer to read it on there #it's a little complicated again but let me know if you need something clarified

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atimeofyourlife · 4 months

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rated: t | wc: 564 | cw: asthma attack Steve has an asthma attack after the Upside Down, but he'd never told Robin that he was asthmatic. The inspiration for this came from the fact that I had my first asthma attack in like four years today (I'll be fine. It was a mild attack, and it settled down pretty quickly after using my reliever. My breathing is pretty much back to normal.) But I just wanted to project.

Steve didn't notice it right away when his breathing was starting to get difficult. His chest tightening and wheezing as he breathed. He was too preoccupied with dealing with all the Upside Down shit. And he brushed off the initial feeling of his breathing getting worse, thinking it was just a side effect of the injuries or being stuck in the Upside Down.

It wasn't until later, when they were all in the hospital waiting room that he realized it was much worse. In the chaos of the week, he couldn't remember the last time he'd taken his inhaler. And now, his chest was getting tighter and tighter, as if someone was pulling a belt around his chest, he felt breathless, trying to suck in as much air as possible, and loud wheezes coming with every breath. And he was feeling dizzy and disorientated. He knew that it could only be an asthma attack, his first in several years. He wanted to alert someone, but the breathlessness kept getting worse, and he felt unable to speak. His vision started to cloud over, and he knew he was in trouble.

When he came to, he was in a hospital bed. An oxygen mask over his mouth and nose, an IV in his arm. He turned his head to the side to see Robin in the chair next to his bed.

"Dingus, what the fuck? You just fainted out of nowhere. I thought your bites had gotten too bad or infected, which they have by the way. But then the nurse and doctor came over and were more concerned about your breathing, and said you were having a severe asthma attack. Like so bad you could have died. You never even told me you have asthma. And you need surgery to fix the bites, but the doctor said that won't be possible until your asthma is stable, because the anesthesia drugs could be dangerous." Robin rambled, obviously having pent up her anxiety and worry about Steve's health.

"I'm sorry." Steve mumbled. "I didn't mean to worry you. I didn't realize it had gotten so bad until it was so bad I couldn't talk."

"But why didn't you tell me you have asthma? And how long have you had it?" Robin asked.

"I didn't tell you because it's normally well controlled, I rarely have any problems. It's not been that bad for ages. I've not had an attack since '82, maybe? Early sophomore year at the latest. But with everything, I forgot to take my inhaler. And with everything else, like the bad air in the Upside Down, it triggered it. And I've had asthma since I was a baby." Steve explained, his chest still felt tight, but with the oxygen mask, it made it much easier to speak.

"I thought you were going to say it was some macho bullshit of not wanting to be seen as weak. But, Steve, I want to know these things about you. Because I never want to see you like that again. I don't want to think about what would have happened if we had been somewhere that wasn't a hospital." Robin said, quickly wiping her eyes.

"I'm sorry, Robin. I'll tell you everything from now on." Steve squeezed her hand, and they lapsed into silence. Steve taking the time to focus on each breath, willing himself to feel better.

#steve harrington #robin buckley #platonic stobin #asthmatic steve harrington #atimeofyourwrites

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adudelolwriting · 3 months

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Lord was dying.

He knew his time would come eventually. But she didn't want to die fighting Chosen. Lord never wanted to hurt Chosen, and he wanted to die peacefully next to Chosen's side.

But Lord never got what she wanted, did she?

His vision was dark, now. Every inch of her skin was stinging and burnt. His breathing was labored — it took so much just to breathe in, and then breathe out.

Lord was dying.

Lord was dead.

Maybe she's been dead since the start. Being created by Noogia3 all those years ago caused him to die. Fighting Chosen these past years caused her to die.

Being laser blasted by a new hollowhead had caused him to die.

It was fun while it lasted, wasn't it? Spending time with Chosen the past year. Stargazing. Picnics. Baking cookies together.

Yeah, it was nice, Lord thought to herself as she felt her own life force slowly draining, her color fading, I wouldn't change it for the world.

His eyes felt heavy as he blinked, and in his final breaths, of course he started to hallucinate.

A coughing fit racked itself through Lord's body. Weakly, she softly said, "hey, Cho, come here often?" A small smile fell on his face, feeling the light trickle of blood fall from his lips. Chosen was crying, for some reason, and Chosen's mouth was moving with no words being said. Chosen looked back over Chosen's shoulder, but there wasn't anything there.

"The silent…. treatment?" Lord coughed again, lungs burning as the charred skin twisted and contorted. Lord wheezed for a couple moments, letting out a breathless laugh. A second hollowhead now was worryingly looking over Lord's body now — the orange one, the one that killed Lord.

I want to remember the good times, Lord thought as she closed her eyes, I don't want to see the kid who killed me. I want to remember Chosen.

Lord was dead.

Lord was dead…

Right?

He opened his eyes, only to reclose them and hiss in pain. She was not outside anymore. After a moment of shallow breathing, he noticed his breathing felt limited. She opened her eyes once more, and saw she was completely covered in bandages.

This was not what the Afterlife would have been like. Why do you have to heal from the injuries that killed you? That seems ineffective.

Lord looked to his left, and saw an IV drip placed in his arm, with a few different bags of liquid connecting to it. Her eyebrows furrowed, and she carefully reached over and yanked the IV out of her arm.

"Hey!! Don't do that!" A voice said, and Lord's head instantly shot over towards a blue stick figure. "It's okay — It's me, Blue? We're trying to help you get better."

Lord's eyes froze on a large scar across the child's face. The scar that she gave them. Lord knew he was a shitty stick, but Cursor, did his personal hell really have to have the child he killed in a haze be his caretaker?

The kid — Blue — called for somestick named Yellow, who was fully dressed in some doctor's outfit. Cliche much?

"Oh good, you're actually awake. You need to keep that IV in, okay? It's giving you some potions and water for your system." Yellow smiled. "I'm just gonna put this IV back in, okay?"

Lord jumped as Yellow was now right next to her. His hand was gently resting on Lord's wrist before she yanked it back, gaining a small shout from the two stick figures in the room. Her lips pulled back, showing her razor sharp teeth as she hissed at these two kids.

Blue seemed in shock for a moment, before shaking their head. "We're trying to help you, Lord. Can Yellow please put the IV in? We can explain what each liquid is."

Lord… didn't give them her name. "How do… How do you know my name?" She asked, her throat hoarse like she had spent the past four hours screaming.

"Uh—" The two stick figures looked at each other. "Chosen told us. Do… Do you know where you are?"

Lord looked around the room. Now that she took a moment to look at it, she noticed how pixelated and… blocky everything was. Nothing like she's seen before. "Am I dead?"

"What — no! No, you're alive, and we're trying to heal you." Yellow glances over to Blue. "That's… kinda why we need to put the IV back in?"

A thought popped into Lord's head. "Where's Chosen?"

"He's outside, we can get him—"

Lord cringed instantly. "Chosen doesn't have pronouns."

"Oh, sorry. Uh, do you want to see Chosen? We can go get h— Chosen for you?" Blue asked. "We just — we really need the IV back, or you're gonna start hurting again."

Lord thought about it for a few moments. "I… I don't know. Does… Chosen even want to see me?"

"Of course! Chosen's still here, waiting for you to wake up. Chosen doesn't know if you want to see Chosen, either."

"I… I want to see Chosen. Could you explain what… you're putting in my body while you get Chosen?" Lord asked, eyeing the few IV bags.

Blue perked up as Yellow left the room. Blue explained that there's a water IV, one for fire resistance(??) and one for regeneration(????), and that Lord was already looking better than when she first got here. "We'll have to wait for Yellow to come back so he can put the IV back in your arm." Blue sighs, smiling, though Lord can see the fear in their eyes. "Only me and Yellow are allowed in here, and uh… once Yellow goes through the normal doctor-y stuff, did you want us to leave so you and Chosen could… I don't know, talk, or something?"

"Yeah, I think that'll probably be the best course of action. Why isn't anyone else allowed in here?"

"Well, Yellow's our doctor cause he's super smart, and I know a lot about potions that can help people! Plus, um—" Lord could tell they were making up a lie on the spot "— Yellow doesn't want anyone else to scare you or overcrowd you."

It was clear that they were scared of Lord. It makes sense everyone would be terrified — she's honestly surprised Blue and Yellow were keeping a solid conversation happening with her. "Right."

A few more minutes passed before Yellow and The Chosen One walked into the room. Even though Chosen's face remains frozen, Lord knows Chosen well enough to see the array of emotions fly through Chosen's eyes.

"I explained what all the thingies are for," Blue told Yellow, "and you're okay with putting the IV back in, right?"

Lord nods, not breaking eye contact with Chosen. Yellow went to her left side, and installed a new IV into the crook of her elbow. Gauze was wrapped around her wrist, where she didn't even notice she was bleeding. Once Yellow finished, she saw Blue silently nod, and the two walked out of the room.

Only The Chosen One and The Dark Lord.

The silence was dampening. The two continued to stare at each other, before Lord sighed and tapped the chair next to the bed. "C'mere," Lord mumbled. Chosen walked over, sitting down next to Lord.

"Why did you do it?"

Lord inhaled deeply at that question. "Depends on what you're asking about." His head hit the back of the bed. "The whole virus thing? To enact revenge on Noogia. The… the damn code then took over after you hit me, and I just — I needed to kill you, and… I hurt those kids because I couldn't control myself."

"You killed them."

Lord rolled her eyes. "You know what I mean. I hurt them, and they're still trying to help me. They should have left me to rot."

Chosen's eyes soften. "Don't say that, Lord. You know that's not true." Chosen takes her hand in Chosen's own. It looks like Chosen wants to say something, before shaking Chosen's head and going against it.

It's been a few hours since Lord has woken up, and he and Chosen have been talking about mostly random things. Lord was already feeling much better — thank you awesome super healing factor — and Yellow had stopped back in to check on him.

"It looks like everything should be okay. We might give you a few potions of the turtle master to help with pain, but they make you kinda groggy. Other than that, you should be good to go!" Yellow said excitedly while he changed the bandages.

"Oh my cursor," Lord said suddenly as a thought clicked, "you guys are game smugglers."

Yellow's head tilted to the side. "What's that?"

"Taking stuff from a game into the Outernet, or game or whatever. You guys are young for that though, where did you learn it from?"

Yellow's face twisted into confusion. "Uh—"

"They don't know what that is," Chosen said. "They don't live in the Outernet. They live on Noogia's computer." Lord's head whipped around to face Chosen.

"We're on His PC?" She asked. "I swear to Cursors, I'm going—"

"—To do nothing. This is these kids' home. He's… changed. They have it better than I did."

The Dark Lord opened his mouth to retaliate, to say 'we need to fight back! For what He did to you!' but he can see the look in Chosen's eyes. The tiredness. She shut her mouth quickly.

Yellow silently finished changing Lord's bandages, doing an awkward clap. "Well! Looks like you're ready to go!"

"Thanks, kid. Sorry about the whole… y'know. Thing." Wow. Great job.

"It's okay—" It really wasn't. "— Something similar kinda happened before. Um — heads up, King and Purple are here so the desktop's a bit crowded right now." Lord gave the kids a thumbs up before standing up from the bed with the help of Chosen.

Yeah, this was fun while it lasted, Lord thought, opening the door while leaning on Chosen's shoulder, but it'll be even better after this is over.

#adude.writes #animator vs animation #ava #alan becker #the dark lord #the chosen one #tdl #tco #yellow ava #blue ava #hurt/comfort #potions are used as medical equipment LMAO #not beta read

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ask-the-clergy-bc · 1 year

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This is a small silly request, but any hcs on how the papas react to their s/o that has a funny laugh? Like for me I end up snorting if I’m laughing too hard. So something from snorting to wheezing while they laugh(or anything else you can think of)

This is so cute! XD I'm happy to write this one!

Papas with an S/O That has a Funny Laugh

Papa Nihil: Adores it so much. It brings so much joy into his life! According to Nihil you just sound so excited and full of life when you laugh! At first you thought he was laughing AT you, but you've come to find he's laughing with you! He'd also have no room to talk. Ever since he was a young man he's always done this thing where if he makes himself laugh too hard he just starts wheezing. Nihil's laughing too hard laugh just sounds like he's been smoking cigars every day since he was born.

Papa I: If anything he finds your laugh wonderfully unique and sometimes adorable. Especially if you're the type to wheeze or snort giggle when you get too worked up. If you laugh during the rare time Papa tries to be witty and make a joke you make him feel validated that his humor isn't just, "dry old man humor." He has admitted to you at least once that your laugh is one of the ways he finds you in a crowd. It's one of your qualities that never fails to charm him and bring a smile to his face.

Papa II: You were very reluctant to start seeing him romantically at first because of your laugh. Mainly because you were afraid he'd either find you annoying or that you were forcing yourself to laugh around him to suck up to him- both of which he hated. But he seemed unphased by your laugh when he accidentally got you going with a dry comment he made. You thought he was going to scowl at you but instead he smiled and nodded. He finds your laugh very honest and sincere. Because to him, there are too many people who try to cover their insecurities to 'impress' him. He just wants someone unafraid to be themselves.

Papa III: Your laugh makes his entire day, especially if you have a loud one. Mainly because he loves to laugh and loves to make YOU laugh! You having such a strong reaction gives him a sense of pride in jokes and general mischief. And if you ever felt self conscious of it? Papa will tell you that you should never be ashamed for having something so unapologetically your own! Who WANTS to sound like other people? Your laugh is just yours! And it's AMAZING! Honestly, like Nihil, he probably finds excuses to make you laugh when he can!

Papa IV/Cardinal Copia: Funnily enough, he's always been self conscious of his own laugh. Copia has been told many times he laughs like a weasel or very rodent like. So to know his partner, the person who has his upmost respect and adoration for, has an unconventional laugh makes him so happy. He's never judged you for your laugh. In fact, he thinks it's beautiful how much pure joy is in it! It makes him smile in pride every time one of his corny jokes gets you to cackle or snort. And he can't think of a greater time than you laughing together!! You make him feel less strange about his nasally laugh!

#the band ghost #ghost bc #ghost headcanons #ghost reader insert #reader insert #gender neutral reader #papa nihil #papa emeritus i #papa emeritus ii #papa emeritus iii #papa emeritus iv #cardinal copia

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simpletale-officiale · 8 months

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*Grotto pulls up in the Multiverse bar, cigarette on its teeth as it tries to seem like a beefy delinquent punk who smokes*

*It makes its way over to 404 and rolls to seduce him for information.*

"So--"

*cough, hack, wheeze*

"--I haven't seen you he--"

*It chokes on the cigarette smoke some more.*

*It casually holds the cancer stick between its fingers instead as to not look even more like a fool.*

"You seem like you're here a lot, pretty boy. You wouldn't happen to know somebody named Mr. Sin, would you...?"

*I immediately start blushing and feeling butterflies inside my stomach. Much akin to rolling a natural 1, I completely ignore how desperately you are attempting to seduce me and assume you're genuinely into me due to you looking directly into my face rather than my blue screen and you being the first person in years to be directly interacting with me.*

well u-P-P-PRETTY?! =0_0=

I-I-i... th-th-thank you...? >√>

*Despite of me wanting to believe this as an act of love, my consciousness denies me of fully acknowledging this as I have extremely horrific trust issues after being dumped by Error and do not want to appear weird if this was just an average homie activity.*

*Before you can even finish your sentence I immediately start traumadumping as I assume you want to know more about my extremely real and important lore.*

OH YOU WANT TO KNOW ABOUT THE ALTERNATE TIMELINE THAT THE ALTERNATE ME IS FROM?!

OOOOHHHHH MY GOOOOODDDD IVE BEEN WAITING TO JUST GEEK OUT ABOUT IT!!!

so theres this alternative version of me which claims to have been made for anarchy and that I was programmed in some type of way to like get these 2 timelines togheter or something but whats important is that everyone in this world is like based off people from this world and like way cooler and hotter in every way but he claims to be close to this guy called Cross who is "the chosen" or some shit but whats weird is that there is nobody called cross sans in this world and he seems to only exist in that world which completely goes against the fact everyone is based off something unle-

*I finally register what you were actually saying.*

What.

I do not know of this "sin" you speak of or why you think I'd know anything about that but all we know is that the moon is weird i dont want to hear any of your crazy theories about it and honestly my trust for you has horribly declined after this never talk to me again you fucking loser

*Read my consciousness.*

we had to do some.... experimental surgery on frosty after their incident in the fryer.

they call themselves "darth frosty" now? weird. they really want revenge at grotto. seems they suceeeded!

#cw link has to do with self-harm #simpletale #simpleverse #error 404 #404 sans #404 IF HE WAS GOOD #complextale #simple pre-scratch #OUR complextale. not anyones else #darth vader #russ art

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lostgirlfandom · 1 year

Text

Just a Security Guard

Part IV

Pairing: Frank Castle x GN!Reader x Matt Murdock

Warnings: Injured Matt, blood

Words: 1.3k

It was your off day.

And what do most people do on their off days? Relax.

And that’s exactly what you were doing. Sitting on your couch with your TV pulled up with the current show you were trying to get caught up on, having missed most pop culture stuff you decided to immerse yourself in media and pop culture. You held a cup of tea in between your palms and sat cross legged on the couch as you watched a show.

Sitting in sweats and a baggy t-shirt, you felt a little nudging at your gut making you look towards your balcony just as Daredevil himself tripped onto it.

“Oh, shit.” You spat out as you sat your mug down on the coffee table and rushed to open the door. Getting to his side, you saw he was breathing fine but fast with a soft wheeze every now and then. “Hey, Hun. You awake?” You asked as you put two fingers on his pulse at his neck, seeing that his pulse was fast.

His head was moving slowly side to side but he groaned. The arm opposite you laid across is torso and you cursed again. “Alright, I’m going to pick you up and bring you inside.”

Using your strength, you gently picked him up and brought him inside and laying him on the couch. You rushed to move the coffee table further away from the couch and then closing the balcony door. Turning up the heat a little bit in your apartment to warm him up more before rushing to get your first aid kit.

Setting you bag down on the table and kneeling down at his side, you asked “Hey, I need you stay awake. Can you tell me where you’re hurt?”

You watched his face scrunch up with a grimace as his hand patted his chest. “R-...ribs and –and" he rasped out before licking his lips. “My head is ringing.”

His head faced towards you after he spoke. “Will you let me look?” Your hands hovered over him, waiting for permission to take his suit off.

He nodded very softly but you caught it and rushed to pull the top of his suit off without hurting him.

You hissed through your teeth as you saw the bruising that created a big picture over his right side, bright purple and blues decorated his side down to his hip. Smaller bruises were spread out over the rest of his torso. “Fucking hell.” You whispered out as you reached out to feel his ribs for breakage. “I’m gonna press as gently as I can to feel for any breaks, okay hun.” You tell him and he grunts softly.

His breathing was slowed down and you could tell he was trying to keep it steady but it struggled a few times.

You frowned in concern as you felt around his ribs. You let out a sigh of relief. “Well, good news is you didn’t break any but they are good and bruised.”

You watched as he frowned and grimaced more.

Matt didn’t know why he came here. He supposed that since this was the closest place to where he finished his job, he just subconsciously made his way here. Landing on your balcony was luck since he wasn’t a hundred percent if this one was yours.

Everything was muffled but he could still hear your words... hear the genuine concern in your tone. He could feel your gentle touch that handled him with care that he hasn’t experienced in a long while.

Matt could feel the tug at his chest, the want to feel your touch again and again made his chest ache. He zoned in on that feeling as you checked out his chest.

He’s never felt this ache with anyone before. He felt a similar ache when you were telling your story, the need and want to protect you from all the shit you had been through. While your tone barely revealed the pain you felt at your past, he could sense that you weren’t exactly over what had happened to you. Matt admired you... so much for how strong you are to push through all of that and be the genuine person you are today.

The feeling of your hands on his jaw line broke him from his headspace and he focused more on you. He sighed and turned his head into one of your hands, into your touch.

“-allow me to check your head?” You asked firmly.

“Yeah...” He spoke after a moment of thought. He felt secure in his decision to allow you to take his mask off but he still tensed up with a small bit of paranoia.

You took a moment to soothe him with a caress of your thumb on his jaw. Noticing how softly he spoke and his body was tensed up.

Being extremely gentle, you pushed his mask up and off his head.

Setting the mask on your coffee table, your hands reached forward to see any injury he had on his head while your eyes took in his facial expressions. Finding a knot on his head, he grimaced and hissed through his teeth. You softly apologized as you removed your hands.

You took in his soft facial features and absent of dilation of his eyes, confirming your theory of him being blind. But you know from your time of working with Clint that no one should underestimate people.

“Most of its bruising so I’ll get something to ice it. But you need to rest to get the healing process started. You can stay here and I’ll help as much as I can. I’m assuming your hearing is a little off? Being hit in the head will do that. I think it’ll be okay after some rest, if it doesn't go away after 24 hours, I will take you to someone.” You told him firmly as you softly brushed back his hair from his forehead.

His eyes fluttered at the gentle caress and hummed, his jaw clenching and unclenching as he thought over your words.

Finally, he nodded through a sigh. “Okay. But I’ll get out of your hair as soon as possible.” He softly rasped out.

You gave a soft chuckle. “Just rest, okay. Stubborn.” You shook your head as you stood up to go to your fridge. As you took a step, his hand gently reached out for your hand and missed, just grazing it but you stopped and grabbed it while looking down at him.

“Thank you.” He spoke out before licking his lips.

“Of course... I got you.” You told him with a small smile as your thumb brushed his hand.

He let go as you turned to get him some ice for his bruising.

Matt let a small smile grow on his face as his eyes closed as he relaxed into the couch.

Coming back with some ice packs, you set them on his side and then quickly getting a fluffy blanket and covering him with it. He hummed as his left hand came up to feel the fabric. Silently thanking that it wasn’t cotton or rough.

“Whenever you feel good enough to sit up, we can ice the knot on your head later.” You told him as you sat down on the coffee table. “Are you good right now? Nothing else hurting?”

He turned his head to the sound of your voice. “At the moment, just my side and head hurt the most. I think one of my knees has a bruise too. I just fell a little wrong out of a window.”

You scoffed and shook your head. “You just feel out of window... is that an everyday thing?” You teased.

Finally, a grin broke out on his face that you can see and he nibble the side of his lip before answering. “Not every day...”

“Oh, honey...” You sighed though a chuckle. You sighed and then reached out to brush the hair on his forehead back again.

He sighed at your touch, enjoying the warmth it filled him with.

#matt murdock imagine #matt murdock fanfiction #matt murdock one shot #matt murdock x reader #frank castle x reader x matt murdock #daredevil one shot #daredevil imagine #frank castle one shot #frank castle imagine #frank castle x reader #frank castle fanfiction #marvel imagine #marvel one shot #marvel fanfiction #the punisher x reader #the punisher one shot #the punisher imagine

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