#the crickets are now outside where they belong

[lordofthecherubs]

You're so pretty when I'm all over your mouth

“Oh, cowboy, I’m going to eat you alive.”

“Please, do.”

And you were going to lick the plate clean.

Warnings/Tags: Smut. 18+ only. Minors DNI. Takes place during the Shady Belle Arc. Reader is a vampire.

The sound of crickets chirping amongst the soft breeze the wind provided was all that distracted you from what was truly on the forefront of your mind right now.

It was that time of the month.

And no, not that time. This was something different.

It was time for you to feed.

Typically, whenever you had these urges, they would go away from simply taking the blood of various animals that you hunted. That’s why you always liked to go hunting alone, unlike Hosea or Charles.

This would have been an easy effort to maintain had it not been for Dutch constantly making the gang move from place to place due to his inability to keep quiet and stay out of the limelight. Constantly having to pack up and go as quick as you could, it reminded you all too much of the incidents in Blackwater, where you lost Jenny and Davey. If only you had more time, you might’ve been able to save them. But you were weak then, and you’re becoming weak now.

Now, the gang resides in a camp they call Shady Belle. It was pretty spacious in comparison to other places you had stayed, an abandoned home in the center of the property. Some members of the gang got to stay inside it, while the rest opted (some more begrudgingly than others), to remain outside in their tents. While Miss Grimshaw had originally wanted you take a place inside the building, you declined; insisting it belong to Abigail and Jack.

So, here you were in your tent. It was on the smaller side, and only provided a slight amount of privacy. Not that you needed much, given the fact the gang had all seen each other at their worst and their best. However, given your… condition, it would’ve been nice to have a place where you weren’t entirely aware of everything going on around you. Along with the urge to drain the blood out of somethings body for your own sake, your senses were heightened. Every smell, feeling, and noise was on another level. You couldn’t miss the way you heard slightly heavy breaths from the tent nearest to yours if you tried. It was Arthur’s tent.

Arthur was one of the most respected members in the gang. In a way, it was like he was Dutch’s son. He also happened to be one of the few who could bring you out of your shell, as strange as that sounded. He was just different. Of course you liked to hang around and drink with the guys, while simultaneously spending time with the women and helping with chores. But you couldn’t help but detach yourself from them. You were hiding something. They were not.

Maybe Arthur was too. Maybe that’s why you feel like you can be yourself around him.

Maybe that’s why the way his slightly musky scent drifting into your direction made your mouth water.

No, stop it. Do not feed on people. Especially people you know.

You couldn’t help but shift around in your makeshift bed, the only thought consuming your head being hunger. Perhaps it would be best to just go hunt a rabbit, but it was far too risky to go alone as you felt yourself growing weaker by the minute.

Letting out a low groan of annoyance, you shoved your paling face into your pillow, hoping that maybe you’d be able to just sleep it off. The sound of crickets and frogs along the shore filled your ears, and you urged yourself to just go to sleep, forcing your eyes shut.

A throat cleared itself behind you.

Almost instantly, you shot up into a defensive position, having not heard whoever it was walk up to where you were.

“Jesus, I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

Arthur.

You relaxed back onto your bed, sighing out in relief before making eye contact with the man in front of you.

“It’s okay, you didn’t scare me, just hadn’t heard you walk up is all.” You half-lied.

The cowboy let out a laugh. “Didn’t scare you? You looked like a bat outta hell!”

You’re sure he didn’t intend for that to be a pun.

“I just came to see if you were alright. You been tossin’ and turnin’ all night by the sounds of it.”

Of course he noticed.

Arthur noticed a lot of things when it came to you, weirdly enough. He took note of how your skin was always cold despite sitting in front of the campfire, and the way your ears were able to hear things that he wouldn’t have until a few minutes later.

“Oh.” You began to grow nervous, rubbing the back of your neck. “Y-yeah, I’m alright, couldn’t really get to sleep.”

He nodded, pretending not to see through the way you were lying to him. He was determined to dig deeper, for some reason.

“You wanna go on a walk with me?”

***

Upon reaching the entrance of the Shady Belle property, you found Arthur waiting for you, a cigarette hanging from his lips.

“All ready to go?” He asked, tossing it to the ground before grinding it down beneath his boot.

All you did was nod, hoping he would take the lead with things tonight.

It couldn’t have been any later than midnight, you were surprised at his admission to not being able to sleep either. Normally, you’d be able to strike up a playful conversation with Arthur easily. But tonight, you were on edge. You hoped he didn’t notice.

As the two of you headed deeper into the forest surrounding the camp, Arthur broke the silence again.

“So, what’s got you up all night, cowpoke? Regretting not taking a room in the house now?” He joked, though you could tell his question was coming from a place of genuine concern.

You forced a laugh, fiddling with the leather of your holster. “I guess you could say that,” you quietly agreed, avoiding eye contact. There was a heat burning in your chest. God, did he smell this good all the time?

“You’re not lyin’ to me now, are ya?” The cowboy pressed, stopping in his tracks beside a tree.

You looked up, attempting to read his face for a motive. But, classic Arthur Morgan style, he lowered his head, leaving his face covered by a black cowboy hat.

You didn’t have the energy to play along with his games tonight.

“And if I am?”

You hadn’t meant it to sound like a challenge, but the humid warmth of the air sticking to your skin mixed with his overbearingly strong scent, you couldn’t help but grow antsy.

Arthur raised his head, green eyes piercing into yours. His expression remained unreadable, though you could tell he was searching for what to say, leaving the tension between you two so thick it could be cut with a knife.

The outlaw didn’t hide the way he looked you up and down, and had it been anyone else, you wouldn’t have welcomed his approaching proximity so easily.

Standing before you, staring down at you, you couldn’t make out what he was trying to do. Intimidate you? That wasn’t like him.

At first, you remained looking at his chest, a button down shirt was all that stayed in your line of sight before him.

“Look at me,” He softly said. “Please.”

Inhaling sharply, you raised your head, craning your neck upwards to find his gaze. “If somethin’s botherin’ you, if someone did somethin’…” He trailed off, examining your face for any emotion.

You let a few beats pass before answering. You needed time to think. What do you say to that? You can’t tell him what’s really going on, but you didn’t want to lie either.

The wind blew a couple leaves around the two of you, stray pieces of hair on Arthur’s forehead moving along with them. You bit your tongue momentarily, as if that would satiate the urge to sink your teeth into the exposed skin of his slightly unbuttoned shirt.

This was becoming impossible.

“It’s nothing like that, Arthur. I-It’s…” You focused on your words carefully. “It’s just something you wouldn’t understand.”

A bit harsh, but sometimes things needed to be that way. Otherwise he’d confuse you for glass and see right through you.

You could tell he was a bit hurt by those words, the way his jaw clenched was proof enough. However, he wanted to help. He wasn’t satisfied with that answer.

“Then help me understand.”

The cowboy stepped closer. Closer than he had ever been before. It was all becoming too much, those same heightened senses betraying you all at once. His slightly sweaty skin shining in the moonlight, looking so desperate to have your teeth sunk into it. His overbearing scent filling your nose, making your mouth water.

Your heart raced in your chest.

“I don’t know if I can, Arthur.”

Thinking logically, what could you even say to him? Hey, Arthur, I know we’ve been running together in the gang for this long, but I forgot to mention that I’m a vampire! And, if you step any closer to me, I may lose my mind, draining your blood in the process!

Knowing Arthur, there were two reactions he could have to that. Laughing in your face, or killing you on the spot.

Both were not favorable.

Calloused fingers caressed your face, his palm held your cheek upwards to ensure you were looking at him.

“Try. For me, cowpoke.”

Maybe this is how he would kill you.

Maybe you would like it.

You were sure your eyes were glazed over at this point. Your fangs poked the inside of your cheek, and your mouth filled with saliva at the way his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. You wouldn’t last much longer like this.

With a shaky breath, you decided it was now or never.

“There’s just… something I need, but can’t exactly get. At least— not on my own.” You attempted to explain, lacking attention in the possible underlying tones your words carried.

Arthur gulped, sweat growing behind his neck. Clearly, his mind had gone south. “You mean…”

You knew what he thought you meant, and you stepped closer to where he stood, the already small distance between the two of you was nearly entirely closed up.

“No, Arthur,” You nearly pushed yourself forward into his chest, grasping at his shoulder to make him lean down, attempting to get your voice in his ear.

“I want your blood.” You said, just above a whisper.

Arthur pulled back, wanting to meet your eyes and make sense of the situation. What he was met with would never leave his head.

The once confident outlaw cowboy nearly buckled his knees at your gaze. Your eyes, full of want, something he thought he would never see from you in his life.

Chills ran up and down his spine, the same he’d get but never admit to having when finding himself cornered by an enemy.

Only, these were different. He almost wanted to lean into it. He almost needed it.

You looked at him like he was a meal.

Something stiffened in his pants.

And you could smell it. The aroma of arousal flooded you, making you swipe your tongue out from inside your mouth and slide over your lips. It was then that he caught a glimpse of your fangs, eyes widening.

The man realized he hadn’t spoken up since your initial comment, clearing his throat the same way he did when he creeped up on you at your tent.

“You can have it. It’s yours.”

What a careless thing to say.

In an instant, almost like a choreographed dance, you launched yourself forward, Arthur wrapping his hands around your waist as you clung to him, listening to the way your breathing grew heavy beside his ear.

“Mine, huh?” You heaved, teasingly dragging your teeth along his neck, loving the way he weakly lowered himself to his knees, soon laying flat on his back with you straddled on top of him.

Your palms laid flat against his chest, and you leaned down to lick over the spot you intended to sink your teeth into. Your jaw fell slack as you prepared to take your feast, but you paused when you felt something poke your behind.

A devious laugh erupted from you. “What’s this?” You asked, reaching a hand behind you to palm at his throbbing erection.

Arthur wiped a hand down his face. “Can’t help it when you’re on me like this, angel.”

Angel. His chosen term of endearment was angel. You could hear the way his heart pounded in his chest, the mixed scent of fear and arousal clouded around him, and he still called you angel.

Pressing your hips down to grind against him, you drank in the way he threw his head back instantly, his hat knocking off his head to display messy brown hair.

"Oh, cowboy, I’m going to eat you alive.”

“Please, do.”

And you were going to lick the plate clean.

The heat of his skin was becoming too much for you to hold back any longer, nearly launching forward towards his neck with your teeth bared. Without any warning, you snapped your fangs into him. The skin was soft, though tender, given the fact that he was a muscular man.

And he whined.

Arthur Morgan, killer, robber, and wanted man across states and cities, whined.

The cowboy’s firm hand steadied on your hips, his grip nearly bruising. The feeling of his neck being punctured into and fed from left him lightheaded, and he pleaded with himself to not pass out. He didn’t want to miss a single moment of this.

The sound of you humming feverishly against his skin, nails digging into his shoulders, and the slight continuous grind of your hips onto where he needed it most, he felt like he was in a dream.

After a few minutes, the initial point of penetration didn’t hurt anymore, leaving his senses to align with what he was feeling next. To ask a man with as limited of a vocabulary as he had to describe the feeling of the blood being drained from his body was a mistake. Because, he wouldn’t know what to say, other than that it was perfect.

The same way Reverend Swanson was addicted to substances, or John to troublemaking, he could become addicted to this.

Time passed, and you eventually pulled away, a mess of drool and blood left on the cowboys neck and your lips.

He wanted to kiss you. Your lips were swollen and covered in the red substance, your hair a mess atop your head, and your eyes half-lidded. He needed to kiss you.

“I’m sorry, that was probably really—“

The same rough hand from before grabbed behind your neck, pulling you down to his lips for a desperately rough kiss, the metallic taste of himself causing him to buck his hips upwards into nothing.

It had to be nearing morning now. The air had lost it’s humidity, and if not for the heat growing between the two of you, it would’ve been cold enough for goosebumps to litter your skin.

The cowboy didn’t hear a word you said, regaining his strength and flipping you over so that he was now on top of you.

You couldn’t help but feel embarrassed beneath him.

“Aw, gone shy on me now, cowpoke?” Arthur teased, brushing a lock of hair away from your face.

He leaned down and kissed you again, though this time, he didn’t remain on your lips for long. The scruff of his stubble prodded against your skin as he lowered himself down, kissing your neck and collarbones.

“You said you were gonna eat me alive, right, angel?” He asked, holding himself up to look down at you.

Your cheeks flushed, and you nodded, avoiding his eyes.

“Looks like you held back. Can’t have been easy for you, sweet thing, I know,” He paused, grabbing your cheeks roughly to force you to look at him. “I think you deserve a reward.”

Brows pitched upwards on your face, your hips subconsciously rolled upwards at his gravelly voice and sudden dominant nature.

A smirk filled the outlaws face, and he reached down to undo the top buttons of your pants.

“Now, you’re not so desperate you’d take my blood and want me to fuck you, are you cowpoke?”

Biting down on your lip, you didn’t care that you nearly caused yourself to bleed.

Arthur’s large hand reached into your pants, his fingers prodding over the wet spot in your panties.

He hummed. “Guess you are.”

You reached out to dig your nails into his arm as he rubbed his fingers against your bundle of nerves, silently pleading with him for more.

“Gotta use your words, angel. Can’t know what you want ‘less you tell me.”

“P-please, Arthur…need you,” You pleaded, opting to reach down and pull down your pants for him.

The cowboy stopped you in your tracks, pulling them down gently the rest of the way, admiring the way your slick glistened in the moonlight.

He couldn’t wait any longer. He was growing light-headed from the blood loss, and if his pants got any tighter, he might’ve lost his mind right then and there.

With that, he shoved his own pants down along with his boxers, revealing his length to you.

At first, you stared, shocked. The way it bobbed upwards and throbbed, leaking from the tip, you felt bad for teasing him.

Then, gone went your own undergarments, your bottom half on full display to Arthur. If someone told you a few hours ago you’d be in the situation you were in right now, you’d laugh in their face.

But here you are, Arthur Morgan on top of you, lining himself up with your dripping mess of a cunt.

“If it’s too much, tell me.” He said, clearly trying to keep his composure above you.

All it took was a nod, and he slowly pushed himself forward into you, causing you both to gasp.

The grip you had on his arm tightened, the slight pain of him stretching you out engulfing your senses.

Arthur, on the other hand, was doing everything in his power not to slam himself into you without any time to adjust.

He was nicer than that, so he refrained by biting down on his lip. He wouldn’t last long like this, with the way you were so tight around him, pulling him deeper inside.

Once he was fully inside you, Arthur allowed you some time to get used to him, admiring the way you looked beneath him.

“Just tell me when you’re—“

“For the love of God, Arthur. If you don’t move I’m going to lose my mind.” You didn’t have to tell him twice.

Pulling out slightly, then thrusting forward, he couldn’t help the way a groan slipped past his lips.

But it was nothing compared to you. Typically, you liked to remain modest and not cause too much commotion. Though, was that at all possible when a cowboy just let you drink his blood, and was now fucking you like it was nothing?

It was almost overwhelming, the way you both came together like this. You had been so wound up, the feeling of the band in your stomach snapping was approaching rapidly, and it didn’t help when he reached down and began to rub at your clit, a new wave of pleasure added on top of what you were already experiencing.

It was all too much, really. In the best way possible.

“A-Arthur, ‘m close…” You warned, eyes nearly shut as you whined loudly.

“I know, angel, me too,” He said between thrusts, groaning out momentarily. “Need you to be good and cum for me, okay? Can you do that, darlin’?”

You nodded quickly, as if you had any say in the matter.

It all happened so fast, white-hot pleasure you had never felt before ripping through your entire body, tears filling your eyes as you reached a climax like no other. Not far behind, Arthur’s speed was growing sloppy, and he readied to pull himself out of you, but you grabbed his arm again.

“Inside, please,” You begged, cheeks stained with tears as you looked up at him. Almost instantly, that was enough for him. His hips snapped forward, releasing himself inside of you as per your wishes.

The sound of labored breathing filled your ears as he fell down on top of you, catching his breath. You were content to lay on the ground like this with him forever if he’d let you, but you knew he would have questions as soon as he gathered his senses.

Arthur rolled off of you, matching you by laying on his own back, his hand wiping sweat from his forehead.

A beat of silence.

“…So, you’re a vampire, then?”

You wanted to giggle at the bluntness of his question.

“Yes, you could call it that,” You hummed, turning your head to look at him. A drop of blood began to slide down his neck, and you almost instantly shot your hand forward to wipe it with your thumb, bringing it to your mouth.

It was greedy. But he liked it.

Another beat of silence.

“D’you think the camp heard us?”

You both erupted into laughter, soon ending in the cowboy pulling you onto himself, assaulting your face with kisses.

“Been wantin’ to do that for a while now, cowpoke.”

You met his eyes. “Do what? Fuck me in the woods just outside camp, or let me suck your blood?”

Arthur flicked your forehead gently.

“Kiss you, smartass.”

So he did it again. And again. And again until you had to push him away because it started to tickle you, and the rising sun began to appear in the corner of your eye.

“We should head back, Arthur.”

“In a minute, I wanna see these things…” He muttered, using his fingers to part your jaw and expose your fangs. “Jesus! Those were inside my neck?”

Playfully, you bit down on his finger. “Sure were, now stop stalling.”

There were more questions that weighed on his mind, but he knew you probably wanted to get back and relieve yourself into some much needed sleep.

Helping you up, you leaned into his side while his arm wrapped around you, the two of you quietly making your way to camp, dawn breaking.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x you #vampire reader #red dead redemption 2 #Arthur Morgan x vampire reader #smut #rdr2 smut #vampire au #Arthur Morgan one shot #rdr2 #rdr2 fic #red dead redemption 2 fic #idk how tags work on here #Spotify

[sprout-fics]

Falling Down to Earth (Part Three)

(Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Medic "Fix" Reader)

Part Four of Snowblind (Formerly 'Of Shadows and Bones')

Rating: PG-13 Wordcount: 5.5k Tags: Slow Burn, Trauma, Found Family, Taskforce 141, Team Dynamics, Hurt/Comfort, Unreliable Narrator, Self Esteem Issues, Referenced Familial abuse, Mom Laswell, Domesticity, Reunions, Therapeutic healing, Sparring, Fluff, Happy Ending Warnings: References of childhood verbal abuse A/N: (See Ao3 for full author's notes)

Just like that, the autumn wind washes gently across your being.

It’s been weeks since you cried into Laswell’s arms in the dim, midnight light of her kitchen. Time has shifted since then, and the pull of the earth rotating endlessly under you now casts you into a hazy, resplendent golden glow of fall. The northeastern breeze cradles you as you lift your face to the late October sunshine, eyes closed and basking in the glory of the waning sunlight before winter’s eve. The aging trees that line the lane of Kate’s neighborhood begin to transform into amber and cognac, shifting against the crisp air where summer falls away with a gentle sigh.

It transforms you too, you think. The world is ever changing, evolving, turning itself over with death and renewal in a ceaseless evolution that seems to mirror the interior of your soul. You allow it to carry you, cradle you, and in your reverie you think about how despite everything, some things seem to stay the same.

“Grief is a funny thing.” You write in the journal Laswell has given you, a shawl draped across your shoulders, the crickets outside speaking of a time well past sunset. “I didn’t know that’s what it was until now. I’m still not sure what I’m grieving for, exactly. Maybe it’s for the things I missed because I didn’t let myself have them. Maybe it’s for the way I was treated. Maybe...it’s for the way I treated myself.”

You wake there come dawn, head bent against your arms, fingers tucked against the pages as if you still have so much more to say.

It’s not been so long since that night that you can’t remember the chest cracking sensation of your sobs, the way your fingers had stretched her shirt as you clung to Laswell in the solitude of her embrace. You think if you let your memories shift ephemeral across your thoughts you can still taste the salt of your tears, not unlike the ocean you were once so afraid of. It still roils under your gaze, held high on a precipice far above the waters. There lies your darkest nightmares, the haunting words of your father with his devastating prophecies. Yet it feels distant now, something caught in your shadow, but only when you turn to look. You know it will follow you, and that alone is enough to frighten you. Yet it is chased away by the brightness of the changed world around you.

The things Laswell said to you, her hushed words as you emptied yourself of sorrow into her arms remain with you. How she was sorry, how she was proud, how you belonged exactly where you wanted to be. You hold the words fast to your heart like a small, glowing lantern that burns a gentle flame. The fear, the anticipation and the dark chlorosis stays there too, but it’s different now. Changed, just like you.

Like the inexorable change of seasons, there’s something inside you that’s shifted now. Your paralytic fear and self-loathing keeps its place inside you, but the heaviness is no longer unbearable. You feel it lifted by a new, whispering updraft that buoys your healing wings and holds you delicately aloft against the sun. Sunlight dapples through dissipating storm clouds, and it streams through your fingers onto your wide-eyed, captivated gaze.

There’s things about the world around you you’ve never noticed until now, and in this new, profound wonder of yours you take it in with fluttering fascination that feels like the wingbeats of hope.

You notice the laughter of children in the afternoons when the school bus whines to a halt at the top of the lane, of the games they play and the call of their parents when it comes time for dinner. You notice the way black-eyed susans grow against the aged fence of Kate’s back yard, see a chipmunk sit and eat the dried seed heads. In the hours past sunset there’s a call of a barred owl from the aged oak that shadows the front yard. In the morning the rising sun reveals hovering particles of dust that float against the gauzy white curtains in the front room. Small things you’ve taken for granted now seem to mesmerize you, offering a glimpse of a world so much more delicate and beautiful than the one you thought you knew.

You notice the sound of your own voice now, how you’ve gone from quiet and subdued to something gentle but firm. You surprise yourself by how much you seem to say now, allow your own thoughts to echo into words. More than once you provide a quick comment to Kate or Paula and they pause, laugh at your humor, delighted and astonished at the things you’ve kept quiet until now. They notice the shift in your demeanor, look upon you with tender gazes that say little and yet convey so much. They’re watching you find your path, watching you balance delicately atop this new summit, arms spread like extended wings to hold yourself aloft. They hold your hands as you do, and you trust them to catch you should you stumble.

They take you to a fall festival, where the scent of maple curls across your senses. Paula stands over the produce stand and considers ingredients philosophically, and you sheepishly tug Laswell to go look at the petting zoo, to which she gives you a bemused look at your childlike fascination. When Paula fetches you to examine Halloween decorations Kate wanders off in search of coffee, returns to confess her secret adoration for cider-spiced flavors. You linger by the pumpkin patch, watch children struggle to hoist pumpkins larger than themselves. Paula nudes you meaningfully, and you carefully choose one for yourself, where it later sits on the steps up to the front door with a misshapen, lopsided grin.

“I know the sound of my own laughter now.” You write, and again that ache of grief and hope sits heavy in your chest, expands exponentially outwards as if your bones are barely enough to contain it. “I’d forgotten what it’s like to feel so much joy.”

The golden hour of afternoon spills through the windows of the office you visit each week, where conversations come easier to you now between you and your therapist. He smiles fondly at you as you struggle to reveal the things you’ve kept so tightly wound to yourself, trying and earnest and still learning the words to name the things you feel caught inside your hollow, filling heart.

You tell him everything you told Laswell and more. It’s a slow, grueling process. There’s so many things you’ve repressed and forgotten, and you learn you can’t remember them because it’s too painful, and that it’s alright. You learn the names of the things you experienced and learn how to balance them carefully against the weight of your soul, decide what is and isn’t worth remembering. He’s patient in a way you aren’t familiar with, and you smile at him gratefully when he gently suggests that it’s enough, and sends you home with a reminder to be kind to yourself.

It’s hard on some days, and you come back weary and ragged, overworn and crumpling into Kate and Paula’s arms. They hold you, keep you safe from the spiral of your own mind, and you learn how to let yourself be taken care of despite the tears that well in your eyes.

You learn that too- how to cry and not punish yourself for it.

Kate is patient as she reminds you over and over again the things she thinks of you, the things that are, and they balance against the words of your father, tip the scales so his prophecies are carried by the wind off the distant edge of the earth. You learn and keep the knowledge that you are so much more than what he thought of you.

“I didn’t realize just how much I’ve done with myself.” You write in your journal in the gentle cradle of evening. “I always thought it wasn’t enough, and maybe it still isn’t in some ways- but the things I’ve done mean a lot to me. I graduated university by myself, joined the military, got my medic training, made sergeant rank, got recruited by the CIA, and now I work with an international anti-terrorism taskforce.”

You pause.

“I’m still so young.”

You sometimes wonder what your father would think of you now, with all the things you’ve done, what they’d all think of you. The last time you’d spoken to your family had been shortly after your college graduation, when your mother had asked if you had gotten over your fierce independence and were ready to come home. You told her instead you were following through on your commitment to join the army. She’d been frantic and had handed the phone to your father. He’d only gotten three seconds of yelling before you had hung up and blocked all of them, curled into yourself in your dorm bunk and cried yourself empty.

You know reaching out would be only an attempt to prove yourself to them still, and you know now you don’t need them.

Instead, you look across the Atlantic, past the unfathomable depth of the ocean to the place where you belong. You look to them.

The team still hasn’t reached out, and you know it’s through no fault of your own. They’ve been deployed out of cellphone range for weeks now. Even if you tried to contact them the call wouldn’t go through. So you wait anxiously for them to return, thinking about all the things you want to tell them once you hear their voices.

Kate must take note of your anxious pacing when the worry becomes too much, because one weekend she tosses you a gym bag and tells you to be ready in ten minutes. You follow orders and clamber into the car with her, curious when she drives you out of the city and towards a subdued suburb with an aging strip mall, wherein lies what seems like a martial arts ring.

“Don’t tell Paula.” Kate levels at you with a pointed finger when she escorts you inside, and you hide a cheeky smile but cross your heart to never tell.

“Didn’t figure you for the type.” You levy back and watch as Kate rolls her shoulders while she wraps her hands. She has a lean build, narrow shoulders with stringy muscle that flexes under your eyes. She’s not strong so much as she is dexterous, agile in a way where the boys are not. They’re larger, packed with muscle that slows them down. Not Kate. Kate is lean, efficient, and fast.

You learn this quickly, as your typical approach to sparring with the boys becomes null and void against Kate’s quick onslaught, precise and practiced. A foot hooked around your ankle sends you sprawling the first time, and the second Kate uses your momentum to send you tumbling once more.

“I thought you never joined the military?” You wheeze from the mat as Kate stands over you.

“I didn’t.” She smirks and offers you a hand to stand. “I’ve just lived around soldiers long enough to pick up a few things.”

“More than a few things.” You gasp, doubling over to catch your breath as you rise. “Christ, Kate, that knocked the wind out of me.”

Laswell grins smugly. “That’s why we get back up.” She supplies, and you blink at the barely hidden nature of her words before feigning a roll of your eyes with a begrudging smile.

Kate stretches as she wanders away from you, looking very much like a cat in the sunshine, even with the pleased curl of her lips. It’s unfamiliar to you, the way she easily folds herself into the ring, seems at home here. Kate is a woman of many mysteries, and this itself feels like one of hundreds you’ve yet to fully understand. Yet somehow the confident flex of her muscles and glint of her eyes as she takes in your stance makes complete sense with what you know of her.

“Foot forward.” She nods, and you blink, glance down as you adjust. “It’ll help you balance when you throw your punch.”

You must look a little nervous at that because Kate huffs an amused chortle.

“Don’t laugh.” You whine piteously. “What if I hit you and Paula finds out? I don’t want to sleep on the streets.”

“Better make it count then.” Laswell quips, and springs forward.

Hours later, you find out Kate has been doing this since before Ethiopia, maybe even before you joined. You get the upper hand on her a few times, and warm under the praise she gives you before standing at attention when her hands gently guide your arms at a different angle, widening your stance. The guidance she gives you is much more focused on speed rather than the precision and endurance Price’s training offers. It’s useful in its own right, perfect for when you find yourself without any weapon to spare, and are focused more on escape than fatality. The bounce of the mat under your back becomes familiar, and more than once Kate snips at you for holding back on your strength, afraid to grapple in earnest.

It’s only once you’re both braced against the wall, damp with sweat and trying to catch your breath that you both call it quits. You pass a water bottle back and forth between you and prod the forming bruise on your hip with a minor grunt.

“You did well.” Kate tells you, and you beam at her.

“You’re different from the boys.” You tell her again, and Kate smiles around the lip of the water bottle.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” She returns.

“It is.” You assure her, take a long sip of water when she offers it. “Harder, in some ways.”

A comfortable silence falls between you at that, and as you pull your knees up to stretch you idly offer: “I managed to pin Ghost once.”

Kate freezes out of the corner of your eye, but the gesture is lost in a moment before she offers a mild ‘Oh?’

“It’s true.” You go on, shifting to continue stretching with a little grunt. “Took a couple tries. Can’t say he was nice about it. I ended up bruised to hell the day after.”

“Sounds like he didn’t go easy on you.” Kate replies a little absently in a way where you know she’s thinking about something.

You pause, consider her words, mind hazing over and returning to that September day.

You blink and the light changes. Your next breath, forced through parted lips, seems to ooze the toxicity from your veins, lifting the weight from your shoulders. The bones inside you are still cracked, fractured, and you know they probably will be forever. Now, however, you understand, and the knowledge seems to strengthen them, dull the bitter horrible pain of your own doubt long enough for you to see.

Not a shadow, a light in the darkness. Guiding you forwards even if it threatens to blind you, drawing you out of the confines of your own lack of confidence by force if he has to. He's not doing this to mock you at all. He's not looking down on you, he's not gloating or tossing you around for his own sadistic self-pleasure. He's trying, in his own way, to teach you, to show you that you do have what it takes. He's breaking you systematically, scooping you from the ashes and charred remains so the frayed and broken edges of you are polished into something new. Something stronger.

He's doing this because he sees you. Just you, and that's already good enough. You're good enough.

“No.” You offer quietly. “I think he did. I think he knew how much I needed it.”

You straighten to look at her then, and there’s silence that passes between you as you are both caught by the other’s stare. There’s meaning in the absence of words, one that you can see by the way Kate’s eyes glint with curiosity and a knowing sort of intrigue. You wonder if what little you’ve said is too much, if maybe she’s seen that part of you too, the part that always wonders why Ghost seems softer with you than the others, the part that longs for him to be. She seems surprised for a moment, eyebrows arching silently as realization flickers across her gray eyed gaze.

When she smiles, she says nothing. At a mere glance, however, you can tell she knows.

You clear your throat, feeling your face warm, make a point to stand quickly and feign a few more stretches before hastily providing that Paula will be missing you both soon. Kate acquiesces gracefully, to which you are grateful that she does not needle you for further details about your concealed feelings towards the lieutenant. You’re not sure you can stand it if she did.

It’s after dinner that Kate gets a ping on her cellphone, taking a glance and grabbing for her coat. She provides a quick excuse of ‘work calls’ before giving Paula a parting kiss and grabbing her bag to race off towards the Pentagon. You and Paula exchange a look, and you can hardly contain your smile because even though Laswell has said nothing, you know her sudden disappearance means they’re back.

It’s already the wee hours of the morning in the UK, as Soap would say. The team sets up to debrief in the morning, and you know you won’t be able to contact them until after. You know from experience that they’re more than exhausted, de-kitting and slinking with weary limbs to rinse the grime and blood in the showers. There’s no way to talk to them tonight, and even tomorrow you know will be spent as a much-needed day of rest. The excitement, the trepidation gnaws at you as you force yourself to bed, anxious to hear the voices of your team, to know they’re home safe and sound, to tell them all the things you wish you said sooner.

Laswell doesn’t appear at breakfast the next morning, and Paula tells you she’s still at her office vigilantly reviewing the intel the team has gathered. You take it from her lack of contact that there’s been no major incidents, that everyone is alive and safe and well. Still, you pace anxiously around the house for most of the day, counting the hours on your watch and tracking the differences in the time zone before you’ve vowed to call them. As you do, you try to plan the words you want to say, raking a hand across your face and distracting yourself with the news, with something. You’re stalling, you know, but your mind wanders back to the hospital, to the way you pushed Soap and Gaz away, and you can’t help but wonder if the things you want to confess are going to come too little too late.

The phone line rings for what seems like hours when you finally gather the courage to dial Gaz. You know he’s the one who’s most responsive to his cell, with Soap being easily distracted and Price and Ghost hardly ever looking at theirs. It’s only a few moments, but the wait feels like a lifetime before he finally picks up.

“Fix?”

“Gaz.” You exhale, face melting into a relieved smile. He sounds surprised, yes, but more than that he sounds pleased to hear from you. A positive sign.

You hear a whoosh of air on the other end, and Gaz leans away to the phone to talk to someone on his side.

“Hang on, mate. Gimme a sec-”

You wait, and then blink down at your phone for the incoming video call, hesitantly tapping at the screen to reveal Gaz’s warm, cheerful gaze.

“Fix!” He greets again, and now you can see the smile that lights up his face at the sight of you. “Bloody good to hear from you. How have you been?”

Something sharp clenches in your ribs for a moment, in the same place as your injury, the place where you’ve been holding so much heartache for so long. You nearly wince at it, feeling the muscles grow taut-

and then release, unfurl in blessed, emotional relief.

“I’m good, Kyle.” You tell him, trying hard to keep the swell of emotion out of your voice despite the way it clings in your throat. “Really good.”

Gaz smiles impossibly brighter, but before he can say anything else there’s motion, bickering, a protest, and then Johnny’s face replaces Gaz.

“Fix!” He grins, eyes sparkling. “God, hen. We’ve missed you so much. How are you? How’s your ribs? Are you taking it easy?”

Warmth threatens your eyes now as you feel the sweet release of reprieve flood through you. It takes effort to swallow it down, to not get emotional at the mere sight of your friends- but Johnny’s words “We’ve missed you.” threaten to undo you at the seams.

“I am now.” You reply, and internally wince at the way your voice trembles when you force the tears back. “Not at first, but Laswell helped whip me into shape.”

“Good woman, Kate.” Gaz comments and tilts the phone so you can see both him and Soap at once. “Jesus, it’s good to hear from you, Fix. We’ve all been thinking about you, wondering if you were alright.”

Ah, fuck it.

You let the tears come, scrub your face and try to not let them wet your cheeks, tilting the phone away a moment too late. A hiccup seizes your chest for a moment, and you allow yourself a few moments to let it free before looking back to Gaz and Soap’s concerned stares.

“I am.” You tell them, voice choked up. “I’m more than alright.”

You wish you were there, you wish you could be there beside them, but the embraces they’d offer you feel warm all the same, even from a thousand miles away.

“What’s all this?” A voice intones on the other side, and Soap turns towards the source, beaming brightly.

“We’ve got our bonnie medic on the line.” He says, and you’re quickly passed in a flurry of motion to reveal the face of your captain.

“Sir.” You greet, and Price blinks, then shakes his head with a small, fond smile.

“None of that.” He admonishes lightly. “You call me as friends do.”

“Of course.” You manage, throat constricting with a fresh wave of emotion. “Price.”

Price’s eyes are warm, affectionate, looking upon you not with the furious discipline from before, but that of the friend you know him as.

“You look good, Fix.” He offers softly, and you straighten under his gaze as the praise finds its mark. “Has Kate been treating you right?”

“More than right.” You return, feeling the anxiety shed itself with every word. “I’m getting spoiled here.”

“As ye should!” Soap comments from off-screen. “Our medic deserves the best.”

Price huffs a laugh then, and it makes your smile grow that much larger, almost enough to make your cheeks hurt.

“Seriously.” You add. “Have you ever met Paula? I know you have, Price, she’s told me the story about coming home to you and Kate alone in the kitchen.”

Price winces at that, at the awkward memory of Paula finding a strange man in her house in familiar discussion with her wife. “That wasn’t my best first impression.” He admits, and you hear Soap and Gaz whisper conspiratorially somewhere behind him, curious as to the details of the unsaid story.

“She’s an amazing cook.” You go on. “I’m going to have to work hard to get back into shape with everything she’s been feeding me.”

“What I would give for a home cooked meal right now.” Gaz laments woefully. “Think you can bring her back with you to the UK?”

You’re about to respond when Gaz’s words catch inside you. Your brow furrows for a moment, processing, before you look at Price, who looks to Gaz with a reprimanding frown.

“Wait-” You manage, hope rising sharply inside of you. “Does that mean-”

Price smiles, and it’s genuine, sincere, the kind of smile you only see after he’s immensely pleased with you. You feel your heart stammer and you suck in a gasp when he speaks.

“Laswell officially cleared you for duty.” He tells you, scarcely containing his own enthusiasm. “You’ll be coming back whenever she gives the order. But-”

Your excitement cuts short in your chest, but the hope there lingers as your breath catches.

“Only if you want to.”

It takes a moment for you to understand, and in the silence that follows Soap grapples for the phone with an almost manic desperation.

“We want you to come back.” He clarifies quickly. “The team hasn’t been the same without you. Of course we understand if you need more time, if you want to talk it over with Laswell, but-” He sucks in a breath, and you watch the way his blue eyes alight with anxious energy.

“We...we want you home, Fix.”

Home.

The place you’ve fought to be, to earn your place there. Home, with your brothers who have kept a seat warm for you despite all this time, have made a place for you in their hearts despite your failures. Home, to the place you are meant to be, to the place where you belong.

“Of course I’m coming back.” You sigh at last, your voice breaking with an overwhelmed happiness you can’t contain. It bleeds into Soap, his eyes melting with relief before Gaz once more seizes the phone.

“Not a moment too soon.” He announces, and his own expression scarcely contains the joy in his eyes. “We can’t wait to get you back.”

You laugh a strange, overwhelmed sound at that, once more wiping your eyes as they warm and obscure your gaze of the team’s smiling faces. As you do, there’s a quiet murmur on the other side, and by the time you focus back there’s a different face that looks back.

Ghost.

“Fix.” He greets, and despite the balaclava that hides all but his eyes, you see his expression soften. “It’s been a while.”

“It really has, hasn’t it?” You return, voice dipping low to match his own. “Are you well?”

Ghost shrugs, eyes darting away from the camera for a moment before they return. “Nothing major.” He offers. “A few bruises and scrapes, the usual.”

“You’re not allowed to get injured before I get back.” You tell him seriously, eyes narrowing. He only tilts his head in return.

“Thought I wasn’t allowed to get injured at all?” He drawls, and your smile returns at the way he easily falls into the banter.

“Well then you wouldn’t need me, would you?”

Ghost blinks, considers this, his eyes weighing on you even as you grin at him. You fail to contain the affection in your eyes as his gaze softens.

“I suppose that’s true.” He concedes at last, and your laughter releases like a soft autumn breeze.

The group crowds around the phone for what seems like hours, passing you back and forth before finally setting you up on a nearby table to observe them all at once. Soap disappears and returns with beers as you give them a tour of Laswell’s house. When you stop to pet Whiskey Gaz fails to resist the urge to make baby noises at the retired K9, who thumps his tail in amicable greeting. It precedes a conversation about the various working dogs the team has seen, which is then followed by a serious discussion about the differences between British and American suburbs as you give the team a view of the outside of the house.

Paula is introduced shortly afterwards, and as you pass the phone to her she happily greets the team, and then quickly follows it with a declaration of how they’re to treat you properly once you return. You think you see Price swallow thickly on the other side of the camera.

The team finally discusses their most recent mission in Kenya, tracking a weapon smuggling ring along the Somali Coast. You share stories of your deployment in Ethiopia, of the dry mountain wind and your bustling medical tent. You feel it curl around you from the source of your memories, winding back far before this story began. It lifts your face to the sky you thought you fell from, the golden clouds that once rushed past your form as you hurtled downwards. Now, you feel it catch under your wings and lift you higher, basking in the glory of the sun you have missed so much. it doesn’t burn as it did before, and instead the gentle warmth and laughter of your comrades fills the emptiness of your heart where you once held so much sorrow.

It’s not over yet, you know that. There’s still so much more to be done. The long ignored, festering thing inside of you remains, but the growth is stifled now, replaced by an ease you have never felt before. It will take time for it to mend, just as the wound that once lay in your side, but you know now that even though you’re still healing, it doesn’t mean you’re broken. There are those that love you, adore you, hold you close and safe to their hearts.

You’ll fall again, you know. The darkness of the ocean below, of the churning water of failure where your past haunts you, will remain. Yet present too is the arms of your family, your real family, ready to catch you as you fall back down to earth. You know now that you’re not alone, that as much as you fall there will be people to catch you, hold you fast within the safety and comfort of their embrace. You look to them like a headwind, feel the breeze of their smiles graze across your cheeks, breathe in the familiar scent brought to you by the wind. You lift your hand to it, discern it like the rotating axis of the earth, let it whisper across your memories and engrave their hearts there.

The hour grows late in the UK, and eventually the team is forced to end the call with promises of another one shortly to follow. You say farewell, and in the seconds that follow the screen going dark you buckle into yourself and let loose the full tide of emotion within you. Heartache, grief, joy, relief, and above all sincere gratitude that the ones you love accept you for who you are, will stand beside you despite everything. The tears run warmly down your cheeks, but beneath it is a smile, a thanks to the heavens for putting you in a place where you are loved.

You talk to them frequently in the days that follow, waiting for Laswell to clear the red tape to re-designate you to the taskforce once more. Price calms you as you await the news anxiously, assures you Kate will find a way to send you back to them one way or another. Soap and Gaz happily distract you as they find a way to include you in a drunken game night that has you clutching your stomach with laughter.

It’s on a quiet night that you talk to Ghost, who is the one to call you, strangely enough. It’s a short call compared to the others, and it’s endearing the way Ghost feigns an excuse to check in on you. You curl into the window seat in your bedroom, watching the sunset as you talk in low voices about everything and nothing at all. The comfortable silence lingers between you both and finds a place to perch inside you alongside the secret you hold just for him.

At last, the order comes through. You’re sent back as Laswell’s CIA liaison under her command, on loan to the taskforce indefinitely. You unfold your military greaves from the closet, smooth the fabric under your palms. The heavy fabric is a reminder as to who you are, the person you’re born to be. A soldier, a warrior, a protector.

You hesitate in the doorway of the bedroom, hoisting your duffle over your shoulder. The sunlight dapples through the sheer white curtains, washes the room in pale, ethereal light that sighs softly into your memories. You know you’ll be back again. Maybe not soon, but you know this place too is home, that in this city you grew up in, your real home is the place you choose to be, with the people who love you.

They’ll see you off as you make the long journey back to England, and will embrace you before you climb aboard the plane. They’ll await you for the long flight, counting down the hours until your return. When you arrive they’ll take you into their arms when you step off the plane, lift your face to see your teary, joyful smile and by the sound of their voices alone you know you’re home.

The hazy pink light of sunset illuminates your bedroom.

The journal left on your desk remains unfinished.

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#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost x reader #Simon ghost riley x oc #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x ofc #reader insert #cod x reader #fic: shadow and bone #oc: fix #fic: snowblind #ITS DONE

[foxilayde]

Collisions in Entropy [Peter Roiter x Fem!Reader]

Summary: You were drawn to him like gravity. Like the only two bodies of mass on a lattice field, dipping in the center like marbles, stretching the fabric of time with the weight of yourselves and converging at the center into a singular point.

Length: 5.5k

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. Romantic smut. Oral: f receiving. PiV.

Author’s Note: I couldn’t stop thinking about Peter making it to Rome and then confining himself to wait out his remaining days like an invisible stranger, careful not to disturb this timeline. I like to think his curiosity couldn’t keep him away from a special event he never got to see firsthand. Enjoy!

The wedding of Callum Roiter to Rebecca Bradley took place at Creeksea Place in the Essex countryside on Saturday September 30th 2023. Is taking place, rather. Currently taking place. Peter Roiter arrives in a rented grey suit and gate crashes his own parent’s wedding, 13 months before his birth.

They’re taking the photographs now, the photographs that will adorn the walls of his childhood home. The same photograph he will accidentally shatter In 2032 while playing cricket in the house. He recognizes the angle of the pink jaunty bouquets up in the air, the collection of color in a joyous line on the red brick footbridge beside the white gazebo, a bridal party draped in lavender taffeta posed in what looks like “a silly one” where they lovingly encircle the blushing bride—Rebecca Roiter née Bradley.

The camera flashes weakly against the midday light and at the same instant a bridesmaid looks in Peter’s direction and smiles.

He’d cut his palm on that picture frame—the shattered one—the bridal party laid in fragments in that parallel future time. He looks down at his hand and the thick scar is still there. He wonders if the Peter Roiter who will be born 13 months from tomorrow will get the same cut. If he will hit the cricket ball in the same exact angle, turning his head to the same exact call of his mother’s voice from the other room. “Peter!” Crash. A vortex.

That’s what had ruined the photo in the end. Not the shattered glass, but the blood. Will this timeline’s Peter Roiter grow up and do what he’s done? Do it exactly the same? Blood and shattered glass in the parlor. Blood and shattered glass in the terminal 4 bathroom.

He’s never been to a wedding like this before. Never even heard of one with so many people, unrestrained smiles, photographs, laughter, dancing… nowhere outside of a movie, that is. His own wedding to Helen was private, as most weddings in 2050 were. Out of necessity. Sweet and civil. She held peonies and they danced to Marvin Berry in the backyard, underneath the stars and the patio lights. He has an insane urge to make a toast to the people of 2023 and tell them, “eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we die.”

They’re so unaware. Unbothered. It’s beautiful to see. Like the carefree cheers-ing that must’ve been happening on the Titanic cruiseliner 10 minutes before they collided with an iceberg.

He doesn’t feel sorry for them. He is jealous. They’re feting in the last roaring moments of civilization, right before the interminable lockdowns will begin. He conservatively guesses that half of them will be dead within the next ten years.

He stays as invisible as he can, observing his parent’s tender happy moments from afar. They’re so young. He’s nearly old enough to be their father.

During the ceremony he sees both sets of grandparents for the first time in his life in person. Maybe that should be his alibi instead of “cousin of the bride”, he’s much more believable as “colleague of the father of the groom”. If only he could remember what Grandfather Roiter did for a living… insurance, maybe?

He won’t stick around long enough for anyone to ask just how he knows the lovely couple anyway. He’ll stay invisible for now, just another speck in this world that doesn’t belong to him.

This timeline might be defunct anyway, he may very well be cautiously tip-toeing around what he only assumes is a sleeping beast, but may in fact be nothing more than a carcass. Peter errs on the side of caution anyway and sips champagne from the further-most table.

Callum Roiter, looking everything like the father of his childhood, stands from the center of the high table and clinks his crystal glass. His cheeks look hurt and shiny from smiling, he holds his new wife’s hand and makes his toast, he thanks the guests for coming and makes a joke about how more guests might’ve showed up had they hosted the ceremony on the Boleyn Ground. He’s so young. So untroubled. The trip to Essex was worth every potential risk to the balance to see the joy in his parent’s eyes in real time. He feels supremely lucky to be a product of such an astounding love.

And then Callum raises his glass higher, winks to Rebecca and announces, “and lastly, a great big thank you to American psychologist Doctor Eliza Knight,” There is a knowing laugh amongst the wedding party who are privy to the story of the bizarre phone call from a Dr. Knight. “Without whom, I would have never met my beautiful bride. Wherever you are, love, cheers.”

“Cheers” the crowd responds. Peter downs the rest of his glass, “to Beatrix,” he mutters.

“You know what that’s about, don’t you?”

It’s the first time anyone has addressed him all day. He hadn’t seen her approach. The young woman from the bridal party. The one who smiled at him as the flashbulb went off. Pink roses, purple gown, shards of glass, blood, and a cricket ball.

“What’s about?” His voice slips into the Essex dialect like it’s nothing. He wonders how much of that is the chip and how much of it is his real voice— the one his mother and father taught him to use. He looks down at his lap when the woman sits beside him.

“The American doctor story.”

Oh he knows. He’s heard the tale his whole life, moreover he’s overturned timelines and sold out the souls of billions for the American doctor in question. “No,” he says to the pretty bridesmaid. “Would you let me in on it?”

*******

“Can’t believe you haven’t heard it before,” you smile, “would have thought Cal and Bex told damn near everyone in England by now.”

“Must be a good one.” He says with almost no defensiveness. Almost.

He’s cute. Older than you. A little scruffy, but in a very pleasing way—slightly overgrown at the nape of his neck and shadowed in the roughness of his sharp jaw. His eyes are kind though. So hopeful, sweet, and terribly familiar.

“Come outside with me and I’ll tell you, it’s getting warm in here.”

He glances to the high table, there’s a line forming of folks offering their congratulations along with envelopes of money to the young couple. He nods to you, leaving his grey rented coat on the back of the chair. He offers you his arm and you take it with a “thank you”, leading him to the French doors and stepping out onto the grounds.

The air is late summer. Warm and green. A million twinkle lights glow along the pathway to the pond, the place where you’d first laid eyes on him this afternoon.

“What’s your name?” You ask, trodding slowly towards the gazebo, your arm still in his. His forearm is warm under the white cotton dress shirt.

“Oliver.”

“Hmm.” You smile.

“What?” Defensive.

“Could have sworn it was something else.” You goad.

You can feel his pulse pick up from your fingertips on the crook of his elbow.

“What’s your name?” He counters.

You ignore him. “I didn’t bring you out here to tell you my name, I brought you out here to tell you a story, remember? Do you want to hear it or not?”

Peter breathes deep as if he’s winding up to tell you something but all he does with the breath is exhale and nod, “Please.”

“Last year, November the 23rd, 2022, to be exact, both Callum and Rebecca got a mysterious phone call from a Doctor Eliza Knight, a psychoanalyst from America, telling them that she knew their son. That he was a 39 year old time traveler sent from the year 2062 named Peter Roiter and he claimed to be on a mission to save the world. What do you think of that, Oliver?”

His grin is tight, dismissive, “sounds like a nut job.”

“The odd thing is, Callum and Rebecca had never met each other before. Doctor Knight gave each the other’s information and told them it was crucial that they meet and fall in love and have this child. Peter.”

Peter says nothing.

“So they do get together. Because of the absurdity. They go out for a drink, out of curiosity, to laugh about the madwoman who told them they were going to raise the messiah of the twenty first century.”

Peter leans against the railing of the gazebo and glances back to the house where the party is winding down. “And the rest is history.” He nods toward the red bricked abode.

“That’s not all,” you smile conspiratorially.

“No?”

“No. See, I looked into it, just to check to see if there was a Doctor Eliza Knight, and there is… or there was.”

He remains silent and surreptitiously fingers the raised scar on the inside of his hand while you talk. Nervous habit.

“See, the very next day after she made the phone calls, Doctor Knight walked into an airport bathroom in New York City and disappeared… disappeared! They checked all the security footage. She walks into the restroom and never walked out. They did find her clothes, and a shattered syringe full of blood that wasn’t her own, a tape recorder in a trash can. But her? Nowhere to be found. Can you believe it? The very next day after calling Bex and Cal. That’s insane, right?”

He nods, lost in thought across the lake.

“It’s funny, most people get a real kick out of that anecdote. I was excited to tell you. Brought you out to the dim ambiance and everything.”

“It’s a great story. Really. I’m just tired is all.” He folds his arms across his chest and looks at you with a believable amount of sleepiness.

“You’ve heard it before, haven’t you?”

“What do you mean?”

“That would be one explanation for your boredom— you know the story by heart… How do you know the bride and groom, Oliver?” You nearly whisper, stepping closer to him.

“Who are you?” He backs away a step, bumping into the rim of the gazebo and catching himself on a polished beam.

“Peter, you’re about to upset a very fragile ecosystem that we’ve been curating. I had to get you out of that party, I hope you understand.”

“We?”

“Peter, if you care about the future, you need to kiss me right now, in the next five seconds, it’s our only chance.”

Peter doesn’t hesitate. With a look of solid determination he takes two steps towards you, cradles your head in his hands and presses his lips to yours, kissing you with reserved lips that didn’t match the committed blaze in his eyes. You break the kiss in near disbelief and regret.

“That was mean, I’m sorry.”

Peter’s face scrunches and he takes half a step back, letting you fall out of his grasp.

“What? Wait, tell me who you are, what’s going on? Did the W.H.O send you? Do you have a message for me? Did the project work? Any word on Beatrix?”

You press your fingertips to your lips and your eyes widen.

“Are you fucking with me?” You accuse.

His face drops from hopeful to incredulous and the two of you stare at each other with mutual suspicion for a beat.

He licks his bottom lip. “Why did I need to kiss you? Who are you?”

“I’m… I’m a friend of Rebecca’s. I… hang on, are you— is your name really Peter? I just called you that because… because of what the doctor told Bex…” you can hear your heart hammering in your ears.

Peter’s eyes narrow, “you were teasing me?”

“Holy shit. The… the doctor? The story? Peter Roiter?”

Peter remains stock still, his back rigid, gritting his teeth.

You clap your hand over your mouth and laugh. “Oh my god! Bex is going to murder me if she finds out I snogged her son. This is so weird.”

“How did you know?”

“I didn’t! I mean, god, no one actually believes that story about the doctor, do they? it’s insane! something straight out of a movie! I figured they met each other on tinder and wanted a cuter “how’d you meet?” Story and made this one up for clout or something, but… then we were taking photos today and you were lurking in the back of the setting up, lurking the back of the ceremony, sitting all by yourself in the back of the reception— not talking to anybody… which is exactly what someone who isn’t trying to alter a timeline might do. What am I saying? And god you do really look like half Bex and half Cal… it’s uncanny.”

“You can’t tell anyone about this, you understand?”

“Tell anyone? No one would believe me if I did! I don’t even know if I believe me! Besides, I’m not joking about the whole ‘Bex would kill me’ thing, I’m kind of skeeving myself out right now. I mean they’re both fit and well obviously,” You gesture to Peter up and down before slapping your forehead, “oh my god, I need—I need to shut up.”

“Wait, wait, wait, just calm down. Okay. I need to—look, if this isn’t a dead timeline, I can’t have you treating Cal and Bex’s son any differently than you would had you not learned that.. that I’m him. So—“

“Hang on, dead timeline? What the hell does that mean?”

“Is the name not obvious enough for you?” Peter begins to pace around the pergola, the valley between his brows growing deeper by the minute.

Your eyebrows shoot up, “well excuse me for not understanding your sci-fi speak, Mr. Coherence.”

“Dead timeline. It means the statistical likelihood of salvaging the future of this particular timeline is… astronomically low. If this is a dead timeline, then there is a near 100 chance humanity will be destroyed within the next 40 years.”

“Oh god.”

“It might not be. There’s no way of knowing right now.”

“That’s reassuring.”

“It could be a loop timeline, in which case, it’s important for you to—“

“Not treat the forthcoming baby Peter Roiter any differently.”

“Exactly.” He breathes with relief.

“Even though he will apparently grow up to be a man who potentially puts me and everything and everyone I know and love into a dead future or whatever you called it.”

“That’s not—“

“It’s fine, Peter, the less I know the better, right?” You shift in your heels and lean against the polished railing. “Might make it difficult to take him out for ice cream knowing that I snogged him at his mum’s wedding. Bleeding Christ, I really am sorry about that.”

“You’re surprisingly easy to convince. And you’re taking this extremely well. I’m not used to that— people believing me. And it’s fine, its my fault for being here, for following you outside. I promised I wouldn’t interact with anyone and now we’re getting… inextricable.”

“I don’t know why I believe you. I mean I know it’s crazy, it’s the least likely explanation for all of this, but I just feel like, I have to believe you. I just… have to. Now that sounds crazy.”

He shakes his head. “I really thought I was being stealthy coming here today. It was probably a mistake.”

“Well, if we are in a loop timeline, as you called it, I don’t think there can be any mistakes. And if we are in a dead end, then the mistakes don’t matter, right?”

“Who are you?”

You tell him your name. He shakes his head with that same worried valley between his brows.

“I don’t remember you at all from my childhood. Or hearing about you from my mother. I’m not even sure you were in the photo that I broke.”

“The photo that you broke? What photo?”

There’s a sudden cacophony from the French doors where you exited the reception with Peter. A group of groomsmen stagger out, each with a champagne bottle in their hand, singing what you can only assume is a fight song from Cal’s alma mater.

Peter runs his thumb and forefinger over the stubble surrounding his lips. Those lips that you made him kiss you with. God, what is happening?

“C’mon,” he mutters placing a hand at your lower back and guides you to the path by the pond, further away from the celebration. “Just being cautious.”

There’s a bench aglow with twinkle lights near the pond, out of view of the estate house. It feels good to sit and take some pressure off the silk heels you bought special for this evening. You slip them off and let your feet rest on the cool grass.

“What photo were you talking about?” You ask.

“The bridesmaid photos with the bouquets on the bridge. I grew up with that photo in my house. But one day I was playing football— no, it was… it was cricket. I was playing cricket in the house and the photo shattered. I cut my hand trying to hide it from my mum, look.”

You take his hand, inspecting his palm and turning it over. He continues. “But I don’t recognize you. From the photo. I don’t think you were there. You weren’t looking at the camera. You were looking at me.”

“I don’t see a scar.”

“What?”

Peter pulls back his hand.

“It is kind of dark out, so that could be why.”

“Wha…” Peter holds his hands up to the twinkle lights in the willow branches above the bench. He shakes his head. “This doesn’t make sense.”

“Deja vu.” You whisper.

Peter’s hands fall from inspection, he rubs his fingers together at his sides. “What did you say? Did you say Deja vu?”

“Yeah. I’ve— I’ve been here before. This has happened before. With you. What’s happening?”

Peter sits back down next to you on the bench, grabbing your upper arms with insistence. “Are you messing with me again? Are you screwing with my head?” He’s breathing fast. He looks scared.

“No! No, I swear Peter. This just… feels so familiar. Do you feel it? The smell in the air, the champagne bottles popping, you checking your hands in the light, the kiss in the gazebo… what’s happening? What does it mean that I’ve felt this before?”

Peter lets go of your arms and runs his thumbs across the smooth insides of his knuckles. “It means… it means it’s elastic. This timeline is still alive. I’m not in a loop, I’m not in a dead end. Something is happening… or something will happen. Either way, we’re all still breathing…” Peter laughs quietly for a few moments before silencing himself with his own hand. “Somewhere, somehow, in the past 20 minutes or so, a vortex was formed— a shift in the timeline.”

“What does that mean? Is that good or bad?”

Peter shakes his head. “I don’t know. We—us in the future—don’t even fully understand it. It’s a technology we discovered from elsewhere in the universe. I’ve been thinking lately that we don’t have the receptive capacity to understand the dimensionality. Like trying to conceptualize a tesseract.”

“What are you doing here? Still trying to save the world?”

“No. That window closed. Or at least, I thought it had.”

“So your window is closed. You didn’t succeed?”

He stares into your eyes for several beats. He thinks about December 31st in Rome. How he waited on platform 23 at the piazza di Spagna until the last train came it at near midnight. And how he walked around the Villa Borghese alone when security shooed him away from the station, he walked back to the red tiled hotel alone. A doomed mission. He must’ve passed at least a dozen kissing couples that night ringing in the new year.

“No. I didn’t. I’m sorry.” His apology feels personal.

“It’s okay.” You say with a small voice, placing a hand on his knee. “So, now what? Do you go back, to your original time, the future?”

“Can’t go back. Can’t go anywhere. Even if I could, there’s no one to retrieve me.”

“So you just live out the rest of your days here in 2023 onward?”

Peter bites his lip and looks out over the pond. “Yeah.”

“What happens when baby Peter Roiter is born?”

“You’re too quick, you know that?” Peter snorts and shakes his head.

“I watch a lot of sci-fi movies,” you smile, shouldering off your lavender shawl and pointing out your tattoo. “See. It’s a—“

“DeLorean.” He traces his finger over the small line drawing tattoo.

“A 1981 DeLorean DMC-12 to be exact.” You grin proudly.

Peter swallows and traces his finger down your bare arm, making your hairs raise.

“You got it the day of your 18th birthday. You had a fight with your father and you got it on a whim. You were so angry at your father that you cried when you got it and when the tattoo artist asked if you needed a break from the pain you said—“

“How do you know this, Peter, you’re scaring me.”

“You said, I’ve had worse.”

“Peter—“

“I know you. We’ve been here before. This bench. The lights, the way they glow on your skin.” He swipes the side of your face lightly with the back of his unblemished hand.” He gulps. “I kiss you on the gazebo by the pond, I kiss you under a willow tree far away from the house, I—“ he shifts closer, his forehead nearly touching your own. “I carry you like a bride up the stairs and I kiss you in a room with golden leaves on the ceiling.”

You shift closer to him, your noses touching.

“Don’t you remember?” He asks, cupping your cheek. “No matter where I go. There you are. Entanglement.”

“I remember.” You nod. “Tell me, Peter. Tell me what happens when you’re born.”

Peter cradles your face in both of his hands and pulls back a fraction of an inch, eyes flickering between your own before he sighs and shuts them in a near grimace.

“I die.” He kisses you. And its so different from the kiss on the gazebo. Your little lie, your little trick in back there that got him to kiss you the first time. A lie— or so you thought at the time. Something made you say it to him you’re sure of that now. The deception was compulsory. It wasn’t why you led him out at the time. But now it its.

As sure as he knows the date of his own birth, he knows he will die. In almost exactly 13 months. Or sometime before; but never after. They didn’t teach him every facet at The Project, mainly due to their own ignorance; and he wouldn’t have to face his demise if he had only taken himself to the extraction point… but that had been out of the question. And what is he doing now? With you on this bench? 100 yards from his newlywed parents. This is a new dream he is fulfilling, the erasure of his scar, these new-old memories, the fulfillment of a loop.

Your silk shoes abandoned in the grass, he scoops up your knees onto his lap, he holds your face so tenderly and kisses you, and kisses you, and kisses you beneath the willow tree.

He carries you like a bride to your bedroom at the top of the stairs. If any party stragglers notice you, you aren’t aware. You cling to Peter with your face buried in his neck, holding to his broad shoulders, your bare toes make brushing contact with the walls of the stairwell as you ascend. You don’t need to tell him which room is yours, he’s been here before hasn’t he? You certainly have. In a dream. In another life.

He lays you gently on the bed, kissing up your ankles, sliding the satin of your sheath dress up your legs as he goes, crawling up and up and up you, his lips trailing over the rise of your knees with abject devotion. His strong hands splay and scoop under your dress, under your hips, to grab your lace panties. He looks into your eyes from where he kisses the crest of your thigh when he slides the material down your legs and tosses them to the floor.

“How could I have forgotten you?” He whispers with a longing against your skin, pushing your dress up until it pools in a satin puddle at your middle. He kisses the tip of your hipbone before he settles between your thighs, his stubble scratches pleasantly at the sensitive flesh when he runs his nose along the junction of your hip and thigh.

Cradling your hips in his palms, he shrugs your legs over his shoulders. He’s still fully dressed, the only disrobing he did of himself was the grey jacket abandoned on the the back of the far-table chair in the reception hall downstairs, and the blue tie he loosened and discarded somewhere near your panties. His disguise.

He crawls up further onto the bed to fully press his face into your sex. He latches onto your puffy cunt with his kiss-swollen lips and licks you open with messy, savoring swirls of his tongue. His mouth hot and slick, chin and nose pressing into you with a rocking hungry motion. You don’t intend to cry out at the sensation but he’s making love to you with his mouth like it isn’t the first time and you have no choice but to strangle your own keen of pleasure and fully and gracelessly recline on the bed, the prop of your elbows unable to hold you up through the slick furnace of pleasure that is Peter Roiter’s mouth.

You scrunch your eyes closed and bite your bottom lip when his tongue focuses in on your clit, hot mouth still sealed around your pussy, he lathes you with stern and steady lashings to your point of pleasure. Your hands fist in the pool, of silk at your belly. He sighs hotly into you and works his own fingers through yours, loosening your grasping hands from your dress. He laces all his fingers flush with yours, soothing the sides of your palms with his thumbs.

He never stops the hot assault of your spread sex with his tongue. Your grass stained heels rest lightly on the taut warm linen of his dress shirt. You can feel the way the muscles back there flex, your feet sliding every so slightly when his hips buck gently into the mattress. You don’t open your eyes until you’re desperately close to cumming in his mouth and when you look up all you can see are flashes of gold.

Your hips lift off the mattress with the arch of your back and the contraction of your thighs. You let out a long low keen and his face tilts up to follow your clit, sucking you lovingly, his hands gripping more tightly to your own than ever before.

“Peter,” your lips tremble, you slowly open your clamped shut eyes.

There it is. The gold leaf ceiling glinting in warm yellow light. Just as he said. Just as your remember. You stare dazedly at it and you know in less than a moment Peter will crawl up your shaking sweating body and place a kiss on your lips. He does. You grab him by his thick curls and push and pull and twist him in a debauched kiss till he’s flat on his back and you’re on top. His mouth is hot and sticky and so, so giving.

He runs his hands lightly over the open back of your dress. You only unbuckle him enough, and shimmy his trousers midway down his thighs, to get him inside of you. When you sink down on him he holds your forehead against his and gasps in disbelief.

“I—“ He chokes, catching his breath and fighting his eyes rolling back so he can get a good look at you when you take him all the way down.

“What?” You smile, stroking his cheek.

“I— I’ve missed you. Ahh.” He grabs you hard then, sitting up slightly and clawing your dress strap down so he can bite and suck the softest parts of your chest.

You cradle his head there, grinding into his lap slowly, gasping softly at the feel of him inside you.

“You won’t disappear, will you?” You whisper in a daze of pleasure.

No, he chants against your breast.

“No, no, no. I can’t lose you.” He holds you tight to him like he means it.

Peter has pulled the top of your dress down to your waist now and his hands roam freely over your back, plotting the elevated terrain of your shoulders, the valley between your breasts, and the maps of rivers at your wrists.

He lays fully back down and takes you with him. You smile against his kiss.

“Getting tired, old man?”

“Mmm, I’m younger than you—technically— negative one years old next month.” He bites your ear. You laugh. He thrusts up into you. You moan and clutch him by his clothed shoulders.

Peter cups your cheek in his hand. The one with the missing scar. You turn your face to kiss his unblemished palm. You rock on him slowly, his mouth parts in bliss.

“Does this mean anything can change at any time?” You ask, glancing at the inside of his hand.

“Yes but that’s always been a given.” Cheeky.

“No, I don’t mean just anything. I’m not talking about normal changes, I concerned about—“

“Dissolving out of a photograph? Ceasing to exist?” He teases, flicking your tattoo.

“Or Chuck Berry never writing Johnny B. Goode?”

“Who?” Peter delivers in convincing deadpan curiosity before breaking out into a beautiful grin.

You pinch his side. “Rat.” You can feel the intensity of his jerking response to the pinch where he’s buried warmly inside you.

Peter nods, “I don’t know. I hate saying that I don’t know and I hate that worried little look on your face, but I promise that it doesn’t change anything. We are here and like it or not the only thing certain is change.”

“The mortal agreement.”

“There is one thing I do know. No matter what I change, no matter where I go. I find you. Even when I send you away, you bounce back. Right back into my arms. A less scientifically minded man might think that love has it’s own special inter-dimensional set of physics. We just… keep extracting entropy from a closed system. No matter how hard I break the billiards they fly right back to the center of the table in formation. Not always in the same order, but… still… accounted for. I thought it was fragile, like butterfly wings, you know? But I’m learning it’s durable. It’s elastic, alive. And you always bounce back.”

“Sounds less like time travel and more like pattern reconfiguration.”

Peter tucks your hair behind your ear and drinks in your face, nodding thoughtfully. “Everything you say. Everything you’ve said. It’s all like something that’s on the tip of my tongue.”

You grin, bending over him, taking his pretty face in your hands, you kiss him and suck his tongue into your mouth, bobbing your mouth on the tip of it suggestively, “is it?” You smile. He’s still hard in you. You hope he never stops. This is how you should have every conversation about everything from here on out. Joined together, the beast with two backs as Shakespeare would say.

“I don’t want to cum.” He groans into your mouth, “when I cum I’ll have to stop being inside you, and I don’t want that, I want to live inside you.”

Call it the contrarian in you, but the admission only makes you want to force it out of him against his will. To make him fall apart precisely because he said he was trying his best to keep it together.

You clench, ride him, and moan into his ear until he’s nearly tapping out from ecstasy and when he comes he calls your name.

“Oh no.” You gasp, looking around worriedly.

“What? What is it?” Peter halfway sits up, adrenaline opening his eyes fully.

“Do you think your parents heard us?” You grin teasingly.

Peter sighs with relief and shakes his head, kissing your cheek and crushing you against his chest in a hug.

You don’t worry about tonight, the shoes you left outside, the rented jacket in the reception hall, or what will transpire in the next 13 months. Everything will bounce back in the end.

=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=

Tagging everyone who interacted with the post asking who was interested in this Peter Roiter fic:

@ozarkthedog @toracainz @mundivagantsoul @ominoose @astroboots @orestesimp @spacecowboyhotch @steven-grants-world @convrsation16 @onefinnedwonder-fm @grumpyeagleandfriends @miguellohara @winchestershiresauce @user215sstuff @greg-drunk @poeedameronn @piptoost @danilovesyarn @toracainz @red-hydra @motleyfolk @ladywillowgrey @munasolid @karoblaer @theaterm @howellatme @mistaknight @dailyreverie @guruan @lunar-ghoulie

Usernames that have been crossed out, I was unable to tag, check your tumblr settings to receive tag alerts.

#Case 63 #Peter Roiter x you #Peter Roiter x Reader #Oscar Isaac #fanfiction #fan fiction #reader insert #self insert

[a-memory-a-distant-echo]

me: right, gonna write like 1500 words of a straightforward praise kink

me, 2000 words later, having finally written the first line that could be construed as 'praise': the plot of this 15k blowjob is that the pov character believes himself to be abandoned by god

so um. wip wednesday, from one of the [checks notes] ... several ... fics i have started writing, apparently.

Di Feisheng hesitates. Li Lianhua does not. 'Show me,' he says, softly, not moving. He won't move; Fang Duobing has a clear path to the stairs, if that's what he wants. All he has to do is turn and walk up them and his choice will be clear, and Li Lianhua will never let himself think of this again. He shouldn't think of it now, either. Not about either of them, both half in love with the man he used to be, one who doesn't understand what he is now, one who doesn't know what he was then. He shouldn't. But he does. He wants it, wants this, wants this beautiful boy on his knees. He glances at Di Feisheng and finds that he's just as transfixed, watching silently, and Li Lianhua wants that, too, wants the pressure of that gaze on him, the warmth of that body against his. Wants to watch the two of them crash against each other. This is a mistake, he thinks. 'You can leave,' he says, carefully casual. 'No one will think less of you if you go back upstairs.' 'Where you belong' is left unsaid, but the implication lingers. 'No,' says Fang Duobing. He makes his choice, though not in the way that Li Lianhua had expected. Fang Duobing drops to his knees, the noise shockingly loud against the silent press of the night. Outside, the crickets whir in sympathy; inside, the shadows draw closer, but he seems to glow, caught at the edge of the candlelight, his eyes wet and shining. 'I can be good,' he repeats, 'for you.' He catches his lip between his teeth for a moment, and Li Lianhua wants to catch it himself, wants to bite it until it bleeds.

#mysterious lotus casebook #wip wednesday #i guess i need a personal tag #anyhow feeling surprisingly anxious about this one pals! #last time i posted fix was literally 1 january 2016 #so it has uh #been a while #excited to find out what i've fucked up this time #my fic #liansanjiao #yeah turns out i was so stressed about posting this that i forgot to put the fucking ship here? #anyhow i suck

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

"And he shall smite the wicked and plunge them into the fiery pit.”

Aaaand we've finally come to the conclusion of Rollo at the Writing Desk! (The masterlist for it will go up later.) If your ask was not answered, it was likely too similar to another interaction and/or was submitted outside of the allotted blog event period 😅 Here's a little piece to "wrap up" Rollo's hellish stay with us at NRC~

The End of Rollo at the Writing Desk.

At the end of his stay, Rollo was more frazzled than Raven had ever seen him.

Of course, he wouldn’t dare to outwardly present disheveled. Certainly not what he could control at least.

Not a hair out of place, and not a single crease in his elegant robes. However, there was an unmistakeable disturbed look in his eyes. Palpable fear and revulsion, as if he had witnessed things he shouldn’t have and failed to scrub his mind of the memories.

“… Is everything okay?” Raven asked, her question a loud whisper in the crystalline Mirror Chamber. The words reflected off of the dark faces of many mirrors, coming back as a soft wail. Okay—okay—okay, came the echo from the unknown.

“Yes.” His reply was prompt, automatic, and without frills. “You needn’t waste your concern on me.”

“… Right.”

Raven turned away and to the Mirror of Darkness. It floated upon its dais, a ghostly apparition of magic.

“O Dark Mirror, I beseech you! Return this soul to where it belongs: Noble Bell College in the City of Flowers.”

Upon her request, the surface of the mirror ripple like water. Some indescribable magic was reaching out across space, tugging on the thread that would connect this place and that. When the rings upon the water faded into smoothness and gave way to a faint image—flying buttresses and stained glass windows illuminated by candles—Raven knew it was ready.

She lifted the hem of her skirt and curtsied to her departing guest as he stepped onto the dais. “Bon voyage, Rollo-senpai. I hope you enjoyed your time with us here at our Night Raven College.”

Enjoyed?

A strong word to assign to his harrowing experiences. Parties swarming with people, offenses committed, confrontations he was not yet ready for.

“I’m like you, and you’re like me,” he had been told, time and time again. Tearing open old wounds, rubbing the salt in for good measure. “We’re not so different, you and I.”

And his brother.

What would he think of him now…?

There it was again, that slow, uneasy pain that filled his chest and fanned outward. The feeling festered like a fire with no one to put it out. Standing before the gateway home, it suddenly hurt more than ever.

Rollo glanced back at his attendant, providing a curt good-bye. “… This is is farewell, Miss Crowley.”

“It’s only farewell ‘for now’,” she corrected him. “We’ll speak again. We’ll meet again. I’m sure of it!!”

In the beginning, he would have scowled at the reminder—at this incessant bird chirping in his ear, insisting on sitting on his shoulder like a cricket claiming to be his conscience. Now, he was tired, and laid there in defeat.

But raise the formal white flag? Concede admit defeat, let her have the last laugh?

Never.

He rested a hand on the mirror frame.

“… I await your next written correspondence. It doesn’t sound like you intend on giving up anytime soon.”

“Nope!!” Raven flashed a grin which showed off her tiny fangs. “I can be stubborn when I want to be.”

A dry, arrogant chuckle. “I am well aware. Then…”

He returned his attention to the mirror, and the world that laid beyond it

“The time is nigh.”

There was no steeling of the soul, no anticipatory breath before taking the plunge. Rollo simply stepped through the portal, and he was gone.

The raven was alone in the Mirror Chamber, smiling into the darkness.

It’s a promise.

#twst #twisted wonderland #Rollo Flamme #twst oc #twisted wonderland oc #Raven Crowley #disney twisted wonderland #Rollo at the Writing Desk

[scarisd3ad]

To the end and back | Daryl Dixon x fem!reader

Chapter twenty five | not strong enough

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Taglist

Warnings - kidnapping, mentions of guns, mentions of murder, normal twd warnings

Summary - after the world ended you were sure you’d never find love again but a certain archer catches your eyes and changes the entire trajectory of your life.

(A/N) - it’s finally here! A few weeks ago I proposed the idea of the governor being readers estranged father, there were mixed feelings about it. I hint at it in this chapter but don’t explicitly say that he is her dad so if you guys don’t like it then I can just scrap it. Also this is a long one.

'Made to suffer.'

season 3 ep 8

Upon arriving in the town, the sun had already set, and the night welcomed the crickets' chirps. The town was fortified by a towering gate, manned by a pair of vigilant guards who took turns keeping watch. We crouched behind a parked car, peering through the darkness as the male guard patrolled back and forth, his eyes scanning the night for any signs of danger. The stillness of the air was only broken by the soft rustling of leaves and the occasional hoot of an owl in the distance. Rick peers out from behind a few bushes to see what we are dealing with before taking a few steps back and crouching down.

Rick's voice was hushed as he handed his rifle to Oscar. "Alright, we need to downsize," he said, his eyes scanning the vicinity. Daryl nodded in agreement. "Ain't no way we're gonna check in all them buildings," he muttered, his eyes fixed on the numerous structures in front of them. "Not with all them guards there," he added, his tone heavy with concern. Suddenly, the sound of a twig snapping echoed in the silence, causing all three men to turn in alarm. Their hearts racing, they held their breath, waiting to see what had caused the noise. It was Michonne, stepping on a dry twig. Michonne mouths something to the three men before slowly retreating. All three of their hearts are beating a mile a minute. I can almost hear them. Rick takes a deep breath before saying, "Alright, let's go."

As we approached the town, we searched for a way to enter without being noticed. After scouting the area, we discovered an unguarded opening in the fence surrounding the town. With cautious steps, we made our way into the exterior unused area of the town, careful not to attract any unwanted attention. As we crept towards the building where Michonne had been held captive during her stay at Woodbury, our hearts raced with anticipation and fear. Rick thinking that the people who had taken Glenn and Maggie might reuse that room for them decided we should check in there first. coincidently that building also led into the main area of the town, so if Glenn and Maggie aren't there, we can just sneak out into the main area of the town and look around for them there.

The building or well room we got into is dark and quiet, there's no sign of anyone or any signs that anyone had been inside recently.

"This is where you were held?" Rick asks Michonne as we slowly make our way through the room. "I was questioned." Michonne corrects rick. "Any idea where else they could be?" Rick asks, brows furrowing as he looks around for any clues that Glenn and Maggie might have even stepped foot in the room.

Daryl is the first to make it to the front of the building. He drags the flowery patterned curtain back to peer through the window. Although I could not see what Daryl was seeing, I could hear people outside. There were hushed conversations and heavy footsteps along the pavement. Michonne had mentioned a curfew for safety. But there were too many voices and footsteps to only belong to guards. "I thought you said there was a curfew?" Daryl hisses as he turns back towards Michonne. we expected no people to be walking the streets of Woodbury right now so we could sneak out with little to no people seeing us. "The street is packed during the day. Those are stragglers."

"If anyone comes in here, we're sitting ducks. We gotta move."

My heart is racing as I can't shake the thought of finding Glenn dead or not finding him at all. What would I do if he was gone? How would I be able to go on with my life without feeling immense amounts of guilt while experiencing life without him? How would I go about life without him? Who would I talk to? Who would I stay up all night with?

"They could be in his apartment," Michonne suggests. they could, but would this governor guy want two people he had just kidnapped in his apartment? And wouldn't he have to drag both of them through this town during broad daylight when everyone was packing the streets? He'd want to go through the back entrances. Keep them in unused areas while torturing or killing them. So none of the residents heard, saw, or suspected anything. "Yeah, what if they ain't?" Daryl asks as he pushes himself off of the wall he had been leaning on and towards Michonne. he's trying to be threatening I can hear it in his voice.

"Then...we'll look somewhere else," She responds in a nonchalant manner, as if the situation wasn't a big deal, like she's trying to help us find a lost pair of shoes instead of missing people."You said you could help us," I say, placing both hands on my hips. Anger and anxiety are bubbling up in my chest. Tears have been threatening to fall in my eyes ever since I found out Glenn and Maggie were taken, and right now, I just can't think straight.

"I'm doing what I can," As she responded, her face contorted in frustration, her brows furrowing deeply and her eyes squinting. I could feel my trust in her slowly slipping away with every word she spoke. "Then where in the hell are they?" Oscar asks. As if he has known Glenn and Maggie for years. He blended in seamlessly with the group. If he doesn't end up like his friends, he'd be amazing in our group, but it doesn't seem like that'll happen. He's a team player, easy to get along with, and a good man all around.

Rick mutters a quiet "hey" before signaling for us to follow him. The three of us follow him, leaving Michonne by herself. "If this goes sound, we're cutting her loose," Rick whispers. I shove my hands far into my pockets. I didn't have any negative or positive opinions about Michonne. She seemed nice, but a lot of people seemed nice before they stabbed us in the back. Shane did, and we did not want a repeat of Shane, never again. So now we're cautious it's not just Michonne, it's with everyone because of Shane. someone can act like the nicest person ever and have the worst of intentions.

"You think she's leading us into a trap?" Oscar asks. I didn't think so. She didn't seem like the type of person to do anything like that, especially to a group with more women and children than adult men. She didn't even seem like the type to live in a place like that, especially with the way she fought off walkers. There's no way. She had to live on the road for the majority of the outbreak to have that kind of agility and technique. "Right now, it's the blind leadin' the blind. Let's split up," Daryl mutters. a knock at the front door scares the shit out of all of us. We all jump as all our heads snap towards the door. We all scatter behind a wall. My heart beats fast against my chest as I hear the sound of keys jangling before the door gets unlocked and pushed open.

"I know you're in here," I hear a deep male voice with a Southern accent boom through the once-silent building. "I saw ya movin' from outside," the man shouts as his footsteps begin to get louder. "Alright, now. You're not supposed to be in here, and you know it." my breathing begins to pick up as he gets closer and closer. I'm terrified that he'll find us, terrified of what he'll do to us once he finds us. I feel an all too familiar hand press itself flush against my mouth. "Hush, it'll be alright" Daryl mutters against the shell of my ear.

"who's in here?" the man crosses the threshold, entering into the area we are hiding in. Right as the man's footsteps pass the curtain wall we are hiding behind, Rick jumps out at him, pinning the man against the wall with a grunt. The man yelps out in pain, but it's instantly met with Rick's hushed but equally scary voice muttering, "Shut up! Get on your knees. " The man has no time to say or do anything before he's thrown to the ground forcefully by Rick as both Oscar and Daryl walk out from behind Rick. "Hands behind your back," Rick says as he points a gun at the man's face.

Rick looks up at Daryl and instructs him, "Zip, tie him," as the man quickly throws his hands behind his back. The sound of a zip tie tightening around the man's hands is heard, while Rick whispers, "Where are our people?" and keeps his gun pointed at the man. The man has a shocked yet terrified look on his face as he yelps out, "I don't know! I don't know!" Rick pulls the man closer harshly. "You are holding some of our people. Where the hell are they?!"

Even with the gun pointed at the man's face, and Rick's harsh tone, the man continues to insist that he does not know where Glenn and Maggie are. "I don't know!" the man cries out. Rick gives up, realizing that the man doesn't know. rick lowers the gun. "Open your mouth. "Rick then shoves a rag into the man's mouth as the man struggles and grunts through the homemade gag. Daryl then takes his cross bow knocking the man in the back of the head so hard he falls onto the ground. 

-

The sounds of screams outside take our attention away from the most likely dead man. Rick cracks the front door open before peering out. I make out the all too familiar golden blaze of a fire outside, casting a glow-like light into the room. Rick slips out before the rest of us follow suit. With all the commotion outside, no one noticed or cared that there was a group of people with guns and a crossbow walking around outside. No one even questioned us. Every person we saw was running, screaming, or crying too much to even want to notice us. We start with off-limits areas and doors that look like they don't belong in this place.

As we stepped into the dimly lit building, a musty smell hit our nostrils. The walls were coated with grime and the floors looked like they hadn't been moped in a decade, and dust floated around the room freely. It was the kind of place that seemed to have been forgotten by time. But as we made our way through the labyrinthine corridors, we couldn't believe our luck when we stumbled upon the exact area we were searching for. It was a scene straight out of a crime thriller - dingy and dangerous, but somehow thrilling at the same time. As soon as we entered, a man was holding the largest gun I had ever seen. He didn't look like someone who was just a resident here. There was no way he was just a resident because Michonne had explained how only staff could carry weapons (guards, governor, right-hand men, and etc.). We quickly press ourselves against the wall as the man begins to walk away. 

We all breathed a sigh of relief as the man's heavy footsteps gradually receded. We hastily got up and ran towards another wall, one that had a window placed in a corner uncomfortably. The window was covered in a thick layer of grime, as if it had been neglected for years. The dirt and dust particles had accumulated to such an extent that it was almost impossible to see through it. Even the slightest ray of light that managed to penetrate the filthy surface was distorted, creating a distorted and hazy vision of what lay beyond the window. Fortunately, we could still see the hazy silhouettes of the men who paced around. 

I almost jump when a raspy, all too familiar voice cuts through the air like a sharp kitchen knife. A voice I hadn't heard in almost a year, a voice I thought belonged to a dead man. I know it scares Daryl too, because of the look on his face. The shock, the confusion, that man was supposed to be a dead man. But Merle Dixon was the strongest man Daryl had ever known. He said it himself, but there was no way he could've survived out there bleeding out with only one hand. After we came back from the city, Merle completely left our minds. Not only because there were more important things happening then, but also because we thought he had died. Even though we assumed Merle had stolen our truck, we also assumed he died somewhere along the way because he never showed back up at the camp to see if his little brother maybe wanted to come with him. 

I knew about their original plan, to steal everything we had and skip town. Daryl had told me sometime between the farm fire, and this spring. He felt guilty, especially then, because of how close he had gotten to all of us in the group. After learning about that, I was sure that Merle had died. If he hadn't, he would have certainly come looking for Daryl. but he didn't.  

"We hear the group of men inside the room starting to exit." "shit" Rick grumbles as he stands up, taking out some type of bomb before tossing it and sprinting away, we follow suit sprinting into the shadows as the men begin filing out of the room. As I stand still, I can hear the sound of men's voices from afar. Suddenly, the air fills with smoke, and amidst the chaos, I can hear their yelps and curses. The smoke screen is our chance to approach them without being seen. We move towards them, quietly and cautiously, as the thick smoke continues to obscure their vision.

Coughing, hacking, and shouts of 'shit', 'fuck', and 'what the fuck just happened' are all we hear as we approach the door with guns out, ready to shoot. As we sprinted into the room, most of the men were too busy doubled over from coughing to even notice us. We quickly grabbed Glenn and Maggie and made our escape. Narrowly escaping the men's bullets as we ran away. As I glance over at Glenn, my attention is immediately drawn to his missing shirt and blood-covered face, not to mention the yellowish tone of forming bruises.

-

 Glenn is struggling to walk, relying mostly on Rick as we hurry down the mostly deserted streets of Woodbury. However, we realize that we're taking a risk by running around in the open, so we opt to take shelter in an empty storefront. Daryl's in first crossbow out as he clears the room. With a sudden and unexpected motion, Glenn lost his balance and tumbled down onto the ground, landing with a thud almost immediately. Maggie and I are crouched down next to Glenn. now I can get a better look at him, the puffy look on one eye, the blood trickling out of his mouth; the blood smeared over his torso, his knuckles that are cracked and bleeding. I immediately grab his hand, squeezing it affectionately as I ask, "Are you alright?" he smiles weakly as he mumbles, "I'm fine...promise."

"Ain't no way out back here," Daryl says as I hear his footsteps make their way back up towards us. "Rick, how did you find us?" Maggie asks, turning back, so she's facing Rick. Rick ignores Maggie's question as he walks over to us. "How bad are you hurt?" Glenn grunts "I'll be alright" he didn't look it. Maggie's the first to bring attention to the fact that Michonne hadn't followed us into the building and just up and disappeared. "where's that woman?" looks around, searching around the room for Michonne. 

"She was right behind us." Rick pulls back the sheet covering the window to scan outside for Michonne, his face illuminated by the golden glow of the fires. "Maybe she was spotted." "Want me to go look for her?" Daryl volunteers himself as he begins to walk towards Rick. "NO," Rick states as he lets go of the sheet, letting it fall back into place. "We gotta get them out of here. She's on her own." Michonne had no ties to us, no bond, so if she got split up from our group, it didn't matter. "Daryl...this was Merle," Glenn grunts out as Maggie tends to his wound the best she can. 

The moment I heard this was Merle. I wanted to kill someone because why the hell would he do this? I knew Merle was a bad guy, but I didn't realize how bad until now. How could he do this to Glenn? Hell, if he just wanted to know if his brother was okay, I'm sure Glenn would've told him Daryl was okay. 

Despite hearing him before we stumbled upon Glenn and Maggie, Daryl was in a state of disbelief. He couldn't come to terms with the fact that what we heard was true. Daryl wanted to hang onto the little hope he had that his brother could've known nothing about anything the governor was doing. But deep down, Daryl had a keen understanding that Merle was not one to blindly follow the crowd. He was a man of his own mind. Daryl knew that Merle wouldn't simply act without considering his own rightful opinions. And this was right up his alley. Even back before at the quarry, it was completely out of character for him to join a group like ours. That's why he was never at camp. He was always out doing his own thing. Our camp was simply a place he could rest his head some nights and score a free meal here and there until he would've gone and stolen all our stuff leaving us for dead. 

"It was him. He did this," Glenn adds as he leans forward, letting Maggie wrap a zip-up around his body. Daryl's brows are furrowed with confusion as Rick asks, "You saw him?" Glenn nods, shoving his arms through the armholes of the sweater "face to face. He threw a walker at me; he was going to execute us." Daryl, with a hint of nervousness, takes a few hesitant steps forward. His stuttered words escape his lips as he attempts to voice his question. "S-so my brothers this governor?" Maggie shakes her head. "No, it's somebody else. Your brother's his lieutenant or something." 

"Does he know I'm still with ya?" Daryl's knuckles go white as he tightens his grip around the crossbow, its weight heavy in his hands. He points the weapon downward as he speaks. "He does now. Rick, I'm sorry. We told him where the prison was. We couldn't hold out." With regret in his voice, Glenn whispers softly as Rick kneels beside him. Meanwhile, I rummage through my bag, trying to find something that might be helpful to treat his wounds or at least prevent infection. "no. no need to apologize." Before I can even look up to make eye contact with Rick, he's bolting off towards the window. 

Finally, I found a roll of gauze and some antibiotic ointment to apply to Glenn's hands in hopes that his gashed open knuckles wouldn't get infected. "Let me see your hands," I whisper. I grasped Glenn's left hand gently, feeling his fingers curl around mine. He looked at me with a wince as I brought his hand closer to my face, inspecting the extent of his injuries. The skin on his palm was grazed and raw, with minor cuts and bruises scattered across his knuckles. "I'm fine y/n" he mutters as I squeezed a glob of ointment onto his knuckles. "I don't want it to get infected," With a gentle touch, I glide my index finger along the length of his knuckles. As I do so, I make sure that the ointment covers the affected areas evenly.

"They're gonna be looking for us."

Glenn grimaces in agony as he tilts his head back, shutting his eyes tightly. I take the rolled gauze and begin wrapping it around his knuckles a few times before tearing it free from the roll and keeping it in place with a little bit of medical tape. I repeat the same process on his other hand before packing my supplies back into my bag.

"We have to get back," Rick declares as he turns his body away from the window. "Can you walk?" Rick rises back to his feet and walks over to Glenn. "We got a car a few miles out." Glenn grunts as he begins to push himself up. "I'm good." we all help Glenn to his feet. All of us holding onto him for a few extra seconds as we let him get his balance back.

"Hey, if Merles around, I need to see him," Daryl says standing in front of Rick as if he was intending to block him from leaving. We needed to leave now before someone found us. And seeking out Merle, who we just learned is some type of right-hand man to the governor. Who even knows if Merle even cares that Daryl's his brother anymore, he could snatch us all up and take us to this governor guy without even thinking twice.

Rick leans in close to Daryl. His words are harsher than usual when speaking to Daryl. "Not now. We're in hostile territory." It seems like Daryl didn't understand the dangerous situation we were in, and all he heard was to leave his brother behind again. "he's my brother, I ain't-" Daryl is getting on Rick's nerves and it's obvious from the look on his face when he hisses, "Look at what he did!" at Daryl. "Look, we gotta- we gotta get out of here now. " Again, the harsher tone doesn't work. "Maybe I can talk to him, maybe I can work this out." Rick's gaze meets mine, and his expression speaks volumes. It's saying, "Talk some sense into your boyfriend." I nod as I reach for Daryl's hand. He turns, brows furrowed. "D it's not a good idea," I say as I lace my fingers through his "Th-this is my brother we're-" 

"I know I understand that but we gotta get home look at Glenn he can barely fucking walk d" I whisper, he shakes his head as he pushes my hand away from his. "no...no ya know damn well if this was yer fuckin' brother-" When he brings up my brother it lights a fire in me, a fire that can't be blown out no matter what. he can't just compare his brother to mine like that, he can't just bring him up in a conversation like he knew him. He knows damn well if my brother did what he did to Glenn, I wouldn't be running to forgive him, to find him, to hug him, and tell him everything was alright even though he almost killed two people who we all considered family at this point.

 "No, don't bring up my brother because you know I wouldn't be defending him like he's a fucking saint if he did something like this-" he sees the rage and immediately begins to backtrack "No-I no I didn' mean it like that," I take a deep breath preparing myself for whatever was about to come out of my mouth "D you aren't thinking straight we don't have time for you to run off and find merle" I grab his hands squeezing them tight between mine "We need you what if something happens when you're gone, huh? We've got 2 hurt people with us. Without you, we might not make it back to the car. " He sighs, eyes flicking between each one of us before muttering a quiet "Fine."

-

Daryl tosses one of Rick's grenades outside, where it sizzles and pops on the pavement. As smoke clouds around it, we run out the door with guns drawn. Unfortunately, we're immediately spotted by some men standing on top of some buses. One shone their flashlight towards us and shouts, "there they are!" before the pops and bangs of gunfire began to ring through my ears.  

Rick somehow manages to shoot one man on top of the buses, causing him to tumble backward off of the bus. As the chaos ensued, we frantically searched for a safe place to hide. Finally, our eyes caught sight of a sturdy wall. Without a second thought, we darted towards it, our hearts pounding with fear. We leaned against the wall, gasping for air as we reloaded our guns. "How many?!" Rick shouts over the gunfire. "I didn't see!" Oscar shouts back. "don' matter. There's gonna be more of'em. we need to move."

"Any grenades left?" Rick asks, while Daryl rummages through a bag. Daryl nods affirmatively while humming and responds with a simple "uh-huh". Rick rises to his feet as he says, "Get 'em ready. We gotta gun into the wall." Maggie and I cautiously take turns peering out from our hiding spot behind the wall, aiming our guns and firing off a few rounds before quickly ducking back into cover. "you guys go ahead. I'm gonna lay down some cover fire." 

"No, we gotta stay together." Maggie counters as she presses her back against the wall behind her. "Too hairy. I'll be right behind ya." Maggie cautiously peeks out from behind the wall, firing a few shots before quickly retreating back to cover. It's unclear whether any of the shots hit their targets, but even if they didn't, it could still help if anyone was trying to make their way towards us.

"Ready!" Daryl, who was hiding behind the wall, suddenly pops out and throws the grenade before we continue on our way. In a tense standoff, Daryl finds refuge behind a bench while he trades bullets with the governor's men, who are positioned behind the bench opposite of him. Who am I even following? I don't even know at this point I'm running around shooting at people I don't even know if I'm supposed to be shooting at then...

click, click, click.

"Fuck! fuck, fuck, fuck!" I frantically rummage through my bag, my heart pounding in my chest. My fingers search through the contents, hoping to feel the reassuring weight of extra ammunition. Thinking about it, maybe I shouldn't have stopped where I was to look for ammo, but when your mind is racing and there are five different things in your head, you don't even think about the possibility of getting shot while looking for ammo.

I didn't even feel the bullet as it grazed the side of my torso. It felt like someone tapped me, not like an entire bullet was almost about to fly through my torso. I only notice when blood begins to bleed into my tank top, staining the pure white a dark crimson red. "shit! shit! Shit!" I shout as I run for the first place I see to take cover.

I collapsed onto the ground next to Daryl with a loud sigh. "fuck" I let out an irritated grunt as I leaned back against the hard bench. The dull ache in my back was only slightly alleviated by the cool metal surface. Suddenly, a voice interrupted my thoughts. "Are ya alrigh'?" he asked, concern etched on his face. I sighed and lifted my shirt, revealing the deep wound that was now oozing blood.

The wound is long and takes up at least half of the side of my torso in the elongated shape of a bullet. "Yeah, it just grazed me," I mutter as I begin to dig through my bag for the rolled-up gauze I had earlier. "ya sure?" he asks as he continues to shoot at the other men. "Yeah, just need to get it wrapped up," I say as my fingers graze over the cold metal of the stupid ammunition. 

Finally, I find the gauze and dress my wound with a few pieces of gauze pads before wrapping the rolled gauze around my torso and keeping it all in place with a little bit of medical tape. I hear Maggie shout "Daryl!" as Daryl's reloading. my chest is heaving as I try to catch my breath. Although I had felt zero pain earlier when the bullet had grazed me, I was somehow feeling it all right now. "Go!"

"ya need to go now. I'll be right behind ya just go" I gently placed my hand on his arm. The touch was subtle yet firm, as if to signal him to stop talking. "Yeah, yeah I will just one second I need to catch my breath" Gasping for breath, I let out a faint whisper as I clutch my aching side with my left hand. "they're bout to leave ya go; you can catch your breath once yer over that fence go!" As I push myself up from the ground, a low grumble escapes my lips, like a heavy groan resonating through my chest. I take a deep breath to steady myself and start sprinting towards the buses, my feet pounding against the pavement with each step.

I was just about to climb up to the roof of the bus When I spun around just in time to catch a glimpse of Daryl being forcefully dragged away by a group of men. They had a tight grip on his shoulders, and I could see the fear in his eyes as he struggled to free himself from their grasp. "Shit! shit," I mutter under my breath as I pull my once-discarded gun out of my bag and reload it with the ammo I had found earlier.

"What is it?" Maggie, who is leaning over the other side of the fence ready to help me, asks. "They took Daryl," I say as I hop off of the front of the bus. "No! y/n don't! we'll find him later!" Maggie shouts as I head back towards the bench, taking out several of the governor's men who attempt to attack me. "I don't have time for later. I'll meet you guys back at the car!" 

 I pick up Daryl's crossbow that had been discarded on the ground along with the gun he had, and a few bolts. I scanned my surroundings, desperately trying to figure out which way the men who had taken Daryl had gone. With Daryl's crossbow in my hand, I loaded a bolt into the bow and started to follow their trail. My heart was pounding in my chest as I ran down the pavement, dodging panicked Woodbury residents running in the opposite direction. I could hear their screams and shouts, but I had no idea what was happening. Every single resident of Woodbury seemed to be heading in the same direction, as if drawn by some invisible force.

My thoughts are interrupted when I run into a man who is much taller than me. He seems much calmer and more relaxed than everyone else, including me. "Shit, I'm sorry, I did-" 

"y/n?" I looked up with furrowed brows, surprised that the man knew my name. I was shocked to see him, as I had thought he had died months ago. His face was more stubbly than the last time I saw him, and there was a long scar that stretched across the length of his left cheek. "Jack? I thought-" 

As his gaze travels up and down my body, he seems surprised. "I didn't realize you lived here," he says, and I can see his eyes lingering on the myriad of scars that now decorate my skin. Each one tells a story of the daily battles I've faced, the trauma, the pain, and the death. "no-no I don't um your people they- they um took my friend, and I-" his eyes widen as the realization of who I'm with sets in. I'm baffled. He's supposed to be dead. I watched as walkers swarmed him. How'd he even get out of that? I waited days, if he somehow survived that why didn't he come back? Did he just assume I had died? Or did he just decide it was for the best to leave me for dead?

"you're the terrorists," he whispers. I shake my head, muttering quietly "NO, no... you don't understand you-your governor they-they took my friend and we're here to get him back we-we didn't mean for all this to happen." I'm feeling a sense of frustration and exasperation as I find myself trying to explain myself. "A-and now they took my boyfriend, and I can't leave without him...can you help me?" I don't even think to censor myself when referring to Daryl as my boyfriend being so rushed and frantic. I didn't even think about how he'd react to me being with another man. 

"Wait- wait...wait boyfriend?" my eyes widen in fear before choosing to deflect "Please Jack" I plead as I grab onto his arm. He sighs, whispering, "Fine, okay. Where did they go?" My heart raced as panic set in - I frantically scanned my surroundings, but to no avail. The memory of the path they had taken had completely escaped me. "Where are you going? Maybe they're taking him there." 

-

We end up in an area that kind of resembles a high school football field. It's small, with two sets of bleachers on each side, and it's lit up by a few large torch-like things. We're hidden behind the bleachers, hoping that no one will see us. The immediate surroundings are abuzz with the chatter of what seems to be a significant portion of Woodbury's population.

People are engrossed in conversation, speculating about the events that led them to this place and the reasons behind them. "Where do you and your group live?" Jack asks. I sigh, turning my head so I can make eye contact with him. "a prison," I reply before turning back around so I can keep a lookout for the governor or Daryl. he lets out a quiet "oh" before going on to his next question. "So, how many are there? y'know in your group?" I roll my eyes; did he have to ask this many questions? "Like 10 I dunno-"

When a brunette man with gauze wrapped around his head creating an eye patch walks in, everyone shuts up. It's a face that I could easily recognize in a crowd of people. This face has been etched in my memory for as long as I can remember. The last time I saw him, he was younger, with fewer wrinkles and scars on his face. "That's your governor?"

"What can I say?" he throws his arms out in defeat. "hasn't been a night like this since the walls were completed. And I thought we were past it," he swallows hard before continuing "past the days when we all sat, huddled scared in front of the TV during the early days of the outbreak. The fear we all felt then, we felt it again tonight." he pauses for a few seconds before he says, "I failed you." in a quiet tone. "I promised to keep you safe" he chuckles as he pivots his body a bit so it's facing the other set of bleachers "hell, look at me" he wipes at his mouth as he walks a few steps forward "You know, I-I should tell you that well be okay, that were safe. That tomorrow we'll bury our dead and endure, but won't, because I can't because I'm afraid."

 There are a few gasps in the crowd like it was so mind-boggling that their precious, brave, strong leader could be afraid of a group with more women and children than men. "that's right. I'm afraid of terrorists who want what we have. Want to destroy us! And worse...because of one of those terrorists...is one of our own." the crowd murmurs questions, and speculations about who this 'terrorist' is. He turns before pointing at Merle, who stands just a few feet behind him. "Merle..." the crowd gets louder with gasps.

Merle's brows are furrowed tightly as he stares at the governor's eyes filled with betrayal. "The man I counted on the man I trusted." one of the governor's other men places a gun against merles back, "he led'em here!" the crowd gasps "and he late in," Another one of his men takes merles weapons from his pockets as the governor begins walking towards merle. "It was you! You lied. Betrayed us all. Then, in the distance, someone with a sack on their head is led toward the arena. As they get close, I can make out the figure. The bigger muscles, the black vest, its Daryl. merle is pushed forward towards the governor. 

Daryl is struggling as he is pushed further and further towards the governor. "This is one of the terrorists!" the governor takes hold of Daryl's bicep and pulls Daryl towards him before ripping the sack off of Daryl's head. "Merle's own brother!" the governor circles Daryl like a bird circles its prey before he shouts, "What should we do with them! Huh?!" from the crowd a man shouts "Kill 'em!" which is followed by a bunch more shouts to 'kill them!!'

Taglist

@rivversin @soul4death @furiousheartpoetry @silicone-bonez @nezukos-number1fan @your-shifting-gurl @maziejay08 @oi-itse @rhaenryawhore @kimbunnysstuff @blipblopper @ramielll @ilyhannah @daryldixonnn @delicatebearpandaopera @crypticmushroom @daryldixmedown @duckybird101 @0-imjushere-0

#fanfics #x reader #daryl twd #daryl dixon x fem!reader #daryl dixon x f!reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon twd #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #the walking dead x reader #the walking dead #twd #Rick grimes #Glenn Rhee #Maggie Greene #michonne #merle dixon

[maladaptive-ninja-returns]

New World (3)

Itachi Uchiha x Reader Fluff

Summary: The world War has met its end and Itachi has returned to his village. He questions whether he should set down his roots here when he meets a stranger. Or rather, a stranger is forced upon him by fate.

Warnings: *shrugs* not really sure

Word Count: I think one of the car tires is not doing good. I hope it hangs in there till I take it to the tire doctor tomorrow.

MASTERLIST in bio, darlings. Tags are open (check bio)

“-So ultimately I figured why not go outside the village and explore the rest of the world. And it doesn’t hurt to see such beautiful company on the way." You smile weakly at the stranger named Toge and nod, pretending to listen to him all the while trying to find something else to drown him out. This man has been talking nonstop since the journey from Konoha began. And your usually patient threads are slowly starting to stretch beyond their points. The chief of Bamboo Village and the older men ride the oxen while the rest of the group walks alongside them; scattered while covering all angles in case of an attack.  Kakashi covers the front end, and Nami has taken the right side along with Kozuki- the woman who barely speaks. You are stuck at the left with Toge while Itachi walks in the back. Naruto keeps shifting in all directions, depending on his mood and you keep blessing him on the inside for not letting you suffer alone for whatever minutes he spares to talk to Toge. So, the next time Naruto comes your way, you are quick to excuse yourself to Nami's side, pleading with your eyes to switch places with you. Only she doesn't, making you feel the emotions of betrayal in your throat for the first time.

So you do the next best thing to swallow down the emotions you are feeling right now. "Peach?" you offer the most voluptuous round peaches around the caravan, starting from the eldest to the one walking at the end. "Peach?" you offer Itachi, avoiding eye contact, looking down into your bag to look for the juiciest one. You see his pale hand reach into the bag and bring out a peach at the edge of ripening. Closing the cloth bag, you carefully wrap the fabric on itself and shove it inside your bigger backpack with the rest of the belongings you are carrying for your journey. Guess I have to go back to stand next to him, you think to yourself as you watch Toge eyeing you from over his shoulder as Naruto narrates his adventures with the Toad sage. Something about that man does not make you comfortable. "Where's your peach?" The voice startles you. It takes you a good moment to realise the heavy voice with just a touch of earthiness and a speck of husk is Itachi's.  Didn't notice that when he introduced himself to you, did ya? Your inner voice smacks you in the back of your head. You were too busy swimming in those dark abysses for eyes then. The question is absorbed by your mind only when Itachi raises the peach in his hand. You blink and take out your peach from the pocket of your pants to show it to him before taking a bite.  A smile grows on your lips. You don't know the reason for it.  Maybe you just don't want to know the reason for it.

.

The task at hand is a simple one. So simple that Itachi lets his crows take the reigns on this one while he lets himself discharge the numbness and allow his senses to feel the surroundings. The call of birds, the gentle rustle of leaves with the breeze, the water trickling down in a steam nearby or the chirping of crickets and bugs on the trees surround the path travelled by the group. It is healing for his senses, the melody of nature, that is. Though the ringing of the war that is over still goes off somewhere in the back of his head, he consciously makes an effort to come back to the present. To let himself know he no longer has to think twenty steps ahead. Yet. With this caravan, it was an easy day. Lucky for him- he sighs- he has something to focus on whenever his mind thinks of going back into the dark corners of his treacherous world. You. Quiet, ready to blend into the background, first to help anyone who asks for it, you are the display of a perfect caricature of an idle woman that existed in the old books, Itachi surmises in his head. And then he proceeds to hold a chuckle as you turn away from Toge to let loose of your features; to let go of all the discomfort it has been holding on for the past thirty-two minutes as you have heard that man talk without a pause. Itachi surprises himself, rubbing his cheeks with his palm and fingers, wondering if he has ever smiled like that. He watches you wave at the squirrels or foxes you spot in the path. He notices you pick coloured pebbles from the ground and raise them towards the sun's light before sharing them with Naruto. He observes as you slowly grow the distance between you and Toge when he tries to poke you with some personal questions. He questions why he feels this small ounce of a foreign sensation when he sees you play with Naruto's hair, massaging it while Naruto seemingly vibrates with a positive sensation. When Naruto groans and spews the bite on picking up a raw preach from your bag, your giggles vibrate through the forest, and Itachi can feel those vibrations in his chest. When you walk to the opposite side- to Nami and Kozuki- to offer peaches, Itachi can smell the whiff of lavender that has been grazed from you by the afternoon breeze. "Peach?" you walk next to him, never making eye contact. And in that moment, Itachi realises why he seems so keen to study you. Your presence has been objectified by my mind as an anchor in this moment, Itachi's inner voice rationalises the thoughts in his head. You are a blip in the present that makes me focus on the now. You are something new that my mind finds amusing to observe. You will be useful to me whenever the darkness beckons me back. That's it. You are nothing but a mere anchor. A mere ripe peach to remind me of the humane part of me so I do not- While the mental note is read out loud in his head, he forgets he has asked you a question. And so when you look up at him with embers of surprise in your y/e/c eyes, his monologue comes to a pause. A long pause. That rational little piece of computation is- for the moment- kept on the back burner to simmer as he notices a slight smirk on the corner of your lips. He can tell it is not forced, unlike what you were displaying with Toge earlier.

.

"The next village is four hours away. Let's rest for a bit here. We'll arrive there in time for an early supper and rooms." Kakashi has not finished the sentence when Naruto and Toge are already diving into the small plunge pool of the eight-meter-high waterfall made in the stream. You, Nami and Kozuki rest under the nearest tree, stretching and relieving yourselves of the tiredness in your legs. Kakashi and Itachi walk out in opposite directions to survey the area while the rest of the caravan sets out a little fire and puts a kettle on for a tea break. "So, you seem to have found an admirer, huh," Nami is quick to nudge with her arm, leaving you a bit confused. "Who?" "Toge. Who else?" You have to force out a laugh. "I'm sure that guy just likes to talk." "About how much he would 'love to take you to the hot springs himself'," Nami mimics Toge's burly-ness with a heaviness in her voice and her chest puffed, getting a snort out of you. Even Kozuki smiles. "Yeah, I'd rather hang out with anyone...no one...after those past three hours," you confess, bending over to crack you back. Naruto is showing off his chakra skills in the water while Toge summoning as many of his clones inside the pool to get Naruto to disbalance over the water's surface. "Men all want the same thing," Kozuki finally speaks, and you cannot help but instantly adore her sultry voice. "We are a means to an end for them, darlings. They are quick to walk ahead of you when they have either got what they wanted or they no longer think you fulfil that objective for them." You and Nami share a look. "So," Kozuki claps the dirt off her hands as she sprawls on the grass and lets her back be exposed to the sun, "have fun with them before they get to that part." You tilt your head in confusion. Nami smirks and raises her brows in tiny for admiring those words. "Speaking of which," Kozuki looks at Kakashi coming back from the forest into the clearing where everyone is, "are any of your village boys taken?" You follow her gaze and have to subside a gasp. "Not that we know of." Kozuki turns around, raising her top to let her belly get a little bit of that Vitamin D, and hums. "Guess I'll have some fun then."

.

Itachi comes back to the clearing, pausing by the nearest shrub to calculate his place in this mild ruckus of such live company. Naruto and Toge are still battling after their plunge in the pool, the elders are enjoying their freshly brewed tea and Kakashi has taken out a book- The Icha Icha Paradise, Volume Twenty-One- and is reading it while sitting atop the nearest boulder. Nami is cooling off her legs by the waterfall. Kazuki is walking in Kakashi and Itachi's direction with two mugs of hot tea. "Thirsty, boys?" She does not like to play subtly. While Kakashi looks away from his book, Itachi is distracted by the figure past Kozuki's shoulder. There under the tree with the back to its huge trunk, you are sitting with your eyes closed. Your legs are raised to your chest, your one arm slips from over your knees to your side and anyone can tell that the interlude has taken you to its sweet depth; deeper than one thinks of going on a lazy afternoon. Itachi has noticed it. And much more. He has noticed the shift in Kozuki's physical demeanour towards him as soon as she is handing over Kakashi his tea. He has noticed Toge's gaze running past Naruto towards a defenceless you. The Bamboo village lad is quick to run his hands through still-wet hair as he walks away from the edge of the pool towards the tree you rest beneath, half-clad while still holding his shirt in his hand. His confidence is intense, no doubt, but his steps stagger with the same intensity when he watches Itachi appear from behind the tree within seconds and indifferently stand between an oblivious you and the alien villager. Before Toge can understand what has happened, Itachi sits down next to you- close enough to let people around you know you are not unguarded and far enough to give you respectable space. The tree trunk is big enough to house both of you and still have space left. But Toge is smart enough to just let his jaw feel the stress before walking away. Itachi closes his eyes and sits there as if meditating. No one can tell if he pretends to do so or if he is realistically lost in a meditative trance because that man does not move when tiny snores have started reverberating from next to him. Neither does he budge when your head falls limp on his right arm. He stays there sturdy like a rock. A slow-breathing, warm rock.

.

"Y/N, get up. Let's go." You can hear Nami somewhere in the distance. It takes some time but the sun rays playing on your eyelids from between the leaves above do the trick of waking you up. Your face is half squished against something warm while your eyes try to adjust to the scene of the elders already mounting over their oxen buddies and Kozuki tying her jacket on her perfect waist. You can see Toge eyeing you from the distance before he is given an order by one of the elders, making him reluctantly move away from your direction. It is only when your gaze goes down on your knees pressed against another pair of legs do you notice how you have pressed yourself against...oh lord of the land fire! The wave of embarrassment crashes into you just as fast as you move away from Itachi. What makes it worse is the line of drool starting from your lips and ending on the fabric covering his arm. The apology is in your throat when you hear Itachi's voice. "Today's the first time Naruto did not wake me up from my rest." Your brows furrow in confusion and you can slowly feel the unwanted heaviness seep into your head because of the nap being cut short. "I guess he didn't want to disturb you," Itachi confesses with a smile; a smile that nearly closes his eyes and your heart melts into a mushy puddle of adoration.  Was this man really an Akatsuki? your inner voice is lying on her stomach with her legs swaying in the air.  Just like that, the embarrassment is replaced with twinkles of gratitude inside you. "Aw-" you shrug and smile back at Itachi- "let me know if he does it again and I'll sleep with you- I MEAN REST with-by-next...NEXT to you. Because of...Naru-"  You decide it's better to walk away. Quickly. Your insides are judging you quite harshly.  But the one walking behind you is smiling and wondering why his cheeks hurt so much today.

#itachi uchiha #itachi x reader #itachi x you #itachi x y/n #itachi uchiha x reader #itachi uchiha x you #itachi uchiha fluff #itachi uchiha smut #itachi fluff #itachi smut #new world #maladaptive ninja returns

[icanbeyourjedi-writes]

It Was Just A Dream... Chapter Two

Summary: Frankie is all moved in, or is he? A cute game of cat and mouse has an ending you wouldn’t expect, Frankie’s mood swings end with an outcome neither of them expected.  Words: 5,000+ Rating: 18+ Adult Themes Warnings/Triggers:  Addiction, Falling for Your Brothers Friend, Language, OFC is somewhat described as someone with longer hair, but no race/eye color/body type  

A/N: I don’t know much about addiction, just the things that I googled and seen portrayed on TV. This is completely an AU. I had the beginning of this story pop in my head randomly and thought it sounded fun to explore. Sure we all love Frankie was that sweet puppy dog…but what if he had his own inner demons he had to battle with.  The ‘coke charge’ was mentioned in TF and I kinda wanted to explore that side of him. 

**This is written asa  first person, and it's my first time writing in first person, so please be gentle with me. I also include Frankie's POV which will be Bold and Italics

It took two days, four, well three and a half strong men moved all of Frankie’s stuff. My house might be small, but the best part. Despite only having two bedrooms, the bedrooms are huge. The guest room is slightly smaller than my master and there isn’t an attached bathroom but still plenty is space for his stuff. I kept the small desk there, well honestly that was the only thing I had there. Five years of living here and my guest room was still empty. Mostly why I think Benny volunteered my space, I was also someone he knew. All of Frankie’s belongings were still in taped boxes. We didn’t know how long Benny was going to be gone, it made sense to bring more than just a duffle bag of stuff. 

It's been two weeks since he had moved in, his clothes still in boxes, extra bedding still in boxes. He’s been wearing the same gray sweatpants and black shirt since he got here. Now don’t get me wrong, I love a man in specifically gray ones as much as the next girl, but he hasn’t changed. I don’t even know if he has showered. Seeing him all mopey is making me mad and slightly frustrated. I know he would much rather be back at what has been his home for years, but he needs help and I want to help. I just have no idea what I am doing. I’m feeling guilty making him move, and I know I shouldn’t. 

Thanks to having no social life I had a lot of PTO built up, I’ve been off these two weeks trying to help him feel at home. It’s been mostly awkward living with him when it shouldn’t. Awkward grunts, one word answers, he eats alone despite my best efforts. Yesterday he came out of his room and talked to me, it was about a cricket outside his window that just wouldn’t shut up. It was the first time he seemed to be normal? Is that even the right word, what is normal? 

It’s late afternoon, and he had been in his room the entire day. Walking past his room and I see him sitting on the edge of his bed, staring at the boxes sitting along the wall picking at his fingernails. He has had mood swings that have him going from happy to sad in seconds.  I thought about walking past him again, keep going on with my day.  But I couldn’t stand seeing the boxes still stacked. It felt like he was ready to move as soon as Benny stepped foot on American soil again, and I was terrified of seeing him live like he didn’t belong here.  I stop and gently tap on the open door, “hey…you want some help with those?”

He doesn’t look up at me, instead he just continues to stare at the box, “there’s just so much, I don’t know where to start” he takes a deep breath hanging his head 

I walk into his room, he is still sitting on the bed. I grab the top box labeled ‘shirts’ and then turn back towards him. I tap his foot with mine, motioning with my head he needs to move. He stands up and watches as I drop the box on the bed and start grabbing a few shirts and put them in one of the many empty drawers. I hear him sigh with disapproval and I look at him “What?” I groan in frustration 

“They need to be folded neatly, and by color. As well as style, but it’s fine…it’s fine. I’ll just do it later” he rubs the back of his neck

Call it being a perfectionist, I call it someone who was trained that everything always had to have order.  Everything needed to have crisp lines, be organized.  Having its rightful spot, years of military training would do this to a person and I was all too aware that it wasn’t fine.

I pull the shirts back out of the drawer, hoping he doesn’t see my eye roll and I set them back in the box. I didn’t expect this to be easy, but I also didn’t expect I was going to have to be his mother and not a friend. I didn’t think I was going to have to tell Frankie to eat, to take a shower. All the things I thought he already knew, was he like this in rehab? “Then refold the shirts and put them in the drawer” shit was that too aggressive? “I think I might make you feel more at home if you do” I put a hand on his shoulder gently rubbing it. 

I watch as he takes a shirt out, folds it meticulously. The edges of the shirt are perfect, he sets it on the bed, his hand running over the shirt, taking out any wrinkles. Every shirt has an order, by color, type, it is memorizing watching him as he moves. Folding every time with such perfection. I have to shake my head and snap out of it, I grab another box and open it to find it stuffed with boxers. He is completely focused on his shirts as I work to put the boxer briefs in a drawer hoping the fold in half method works for him. 

I pull out black pair after black pair.  There was an occasional gray mixed in. After seeing him in those gray sweatpants for the past two weeks my mind can’t help but imagine him in these and how great they would make his thighs look, his…’stop.  Don’t think about that. He’s now your roommate you can’t do that’ all those thots fall when I pull out a baby blue pair with little cat heads wearing headsets. Different types of helicopters fill the empty space between the cat faces. I can’t but giggle holding them up, Frankie stops what he is doing and looks up, “care to explain these” holding the boxers in the air and shake them, I arch an eyebrow at him smiling 

He reaches across and snatches them from my hands “nope…” he paused for a moment fold the boxers in half “you got them” he places them on the bottom of the drawer under the pile of black ones 

“I did?” I truly don’t remember. One would think someone would remember getting boxers that looked like that 

“Yeah, Christmas a few years ago” he returns his focus to the shirts in the box

”Oh my God, you’re right. I did” I laugh

”You said, that I was impossible to shop for, and you wanted something unique to remember you when I was away” 

Frankie is the most impossible person to shop for. He always would say he didn’t need anything, he said to not waste money on a guy like him. He wasn’t worth it. I watch Frankie roll his eyes as I tell him again that he is impossible to shop for. A hint of a smile begins to appear and I think that we might have a breakthrough. I finished the box I was working on, broke it down and leaned it against the wall. Frankie pulls out his last shirt and folds it, setting it on the top of a pile. Grabbing the small stack he turns and starts to put them in the top drawer. I grab the box and start to break it down when I see a film strip inside. I reach in and grab the photos. 

I stare at them, a clean shaven, wide-eyed twenty something Francisco Morales. I had a photo from this shoot, but I never saw these two. It was before his first deployment and the guys went and did some ‘glamor shots’ as a gag gift. Frankie’s in a purple shirt and leather jacket. His brown hair falling perfectly into place. The first photo his hands are in his back pockets. Showing off his impressive chest and broad shoulders, his smile that makes one’s heart beat a little faster and an instant panty dropper. The other, I swear, he could have been a model. His arms crossed over his chest. His biceps bursting the seams of his jacket, his lips pursed together in a brooding expression. Holy shit, he’s hot…“What do we have here?”

Frankie turns and looks at me, it takes a moment for him to realize what I’m holding in my hand. “Give those here” he reaches for them and I quickly pull them away

”Nope…” I laugh and hold them up, inspecting the photos a bit more

”Lex” he says, a bit more authoritative, it’s deep and it’s sexy. He takes a step towards me, I take a couple small steps towards his open door. I try to keep a distance between us 

I have a small idea, “you want them?” I ask slowly moving backward closer to the door, he starts to close the distance nodding his head yes, “then you’ll just have to come and get them” I smile and turn to run through the door. 

He bolts out of the room following me, I forget how fast he is and how incredibly silent he can be. He’s on my heels in an instant and I run a circle around the couch. Heading past him and into the kitchen, stopping at one end of the small island. He’s facing me on the other side “Lex…” he says.  I smile, laugh and run past his outstretched arm.  

“Gotta be quicker than that Morales” I ran around the house again, waiting for him to turn and find me again. I lose my breath as I’m back in his room, the bed as a barrier between us. I look at the photos and see him strut back into his room. I clearly didn’t think this through completely as I find myself trapped on the one side of the bed. Frankie blocking the only exit. He starts to walk around the bed, he’s standing at the end while I move further up closer to the headboard. I’m waiting for him, I have my escape planned. He fakes a step to the left towards me and I step up onto his bed. The piles of shirts start to fall when I bring my other foot up. He reaches across the bed, “Bad move, Miller” he snarls and wraps a hand around my ankle pulling it out and dropping me to the bed. 

I hold the photos above my head, he pulls me closer. Placing his thigh is between my legs and crawling the bed until  he’s hovering over my body. We’re both laughing and I struggle to keep the photos out of his reach. His large hand captures both of my wrists and pins them to the bed. I squirm below him, trying to break free.  “Stop moving” he grunts, his other hand lands on my hip. Holding me tightly in place, my shirt slightly raised and his thumb slowly rubbing against my bare skin. Our laughter slowly turns into heavy breathing. 

His face is so close, I can feel his warm breath. His eyes are so full of life now, I see the small parts of the old Frankie. The Frankie that became a friend, family, a crush. My heart is pounding and I am pretty positive Frankie can hear it, his hand is setting my skin on fire and I have no idea what is happening. But I want to kiss him, I want him to kiss me, I want to feel his lips on mine. “Frankie…” I whisper 

“Hmmm” he leans closer to me, his nose brushing along mine 

I don’t know what I was going to say, I didn’t imagine us ending up like this. I clearly didn’t think this through and I have no idea what to do. Time seems to move slow, and I don’t know how long we stay like this. His eyes focused on mine, I feel like he is looking into my soul. Does he want me to kiss him? Should I kiss him? His hand still wrapped around my wrists, the other still holding my hip. 

“KISS HIM ALREADY” my inner voice yells. I finally make a move, I close the short distance between, my lips just about to touch his when my phone rings in my back pocket. His hand releases my wrists and he sits up on the bed. I close my eyes, wishing I didn’t take so long to make the move. I reach behind me, pulling out my phone. It was work, I smiled and mouth a sorry to him, sliding the answer button and bringing the phone to my ear. “Hello” I stand and walk out of his room 

“Why didn’t I kiss her? She was right there…would she even want me to kiss her?” He thinks to himself, running his fingers through his hair 

He looks at himself in the mirror. The same sweatpants he’s been wearing for well over a week, he looked like a hot mess. At least the shirt was clean, or he thought his shirt was clean. He sees the unruly hair, the 5 o’clock shadow had turned into a fully grown beard. “Because you're a pathetic loser, look at you. She’d never want you to kiss her” that negative voice inside him says. Frankie shakes his head, hands covering his face. He rubs his eyes and tries to remember Will telling him wasn’t.  But the thing is, Will was never a very good liar and the voice becomes louder and louder. 

“Fishie…hey Fish” her voice brings him back. He looks up at her “hey, you ok?

“yeah…yeah” he says, but her face tells him she doesn’t believe him. 

“uhm, ok.  I gotta run to work for a bit. I’m not sure when I’ll be home but there’s money on the table. Order some take out”  

He nods, giving her his best smile and watches as she walks away. He hears the door open and close.  Standing up he peeks his head out the door, he doesn’t hear her. He just needs to take the edge off. He knows he will feel a lot better when he can’t feel anything again. He knows he doesn’t have much left, but enough to last him at least today. He’ll worry about tomorrow-tomorrow. Thank God he hid the green can well enough that Alex didn’t find it. Just one hit, that’s all he needs.

“Take a shower, you’ll feel better after a shower. You’re better than this” he can hear Will’s voice. 

It didn’t.

“Food, get some food. Don’t do this Cat” the voice says

My phone dances on my desk as I finish some paperwork. I had plenty of PTO built up, but the doctor's office had an influx of new patients and I was one of the few who knew how to enter all the data and get them set up. It wasn’t where I pictured myself when I graduated college with a degree in film.  But it’s a good paying job, and it kept me close to home. 

Fishie 🐟: u like Pad Thai 🍲 

Me: Not really, and I don’t think that’s Pad Thai haha

Fishie 🐟: oh ok what u want? 

I type back a response, telling him to order what he wants. The money on the table was for him to do what he wanted. I might not like Pad Thai, but that shouldn’t stop him from ordering it. I finish typing a few things and grab my phone. I walked over to some of my coworkers who were getting ready to head out as well. I lean against Laura’s desk. She was chatting with a few of the nurses, I watched my phone as the little bubble with dots popped up, then disappeared, appeared again, and disappeared again. I sigh, my head drops. His mood swings are driving me insane. 

Me: I like noodles, with teriyaki sauce if that counts as Pad Thai

“What’s up Buttercup” Laura smiles cheerfully

”Have you ever had to help a friend with an addiction?” I look up, the mouths all open “seriously. A friend, not me” 

“What kind of addiction?” Laura asks, she was my go-to at work. Her upbeat attitude always had the answers 

“Narcotics…” I reply 

Is this friend living with you?” a nurse asks 

I tell them how the friend just got out of rehab, I leave out the part that the friend is a he, and the he is Frankie. I tell them how rehab said something about how they shouldn’t be left alone, doctors orders they need to live with someone in case of a relapse. “Sometimes I feel like I see the person I became friends with, then sometimes hhhh-they are a completely different person. Someone I don’t even know and it’s only been two weeks” 

“Just keep being there for them, don’t push too hard. But they need to know you are there for him. I mean them, no matter what it is, they can trust you” she puts a hand on top of mine 

“You can’t give up on them.  No matter how hard they try to push you away, you push back. They’ll have their moments but like Laura said, you just need to be there. Letting them know you won’t give up on them” 

“Thanks,” I take a deep breath and stare at my phone, he still hasn’t responded “I just wish I knew what he needed, he doesn’t talk” 

“Give it time, he will open up when he’s ready” 

'Did she just say he? How does she know' I think

I walk into the house, kicking off my shoes and dropping my purse off on the little side table. I hear grunting from down the hall. ‘Oh please don’t tell me he has a girl here’ I think to myself moving towards his room. “Frankie?” 

T-Shirts he had just folded and pants were thrown into the hall. I move towards the open door dodging pants being thrown out as I get close, I look into his room and it looks like a tornado hit. The mattress shoved against the wall, drawers empty and pulled from the dresser, clothes thrown around the room. I see Frankie bent over in his closet he had on a new pair of dark green sweats on, he’s shirtless. Little water droplets still cling to his hair and a towel draped over the back of a chair. 

“Where the fuck is it?!” he shouts as I watch him throw more things around. 

“Where is what?” I ask, and instantly regret it 

He turned quickly looking at me, his eyes filled with rage and nostrils flaring. I’ve never seen this look before, and he slowly starts to walk towards me. There’s an evil glint to his eye and it scares me. 

“Where the fuck did you put it Alexandra?” He snarls 

“If you told me what you are looking for…” I tried to not raise my voice, trying to keep calm. He needs me to remain calm. 

“YOU KNOW EXACTLY WHAT I’M LOOKING FOR! DON’T PLAY STUPID” 

The yelling intensifies and I know the neighbors can hear us, stay calm. Don’t make things worse. 

What happened to the Frankie from earlier? 

“I need you to calm down, Frankie. Please. Just tell me what you're looking for and I can help” I wanna put my hand on his shoulder, ground him. Let him know I’m here, but he’s breathing heavy, his lip curls up in an evil grin. 

“I know you have it!” he says in an oddly calm manner, “JUST GIVE IT TO ME!!!” He yells 

He takes a step closer, he raises his fist. I flinch as the closed hand comes flying towards me and it connects with the wall inches from my head. “Give it to me now Alex” he growls

“What in the hell is your problem!?” I yell shoving his chest back

“You! Benny! This stupid fucking place. I don’t want to be here!” His eyes begin to water and a tear streams down his cheek, he takes a couple steps back

“Fine, then fucking leave! No one is forcing you to be here Francisco” I try to hold back by own tears “I am sick and tired of seeing you being all mopey and shit.  You don’t want to be here, FINE” 

Shit…I am pretty sure I just over stepped. I go to open my mouth to apologize and there is a hard knock at the door followed by a “Police” 

“You called the Police?” He shouts 

“I’ve been standing in front of you the entire time arguing with you. When would I have had time to call the police?” I say, I back up and move towards the front door. The knocks become more aggressive “I’m coming!” 

I unlock the door and see three officers standing there. They all have a concerned look on their faces

”Good evening ma’am. We got a call about some yelling and wanted to make sure everything was ok” the taller officer said

”Everything is fine. It’s great. Just swell” my words are dripped with sarcasm

“Do you mind stepping outside to talk to my partner Officer James” he looks over my shoulder and sees Frankie, “hey there sir.  Mind coming over here for a moment?” 

He is sitting on the porch as she stands by the car. He fucked up, she’s given up on him. He’s given up on himself. 

“What’s your name?” The youngest officer asks him 

Frankie reads the name printed on his chest. T. Baker. “Frank, my name is Frank and everything is fine Officer Baker” 

Baker keeps asking bin questions.  What happened, did she hit him. Did he hit her? How long has he been living here? What was their relationship? Frankie becoming more annoyed with each question. What did it matter? He fucked things up and he needed a hit more then ever. He was looking for his coke, she found him on a downward spiral but there was no way he was going to tell him that. Suddenly the questions take a turn, when Officer Baker notices a tattoo on his chest. 

“What branch?” 

“Excuse me” Frankie responds confused 

“Your tattoo?”

“Oh yeah, Army. Special Ops, I was a pilot” 

He has a tattoo on the left side of his chest, a helicopter flying. A sun and clouds shaded in the background. The helicopter with incredible detail, one of the ones he first learned how to fly. A few men repelling from the bird.  Just below a group of trees

“Thank you for your service sir.  Wait here, I have some stuff for you” Baker nods his head and walks to the patrol car 

He watches him shuffle down the stairs, he sees Alex and for a moment they lock eyes. His heart nearly stops as he sees the tears in her eyes that she quickly wipes away. He caused this pain and for what, a stupid little hit that was nearly enough to take away the pain. He ruined everything. The afternoon was so great, and now she wants him out. Officer Baker was walking back with a stack of papers in his hand. 

“For the hundredth time, he didn’t hurt me. He would never do that” I groaned. I have said the same thing over and over. Are they trying to get a different answer? Despite Frankie punching a hole in the wall, he would never lay a hand on me. 

I pinch the bridge of my nose and close my eyes taking in a deep breath. When I open my eyes, I see Frankie. His eyes locked onto mine. The hurt, the pain, he looks lost. The officer hands him a stack of papers. His hands shaking as he takes them, he turns his head down and he walks into the house. 

“Ms. Miller, if you need anything else please give us a call” the officer sees his small notebook and sticks it in his chest pocket. “Have a good night” he walks past me and heads to his car. 

I head to the steps of my front porch watching the officer who had spoken to Frankie walk down. He stops me before I walk past him, “he’ll be ok. Just give it time. I’ve been there. He’s got a good girlfriend, just be patient with him” 

I stop in my tracks, my jaw drops. What the hell did Frankie tell him? “Wait…what?” I ask. But it was too late, the officer already getting back into his car. I shake my head and walk into the house locking the door behind me. 

It’s getting late and I’m hungry. I walk past the hallway that leads to the bedrooms and notice Frankie bent over picking up the clothes that had been thrown into the hallway. I should say something, I should apologize to him. I get distracted, watching the muscles in his back strain with every movement. ‘Focus Alex’. What is wrong with me, this man just put me through a roller coaster of emotions. I can’t get distracted by something as stupid as watching him work. 

I shake my head and walk towards the kitchen. I hope to find some leftover takeout since I know the fridge is empty. Instead I find the $20 left on the table in the same exact place I left it. I can’t leave, that would require me letting Frankie know, and it might be petty but I really don’t want to talk to him right now, maybe even for the rest of the night. I open the freezer and pray that the ice cream is still there. I open the door and find the pint of cookie dough ice cream still sitting there. I do a little happy dance and grab a spoon. I make my way to the living room and flop down on the sofa, turning on the TV and pop the top off digging in. 

“I fucked up…” he says to himself folding the shirts, putting them back in the dresser. He pushes the mattress back onto the frame and sits on the edge of his bed. He looks up and sees the hole he had punched into the wall. An image of Alex’s face floods his memory. He fucked up so bad that she didn’t even say two words to him when she came back into the house. He left the pamphlets on the coffee table, she’s going to find them. He knows it.

The papers were for local rehabs where VA��s held sobriety classes.  They had everything from AA to NA to Gambling. He didn’t want to go to rehab again, he felt more alone then he ever had there. That’s where he met George, well Steve really. He made it though those 30 days thanks to him smuggling in just enough coke to help them both function like normal adults. Nicole, well she helped in other ways. One keeping his secret and she helped him take his mind off things when he was able to bury himself in her. She wasn’t who he wanted, but she was there.  She was a quick fuck. It didn’t mean anything, and he felt bad when he told her it wasn’t going to last when he left. His mind racing with all these thoughts, he’ll finish cleaning later. He’ll patch the hole tomorrow. Right now he has something bigger to take care of. He needs to repair this whatever-ship he had with Alex. He needs her. 

He plops on the couch next to her, she doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t even look at him, she focused on the ice cream in her hand and the moving pictures on the TV

”Ice cream for dinner?” He asks ‘great icebreaker Morales, you idiot’ his inner demon mocks him 

“Yeah, the perk of being an adult. No one can tell me what to eat Franklin” she stuffs another spoon into her mouth, “that and someone didn’t buy dinner like I told them too” 

‘She called me Franklin…maybe she’s not that mad’ he reads her face, it’s softened…a hint of a smile. Then she said that last part, and it changes to instant regret. She turns to look at him “shit. I’m so sorry that was-“ 

“No…no I deserved that” he interrupts her, “can I have a bite?” 

She eyes him, something between a grin and a smirk on her face. She sticks the spoon into the ice cream and scoops out a tiny pile, moving the spoon to his open mouth. 

“I’m sorry Lex he says mouth full of ice cream

He looks at the ground, he’s picking at his nails. I can see the inner struggle he’s having and it breaks my heart, I have no idea how to help. I watch as his mind tries to find the words he wants to say. I go to open my mouth, but he stops me “I am really sorry” he says again 

“What happened today?” I ask him setting the ice cream on the table and turning to face him 

“I was looking for…fuck…I was looking for some coke. I thought I had some left. I am so sorry. I didn’t want to do this. I don’t want to do this. Rehab didn’t do shit” he’s talking fast and I’m trying to keep up. 

He tells me about George, how they were doing just enough to get by.  Nicole helped them not get caught. He doesn’t know how George was able to get the contraband in, but he did. They exchanged information, and he was helping Frankie. He wasn’t doing as much as he used to, which I guess is good, he thought he had some left.  A small tin can was what he was looking for, he was terrified that I found it when we were unpacking. 

“How many days has it been?” I ask 

“I don’t know, maybe five days?” He doesn’t sound very positive 

“Maybe five days? How many days Frankie?” 

“Three…it’s been three days and I am going crazy” he says ‘then we almost kissed and I panicked and I was on edge and just needed a hit’ he thinks to himself 

“ok” she says and stands up. 

“Wait where are you going?” He asks, panic setting in 

He’s worried that she is going to get his bag, she’s gonna ask him to leave. This is too much, this isn’t what she signed up for. She’s given up on him. His head falls back, he wants this couch to eat him alive. He wanted to disappear before and that feeling is ten times worse, now that she knows his secret. 

She comes back a large poster in her hand, the other has a sharpie and stickers. She sits it on the table and sits on the floor next to Frankie. He watches as she makes little boxes, writing dates, making a calendar. Her tongue peeks out of her tongue as she concentrates on the task at hand. He leans forwards, and continues to watch over her shoulder. She looks up at him, “ok did you use today?”

He shakes his head no “I couldn’t find it”

“right..” she puts a little star sticker on today's date “and you said three days since the last time”

He nods. She puts a sticker on the past three days

“What are you doing?” He asks 

That was a great question. What was I doing? This idea sounded crazy in my head, even more crazy as I explained to Frankie. It would be like a reward chart.  Something like when you were a kid and had chores, you’d get a sticker for each thing completed. The more stickers you get a reward. The more I say this, and look at his face of confusion the more dumb this idea sounded. He isn’t a kid, I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing. 

“This is stupid, just forget it.” I sigh pushing the stuff away from me

His large hands stop the poster from moving, he brings it closer. 

“What is my reward?” He asks curiously 

“Uhm…what do you want?” 

“Pancakes…” he says

”Pancakes? Really?” and he nods “ok how about we start with a week, you make it a week, I’ll make you pancakes” 

“With sprinkles?” His boyish smile is back, his eyes wide and I have a little hope that this stupid, wacky, insane idea might work

I smile and nod at him. I move to sit next to him on the couch, “I’ll have to go buy some. But sure, you can have sprinkles” 

“Hey Lexi, one more thing?” He asks “Can we get some helicopter stickers?”

I smile and cup his cheek, my thumb gently brushing the trimmed beard, “yes Franklin. We can get some helicopter stickers” 

ANN: A huge shout out to @musings-of-a-rose for helping me with this and giving me confidence to post this in first person. I am still terrified of it. @theewokingdead and @heythere-mel for listening to my random ass ideas at all hours. I love each and every one of you.



Looking for more of my fics check out my masterlist. And check out other writers at @littlemisspascal and their library for all Pedro Characters



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#Christina Writes #Just A Dream #Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal Characters #Frankie Morales #Francisco Morales #Triple Frontier #Pedro Pascal Characters Fan Fic #Frankie Morales x OFC #Original Female Character #Frankie x F!Reader #triple frontier au

[winters-dream]

cw: blood

The night was a silent one, the sky as black as pitch. The entire city had been tucked in for the day and the only sounds that could be heard were the crickets and the frogs singing their songs to the moon. Hero laid comfortably in their bed, tucked under their thick comforter with the outside sounds acting as a lullaby. 

They slept peacefully and deeply, soft snores coming out of them as they slept. Dead to the world, oblivious to all of their surroundings. 

. . . except for the loud scratching/banging noise that rang throughout the entire apartment, pulling the exhausted hero out of their slumber. Hero ignored it . . . tried to ignore it and they rolled over with their back towards their bedroom door. They had too long of a day to worry about who or what was outside their apartment right now. 

They almost drifted back to sleep when that noise came back, louder and more insistent. A strangled human-like cry followed after, sounding suspiciously like Hero’s name. That, Hero couldn’t ignore. Only one person new their real name and if Villain was bold enough to disrupt their sleep, it had to be something life or death.

And life or death it was. Hero pushed themself out of bed and tiredly hobbled out to their living room. The banging/scratching noise came again, with the call of their name. This time they were sure of it. They swung the door open to find the most gruesome image they have ever laid eyes on.

"Hero," cried Villain. The normally bold, fearless Villain stood on the other side of the entryway, drenched in blood. It covered them in a thick layer, saturating their hair and all the way down to their shoes. Hero couldn't even tell where the source of the blood came from, let alone whether it all belonged to Villain. They could hardly recognize the criminal. 

"Please," they said. "You have to help me, turn me in, hold me hostage, arrest me. Whatever you want. Just as long as I'm safe from them. Please."

Hero could only step back, unable to articulate the words necessary to question the villain. Like who "them" was, or how they could cause so much damage and fear to emanate from the villain’s eyes. 

Not that Hero would get an answer from Villain anyway. They were a blubbering mess, only able to mutter out a string of pleas as they begged for their life as well as refuge. 

Hero quickly ushered Villain inside, leading them to the bathroom to clean up. They ran about the small space frantically as they looked for towels and a first aid kit to clean up with. They said each item aloud as they grabbed them, only stopping when a bloody hand grabbed onto their arm.

"What?" They questioned. They faced Villain, their shaky hands pawing at their arms, chest, side, face. Everywhere, searching for the source of all of this blood. They found a multitude of small, yet deep, cuts decorating the villain like they just came from a horror film.

"What is it?" Asked the hero. "Do you feel dizzy? Faint? Do you need ibuprofen? Tylenol? Pain medication? Or-or—"

"Hero," whispered Villain, their voice just as distraught as Hero felt. They looked down between them, a pained expression coming over their features. They tugged on Hero’s arm and pulled them into a tight embrace, seeming to forget about the thick layer of blood that covered them head to toe.

This was new. In all their years in this odd relationship of sworn enemies to friends, Villain had never sought comfort in the form of a hug. They’d always claimed that touch was too intimate, displayed too much vulnerability. If Villain was hugging Hero right now, something really fucked up must have happened. 

Hero’s arms came up around the Villain, hugging their head into their shoulder. The blood squished into the Hero’s clothes and skin with an unsettling noise, but they pushed that feeling down in order to be here for Villain. 

“Hero,” Villain whispered again. That seemed to be the only thing they could say, whatever they were really trying to say seeming too difficult from them to say out loud. Their breath hitched in their throat as they pulled Hero closer, feeling like they couldn’t be safe unless they crawled inside the hero and buried themselves behind their ribcage. 

“Villain,” replied Hero. “You’re safe here, no one is going to hurt you. You can tell me what happened. It’s okay.”

Slowly, the villain pulled their head away from Hero’s shoulder, tears streaking paths down their mud and blood-caked face. The vulnerability in their eyes mixed with the trustful look on their face reminded Hero how much younger Villain was than them. 

Freshly in their twenties, barely a full adult. Hero’s first fight with them was when they were a young teenager. They were angry at the world, and understandably so. Whenever Villain spoke of their past, Hero was able to see the path that led them to where they were today. 

Hero had found themselves becoming a sort of parental figure towards them quickly: scolding them when they did crimes, bailing them out when someone else caught them, taking care of them when they’d find them injured. everyone at the agency knew not to mess with Villain. Even Superhero left them alone.

At first Villain had responded to the care with anger, hating that Hero felt the need to look after them. But soon enough Villain had started coming to them when things had gotten too far, gotten too much in trouble with the law. Hero had quickly become their security blanket of sorts. 

“Do you remember my old mentor?” Villain asked.

Hero tensed at the mention of them, fighting back a sickening shudder for the villain’s sake. They could never forget the horrid stories Villain shared with them. All of the cruel and inhumane torture they put the villain through. How they beat the empathy out of their ‘students’ at a young age. It had taken years for Villain to relearn their kindness, and to this day they still struggled with it. 

Hero had been lucky enough to never meet this person, but they had no doubt they’d be easy to spot in a crowd. They always imagined the mentor with a dark aura that demanded submission out of fear rather than respect. And with how shaken up Villain was tonight, Hero had found themselves wishing to be the one to personally send them to Hell.

Hero pulled Villain closer to them, squeezing them tightly before remembering the wounds that littered the criminal’s body. They didn’t need to hear the words come out of Villain’s mouth to know their mentor was the cause of all of this. It physically pained the hero to see their nemesis like this, tears of their own fell from their eyes as they spent the remainder of the night cleaning all of Villain’s wounds.

They tucked Villain into the bed of their spare room (at this point, the room pretty much belonged to Villain. Half their stuff filled the quiet space as Villain spent most nights here anyway), and let out a relieved sigh when Villain fell asleep. They watched them for a moment before returning to their own room, silently promising to never let this mentor hurt Villain ever again.

ps: I know I write a lot of prompts similar to this (character seeks out help from the enemy), and I intend on writing different prompts in the future. I just wanted to get this last one out of my system before moving on to other tropes. I also really wanted to write something with a villain really just needing parental-like guidance in life and a hero willing to provide that. I have an entire list of other prompts to write about as to not bore my audience (I, myself, am bored with this prompt), so please stay tuned. I have other, more exciting prompts to write and I can't wait to share them with you

#my own #writing #writers of tumblr #female writers #hero #villain #heroes #villains #villains and heroes #heroes and villains #hero x villain #villain x hero #parental hero #whumpee #caretaker #imagines #oneshot #fantasy

[crushmeeren]

Bakugou/Fem Reader/Kirishima

Werewolf Scenario — MDNI

Warnings; some mild descriptions of fighting/being in pain, brief mentions of blood, cursing, praise/reader is called a good girl, oral sex, mating press

Everyone involved is 18+/aged up — if that bothers you, scroll on or block me.

••••••••

It’s boiling.

Fucking sweltering.

Your eyes snap open, the stifling heat stirring you into a reluctant form of consciousness.

You glance down, only to be met with a face full of damp red hair that could only belong to your boyfriend Eijirou.

Who apparently has taken it upon himself to use your shoulder as a pillow.

The man is a goddamn furnace.

Of course, you’re privy as to why he’s so feverish. It’s the same burning itch that lurks just below the surface of your own skin.

This past week you’ve been counting down the days until the full moon — and there’s only one left.

Plus, it’s only Eijirou’s third time dealing with his shift — so his control over his body is shaky at best.

Katsuki being the pack leader, has much more experience and insight dealing with the shift than you do.

Hence the reason you’ve all made sure he’ll be home tomorrow night to ensure it goes smoothly.

Groaning, you unstick yourself from the entirely too sweaty body clinging to you. Your nose scrunches in discomfort as you unwind the hefty weight of Eijirou’s arm from your waist and untangle your legs.

You shove at Eijirou’s shoulder, mumbling for him to get his heavy ass off.

Said man doesn’t stir, softly sighing and turning over to face the wall.

Limbs sluggish with sleep you push up onto your elbows, then up until you’re sitting on your butt.

You kick off the suffocating covers and lean backwards onto the headboard in hopes for better airflow to cool off.

It would be unbelievably helpful to have Todoroki’s quirk right now.

You decide to study the room to distract yourself, admiring the way the moonlight has bled in. Illuminating certain shapes as you bask in the peaceful stillness of the night.

It’s not as if the darkness hinders you either way. Seeing as your eyesight is just as sharp in the night.

What with your…..condition.

Using the back of your hand to wipe the sweat off of your forehead your thoughts trail to Katsuki. Curious as to how his patrol is fairing.

You lean over and tap the screen of your phone where it rests on your side table.

The light from the screen is on the edge of blinding, making you wince and partially shield your eyes.

Why the fuck do I keep it so bright?

You fumble to put it in dark mode, reading the last vague and aggressive message Katsuki sent.

Katsuki 🧡

“I’d rather chew off my own motherfucking arm than be on patrol with icy hot right now.”

A startled bark of laughter pushes past your lips.

Eijirou shifts restlessly behind you, but you pay him no mind. He tosses and turns frequently in his sleep this close to shifting.

You read over the text again. You know Katsuki doesn’t mean that. He and Todoroki are fairly decent friends these days.

You reply swiftly.

After setting your phone down and scooting underneath the blankets, you promptly flop onto your back in an attempt to get comfortable.

You debate whether or not to cuddle up to Eijirou, but decide against it. Waking up drenched in sweat does not appeal to you.

As you start to drift off, the rhythmic lull of crickets outside your window helps your mind quiet once again. Lids drooping as your breathing begins to even out.

Crack.

You blink a few times in rapid succession, instantly on guard. You cautiously stay still, ears twitching and listening for the familiar sound.

Crack.

A blistering chill rushes through your blood as you recognize the unwanted tell tale sound of bones breaking.

Crack. Snap!

Your pulse jackrabbits so violently your heart may bruise your rib cage.

Please for the love of God don’t let this be what I think it is. The full moon isn’t until tomorrow night!

Eijirou suddenly cries out. A keening, wounded noise that’s wrenched from the pits of his chest.

Before you can register it, you’re sitting up straight. Spine stiffening as you turn and watch Eijirou with mounting horror.

It’s not unlike witnessing twin snakes slithering, shifting urgently as Eijirou’s own spine breaks and rearranges for a body that’s far less human.

“Ei,” you whisper frantically, by his side in an instant. Your chest squeezes, adrenaline forcing the hair on your arms to stand on end. You shake his shoulder roughly, brushing the hair that’s sticking to his forehead away with your free hand. “Eijirou.”

He whines a jumbled version of your name before going stock still. You freeze alongside him, hyper aware of your shuddering exhales.

Dread settles over you, stomach dropping as you listen to Eijirou’s newly forming claws rip and shred the sheet next to him.

A low rumble starts up in his chest, slowly clawing its way up to emanate from his throat.

Your stomach knots up realizing it’s too late for you to help him keep even a sliver of coherence through this.

Your fingers unwillingly twitch where they’re tangled in Eijirou’s hair. His growl intensifies, a stiff warning embedded in it.

Hands shaking, you carefully shift your gaze down to his side profile, catching the untamed fury twisting his features.

It’s abhorrent and unnatural the way it replaces his normal cheerfulness.

The sudden fierce instinctive urge to fight Eijirou knocks around inside your mind so roughly you get lightheaded.

Eijirou’s already side eyeing you menacingly. His iris glows a pale yellow rather than the cherry red it usually is.

There’s a few seconds of silence, tension suffocating as you weigh your only two options.

Fight or flight?

With no hesitation, you lunge towards the side table closest to you. Barely managing to grab your phone as you start launching to your feet to get away.

Eijirou’s claws sink in brutally, taking a decent chunk from your outer thigh as you skirt out of his deadly range.

The explosive searing sensation of your flesh ripping wrenches all the air from your lungs.

Crimson sprays the otherwise pristine sheets as you stagger upright to your feet.

You whip around with a snarl that bounces off your bedroom walls. Anger making your entire body flash white hot.

The instinctual pulse to return the favor and give Eijirou a nasty scar is all consuming and you know your own eyes are flashing yellow.

Eijirou leaps towards you without missing a beat and you all but sprint through the door. Slamming it shut and twisting the lock right as the redhead rams into it.

It locks from the outside for a reason.

You stumble forward, struggling to ignore the borderline unbearable pain lancing through your leg and place a hand on the couch to steady yourself.

Your mind races, warm liquid trailing from your wound down your leg and pooling between your toes. You want to gag.

You can’t fucking think straight.

You squeeze your eyes shut. Taking a singular fortifying breath as you clench your phone in a fist.

The sides start to give and it reminds you not to obliterate the thing, as well as why you snagged it in the first place — to text Katsuki so you have a chance in hell of coming out this night alive.

With trembling hands you text the blonde a short yet urgent message.

Eijirou is shifting. 911. Hurry.

A deafening bang makes you jump a foot into the air, nails automatically sharpening into points.

You chance a peak at the door. Fear prickles at the base of your skull as the behemoth on the other side splinters it down the middle.

You briefly recall when Eijirou turned 21, shifting for the first time.

It was only a mere three months ago. He was the last one out of the three of you to do so, but he wasn’t as violent as he is now.

It was messy and there were a lot of tears, but you’d trade this scenario for that one in a heartbeat.

Shifting is always erratic in the beginning, but you were sure Eijirou would be the more laid back type.

Apparently not.

You shake your head to clear the unhelpful memories when Eijirou’s frustrated howl cuts through them.

You glance at the front door with a scowl. You can’t very well go outside and take a half shifted, out of control werewolf into the neighborhood.

You’re not even wearing any damn pants.

You veto the forest as an option as well. Mainly because Katsuki will inevitably find you and Eijirou torn to pieces before the sun rises.

Steeling your resolve, you submit to the fact that you’ll have to put up as much of a fight against Eijirou as you’re able to until Katsuki saves you.

The deep gashes in your thigh scream in protest when you shuffle behind the coffee table, placing the couch and it between you and the door.

You preemptively mourn the loss of your phone and toss it aside, bracing yourself in a defensive stance.

Bam! Bam! Bam!

Any second now.

The door is on its last legs.

One more heave and it splits entirely, debris flying in all directions. Eijirou forces his body through the opening, face distorted, half shifted with claws and fangs to match.

He snarls furiously when his gaze lands on your defensive form. You return the sentiment, making him aware you’re challenging him.

The icy sensation of fear continues to rush through your limbs, mixing dangerously with a barely suppressed fury that you’re unable to ignore.

You curse any and everything known to mankind and pray you’re able to keep him contained until Katsuki arrives.

Biting the bullet you take a running start towards Eijirou, sidestepping the coffee table. You’re hell bent on getting the first punch in.

His reflexes mirror yours. Using the backrest of the couch to jump and propel himself at you like a shot.

The collision is excruciating. One of your ribs has cracked from the force — you’re sure of it.

Eijirou’s got enough weight on you that the impact sends you both careening backwards, slamming onto the coffee table before rolling off with a thump as you connect with the ground.

Eijirou crushes you when you land and you shove a palm into his cheek and wrench his head to the side.

You desperately sink your teeth into the muscle where Eijirou’s neck meets his shoulder, hoping the pain will allow him to snap out of it.

He wails, the sound distorted from mutating vocal chords. He thrashes in your grip. Tearing away and ripping his flesh in the process.

The metallic scent chokes you. Blood is splattered everywhere, and your brain is starting to get fuzzy a long the edges as you lose yourself to the wolf.

Somehow, you’re able to tuck your feet under Eijirou’s stomach. Pressing into the firm muscle there and sending him flying.

You scramble to your feet, crouching low. Your upper lip raises to bare your teeth, aiming a violent snarl at Eijirou. The red head is on his hands and knees in an instant.

You’re royally pissed — and simultaneously terrified.

You don’t want to endure this atrocious situation any longer than absolutely necessary.

Sucking air back into your lungs your chest heaves, eyes fluttering shut before refocusing on Eijirou with intensity.

Like a mantra, you repeat to yourself just survive until Katsuki is here. Just survive until Katsuki is here.

You and Eijirou once again morph into a mess of blood and punches and viscious bites, hanging onto your consciousness by a thread.

——————————

Your head pounds. Wickedly throbbing in time with your heartbeat. Your brain seems to stick to the insides of your skull.

The wind whistles softly around you, tickling your skin and you realize you’re outside. Naked.

Peeling your eyes open, the cloudless blue sky burns as it peaks through the tree tops. You blink a few times to clear your blurry vision, shifting slightly on your back.

You’re positive you must’ve been run over by a truck. The all over bone deep ache is proof by itself.

Sighing, you concede to the soreness that begs you to keep lounging on the ground. Joints creaking when you bend your elbow, you brush over the close to healed claw marks on your thigh.

The wound smarts, a searing heat flaring down your leg.

Fuck Eijirou, you really did a number on me.

You go limp, melting into the soft grass and damp top layer of soil for a bit longer.

Bits and pieces of your memory spring to the forefront as you contemplate the utter bullshit you had to deal with the night before.

Katsuki appearing like a bat out of hell when he burst through the door and rescued you from certain doom.

Eijirou completing his shift and settling into the form of a beautiful russet colored wolf.

Katsuki’s carmine eyes aglow as he and Eijirou duked it out — until he was able to corral the other down into the basement.

Katsuki had locked the door with finality, and you knew you wouldn’t see either of them for hours.

You remember shivering with rage, bloody and damn near beaten to a pulp. Pulling splinters from way too many sensitive areas.

You had taken off into the woods right after, bearing the excruciating shift and running for miles as the wolf.

Now, here you are.

Naked and internally debating with yourself to get the hell up and make the horrendous trek back to your home.

Honestly, you don’t want to see either of them right now. Eijirou will be distraught with guilt and it’s just —

You’re still irate about the entire ordeal.

You curse aloud, pushing to your feet at a snails pace. Gently stretching and taking note of the new bruises you’re sporting.

There’s a lot of dried blood.

A lot.

————————————

Once you make it back into your living room, you’re not at all shocked to see the mess from the night before had miraculously disappeared.

The pathetic remains of the bedroom door have been taken away. All the blood has been cleaned.

At least your coffee table survived the battle.

You sigh in relief. Thank God for Katsuki, he would never dream of leaving a crime scene behind.

Sniffing the air, the familiar scents of your partners have gone stale. They must not have wanted to linger, opting to give you some space.

You’re grateful. As it allows you time to shower and sleep.

You scrub your skin under the spray of hot water. Collecting your thoughts as you comb the birds nest that has become your hair. Wincing each time you press too hard on a bruise or soap stings your wounds.

Hopefully you’ll be mostly healed by the time you wake up.

A soft warmth blooms in your chest when you reach your bed.

Eijirou has left you one of his T-shirts to wear and Katsuki’s favorite blanket is tangled in with the others.

And one of them had found your missing phone, placing it on the charger and letting it rest on the side table.

You’re a zombie slipping into Eijirou’s too large shirt. The thinning, worn, and soft material brushes your thighs.

When you lay down, you bring the collar of Eijirou’s shirt to your nose, inhaling deeply and letting the scent of fresh rainfall wash over you.

You pull Katsuki’s blanket up over your shoulders. The sweet smell of orange and cinnamon fills your senses, relaxing you entirely.

You’re out like a light before you know it.

————————————

They come home late into the afternoon. Obnoxiously loud and cheerful — at least on Eijirou’s part.

Your stomach clenches as their voices grow closer.

You’ve been resting as much as possible, cuddled up and barely paying attention to the movie flickering across the screen.

You’d taken the past few hours to reflect. As you cooled off you knew it wasn’t really Eijirou’s fault, that he was just as petrified as you had been.

It’s not as if you’d never gone off the deep end in the beginning, and Eijirou was there for you. With no hesitation.

You made up your mind that reconciling with Eijirou was your first priority when they returned.

Eijirou passes through the makeshift curtain door first. His eyes get comically large, footsteps halting when he spots you.

The short silence is unpleasant, and Eijirou shifts his weight nervously from foot to foot. Unsure of what he should do next.

You offer him an awkward, tight lipped smile, along with a small wave and his tense composure disintegrates.

Within the second he’s making haste to crawl up on the bed and get to you.

All the built up frustration bubbles to the surface, stinging the backs of your eyes as you fist the blanket.

“Baby,” Eijirou breathes, voice cracking as you sit up and slip your arms around his neck when he reaches you.

He tugs you close, clinging to your waist with one arm and cradling the base of your skull with his free hand to keep you in place.

You swallow a lump, inhaling against the skin of his throat deeply as he manages to make you feel safe and relieved.

“I’m so sorry baby, I’m so fucking sorry,” he croaks. You’re concerned he may start crying.

You nod jerkily, gripping him tighter. You hate the way his voice shakes as he apologizes.

This wasn’t his fault and you’re determined to make sure he knows that.

“It’s okay Ei. I know baby, I know. This isn’t on you, okay?” You reassure him, voice watery with emotion.

Eijirou chokes out an acknowledgement, sniffling.

Katsuki then takes a seat on the bed behind you, rubbing a warm palm back and forth between your shoulder blades in comfort. He places a soft kiss to the back of your neck.

The three of you sit there and hash out the night before. Spending a good half hour at least, talking through everything. Brainstorming ways to prevent this from occurring again.

The conversation eventually trails off into a comfortable silence before Katsuki opens his mouth.

“You take off into the woods last night?” Katsuki asks somberly.

“Yeah.”

Your response gets muffled by Eijirou’s shirt. Katsuki snorts.

“Well, you sure as hell look like it,” he jokes, trying to lighten the mood. It works.

You whip your head around to glare daggers at Katsuki but he’s giving you a teasing smile, nudging you playfully.

You punch his stomach halfheartedly, unable to stop your lips from turning upwards.

“Whatever, dickpunch.”

Eijirou laughs, causing Katsuki to roll his eyes and chuckle at your childish insult.

You study Eijirou rubbing his cheek as you recline into Katsuki’s chest, his soothing warmth seeping through both your shirts.

“So are you really okay?” Eijirou prods, scratching the side of his nose and looking away with a frown.

“I’m fine Ei,” you murmur tenderly. You stretch your leg out, showing him the side of your thigh where the marks have mostly faded. “See? It’s just a scar now, which will go away soon.” You poke his ribs with your toes.

Eijirou’s expression spells relief as he brushes the pads of his fingertips feather light over the raised pinkish skin.

You shiver from the ticklish sensation, a flash of arousal burning your lower belly.

Eijirou’s eyes are warm when they meet yours, lids drooping a bit when he notices your shiver.

The blonde must have picked up on the new charge in the atmosphere, because Katsuki leans in close to whisper something sultry in your ear, making you jolt.

“What do you think baby?” Katsuki hums, securing an arm around your waist. “Eijirou’s been so fucking bad, we should punish him. Don’t you think?” He suggests enticingly, acting as the devil on your shoulder.

You glance back at the redhead, who’s gone slack jawed, cheeks flushing bubblegum pink. Your eyebrow twitches as you pretend to mull it over.

Trailing your eyes up and down Eijirou’s figure lazily, he fidgets in place, fingers curling into the hem of his shorts.

You think it’s the perfect way to get things back to normal.

You tilt your head, making heated eye contact with Katsuki. A coy grin lights up your face.

“What did you have in mind?”

The mischievous glint in Katsuki’s eye is answer enough.

————————————————-

“Fuck! Katsuki, oh god,” you gasp, breath hitching in your throat.

Katsuki’s eagerly pushing his thick cock into your pussy, spitting out a few curses as he does so.

The stretch is delicious, and you squeeze his forearms mercilessly. Nails creating indentations as he teasingly pulls back until just the head remains, rolling his hips and filling you to the brim with one fluid motion.

Your spine arches, skull digging into the mattress below as Katsuki starts thrusting at a leisurely pace, thumb coming up to work slow circles into your clit.

At this angle, you have an upside down view of Eijirou sitting behind you, reclining halfway up against the headboard.

Katsuki took it upon himself to spread you out flat on your back between the redhead’s thighs.

He taunted Eijirou with an arrogant smirk. Meanly instructing him he isn’t allowed to cum until you and Katsuki do.

Katsuki demands Eijirou only touch you if you initiate it first. And you agreed.

So for now, Eijirou’s pouting. Settling on wrapping one hand around the base of his cock, stroking slowly as he leers at the scene in front of him. Trying to avoid splitting his lip with razor sharp teeth.

You’re able to meet his hungry gaze briefly, before fingers are gripping your chin and yanking you from the gorgeous view.

“Don’t fucking look at Ei. He’s in trouble, remember?” Katsuki huffs, a bead of sweat trailing from his temple down to his jaw. “Keep those eyes on me.” Katsuki says firmly, voice raspy and low.

You nod stiffly, whimpering when he releases you and pats your cheek just this side of too rough.

“You follow orders so well, what a good girl,” Katsuki praises, leaning back and sitting on his calves.

His sweet words have your head filled with cotton.

You lick your chapped bottom lip as you’re blessed with the view of Katsuki’s lower stomach flexing and his hips tensing.

The blonde shoots Eijirou a nasty grin, making absolutely sure Eijirou can watch everything.

Like the way the inner lips of your pussy stretch with Katsuki’s cock every time he thrusts backwards.

Or the way you can tell his cock is shiny with your slick each time he pulls out.

Katsuki grips the bottoms of your thighs, effortlessly pushing them towards your chest, bending you in half.

You cry out, eyes going wide when Katsuki suddenly nails your sweet spot. The pleasure blisters through your limbs, goosebumps littering your arms.

Blindly, you reach backwards, searching for Eijirou’s hands.

The redhead lets out a breathy moan, quickly lacing your fingers together and resting your conjoined hands on his thighs.

“You can only fucking touch her hands Ei. Don’t push it.” Katsuki warns with a surprisingly steady, yet strained voice. Considering he’s fucking you like he’s trying to make you scream yourself hoarse.

“Yes Katsuki,” Eijirou replies obediently, throat clicking audibly when he swallows.

Katsuki presses closer, pupils dilated and jaw hanging open as he brings you closer to that addictive high. His eyebrows pinch together as he focuses on you.

Shocks of pleasure race up your spine each time he pushes his cock back inside you, the sound of your skin smacking together burning your ears.

A coil starts to wind up behind your belly button impossibly tight, pussy clenching around him rhythmically.

You hold Eijirou’s hands in a death grip.

“Kat, I — fuck! I’m gonna cum,” you manage to spit out between gritted teeth, back threatening to lift off the mattress.

“Yeah?” Katsuki coos teasingly. “Fucking cum for me then.”

And you do. Muscles going taught, tension snapping as warmth gushes through you, toes curling.

You can’t make out what Eijirou’s mumbling behind you, focused on the way Katsuki’s gasping your name.

The blonde lets out a breathy moan, pulling out and stroking his cock twice before he cums, covering your stomach in sticky white ribbons.

You go lax, unmoving as your legs hit the mattress. Trying desperately to catch your breath as Eijirou let’s go of your hands.

“Fuck, please let me cum Katsuki! This isn’t fair!” Eijirou whines, one of his knees knocking you in the shoulder as he shifts his weight around.

You can’t see him but you know he’s pouting.

“Alright Eijirou, you can cum,” Katsuki says nonchalantly. He sits back on his calves, flushed chest heaving.

You flip over onto your belly just as Eijirou takes a hold of himself. He strokes his cock a few times, squirming with relief and you make the choice to help him out.

Eijirou’s close to peaking when you close the distance between you.

You duck your head, wrapping your lips around one of his balls and suck it softly into your mouth, flicking it with your tongue. You roll the other one between your fingers.

Eijirou yelps, thighs jumping as he cums instantly, making a mess of his stomach as his breath stutters in his chest. He tilts his head back with a high pitched moan.

Katsuki makes an approving sound from somewhere behind you as you keep mouthing at Eijirou, only backing off when the redhead pushes at your forehead when he gets too sensitive.

Eijirou sinks down the headboard, blushing brightly and panting. You pillow your cheek on his thigh, eyes fluttering shut with a sigh.

Eventually, Katsuki kicks both your asses into gear. Getting you off the bed and shuffled into the shower to clean yourselves off.

You change the sheets because they’re fucking gross — as Katsuki puts it.

As you’re getting dressed again, Eijirou comes up behind you. Slipping his arms around your waist in a sweet hug.

“Everything fucking sorted now?” Katsuki asks with a roll of his eyes, arms crossed over his chest as he leans his hip on the doorframe. He eyes the embrace you’re locked in and raises an eyebrow.

“Course! Everything’s peachy,” Eijirou replies happily, nuzzling the back of your head as a low rumble starts up in his chest.

You snicker, patting one of the arms holding you.

“Good, because I don’t feel like getting my ass handed to me again,” you say playfully.

Eijirou laughs brightly and Katsuki snorts.

“Don’t worry baby, I’m locking his dumbass in the basement tonight.”

#mha smut #bakugou smut #bakugou x reader #kirishima x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #kirishima smut #kirishima eijirou x reader #bakugou x reader x kirishima #bakugou x kirishima #bakugou katsuki smut #kirishima eijirou smut #bakugou x you #kirishima x you #mha x reader

[redheadspark]

Hello! If it hasn’t been requested yet, could you do 7 with Druig? It could be like a continuation of the fic “Come with Me,” you did a little bit ago? If that’s ok?

A/N - Awww I love this! I'm glad to add to the prompt! Thanks for requesting this, anon!

Here is Come With Me

Moved

Summary - Druig takes you on a getaway

Warnings - Just some fluff :)

“Where are you taking me, Druig?”

“I can’t tell you!  It’s a surprise!”

“You know I’m not good with surprises,”

Druig only smiled as you both were walking side by side along the forest tree line that took you to the outskirts of the little city.  The moon was already rising, the sun long gone and the tints of blue and black were swirled together like the constellations high above.  You were holding a small basket Druig told you to bring along that as filled with your favorite snacks that would last for two days, he was carrying his own bag with spare clothings and other things you two would need.  In all fairness, you had no idea what you were going to do.

This surprise was keeping you on the edge of your toes. 

After Druig told you that he wanted to take you away for the weekend, you were on board with the thought of stepping away from your Eternal duties for a bit.  He knew you were stressed and worn out from the Deviant attacks that were in the town, the last two attacks were particularly vicious.  You were falling asleep sooner when you fell into bed, your energy was less than it was before, and you felt beyond heavy in how you felt like you wren’t doing a good enough job.  But you ever thought others would see it since it tried to mask it and not show the worn out look on your face.  Druig saw through it though, wishing to do anything to make it better for you.

“Druig, honestly whatever you’re planning—“ You stopped talking when you two turned a corner and you saw where Druig was ultimately taking you.  Out on a small little hill, near one of the massive cliffs that over looked the open sea, was a small little home.  The house itself seemed ancient compared to the others homes in the town, the worn walls and rooftop, the dusty road that was made simply from feet going to and for along the land, it seemed so lovely and delicate, yet looking stable against the wind of the sea. 

“Druig,” You gasped as he just smiled.

“It used to belong to the old guards that would watch the sea for upcoming invaders,” Druig explained, “One of the elders kept it since he’s had it in his family for years, so I talked to him about us having it for a few days,” 

You tore your eyes away from the little home over to Druig, seeing him watch to see your reaction.  He was nervous you were going to think something else behind the gesture.  Did he think you were going to hate it?  Or that you were going to get the wrong impression?

Instead, you threw an arm around him and hugged him tightly.

Druig was shocked from the gesture, but he then slowly hugged you back in retuned as you spoke in his year, “Thank you, Druig!”

The warmth in his chest was beyond warm now, almost simmering now as you pulled away and looked at the house again.  You then reached down and took his hand, lacing your fingers together and Druig could have sworn he felt his heart skip a beat.

“Come on!” You said to him, you both walking along the worn path as the soft sounds of the crickets were being heard.  Druig was following you willing, still overwhelmed that you loved the little home.  Maybe his doubts plagued his mind and he thought his plan was going to backfire.  Why would he think like that?  You two were close friends and looked out for each other.  Druig still had those linger feelings towards you, not knowing how to navigate it or how it will play out.  He was just grateful to have this weekend away with you to let you feel stress free.

After the last of the fruit was eaten, you and Druig were now sitting outside the house along the grass, watching the moon that was hung over the ocean and brining a new shining light onto the night around you.  You both were sitting Indian Style, side by side, feeling the cool ocean air go through your hair and the sweet sent of both the salty air and the green grass beneath you. 

The home itself was small enough or only two people to use: a bed tucked in the corner, a few shelves that had some old trinkets, and a table with only two chairs that were at the other side of the house.  You taught of It as perfect, the warm walls and the beautiful view of the ocean right outside the window near the bed was breathtaking.  Although you wanted to go explore a bit more around the little house, you were starving.  So you and Druig were eating the food you brought with you, sitting together at the table and drinking in each other’s presence with comfortable silence and peace. 

Now that your bellies were full and you were watching the moon, Druig would eye you every once in awhile, seeing how you were already looking relaxed compared to before.  Your shoulders were drooping, no longer tensed up for rigid.  Your hair, usually in a long braid to be out of your eyes, was now flowing down your back and loose.  Even the small dark bags under your eyes were less evident, and Druig felt a bit better that you were healing. 

One way or another, you were healing.

“Thank you, for all of this,” you said to him, seeing him look at you fully as you were still staring up at the moon, “I never thought I needed something like this, a little getaway,”

“You deserve it,” he replied, sounded soft when he said it.  She did deserve it, this little house for the weekend and more.  Druig saw you smile as you tore you eyes away from the moon to finally look over at him, the twinkling stars from the sky were reflecting from your eyes as Druig kept his stare at you.

“And to have this with someone who is close to my heart is even better,” You explained, seeing his eyes big a bit wide as you kept your gaze. Maybe you yourself was confessing something to him, something you wanted to keep to yourself for the longest time and was afraid to say anything about it.  But in this space, with Druig right at your side, you felt right saying it.

Saying how he moved you.

You reached over, taking his hand on your own and lacing the fingers together just like you did earlier.  Druig wanted to hold your hand for as long as you’d let him, squeezing your fingers together slightly as he was trying to find the right words to say.

“I…” He stared, but he was frozen as you leaned over to kiss him on the cheek.

Your cool lips on his skin, your small scent of apples and dates that you ate earlier, and the softness of your hair touching his neck made Druig feel as though he could fly like Ikaris.  It was only a simply getaway with you, nothing past that.  He thought of it as a simpler gesture and a nice way to showed that he cared.  But to you, it was everything.  You saw he was wanting to mend all the broken pieces about you and make you whole again.  

He would, with no hesitation.  

Before you could pull away, he moved his head to kiss you on the lips.  You sighed, loving the sensation of you two kissing and you never wanted to loose that feeling.  You held that kiss for what seemed like a lifetime in your mind, his fingers still wrapped around yours while his other hand was now itching to be in your hair.  Things would change, and you both were ready for it. So you fell asleep in each other’s arms on the bed, the window wide open to feel the sea breeze as Druig held you in his embrace with no intension on ever letting you go ever again.  

You felt the same way too.

The End

June Summer Prompts

#druig fluff #druig x female reader #druig x you #druig x female reader #druig x reader #druig x oc #fanfiction #writing #barry keoghan #druig #eternals #marvel #marvel cinematic universe #druig x eternal!reader #marvel cinematic universe fanfiction #marvel cinematic fanfiction #mcu writing #mcu fanfiction #mcu phase 4 #marvel fanfic #marvel fanwriting #marvel fanfiction

[thefreakandthehair]

wip word find game

tagged by @disastardly and @just-my-latest-hyperfixation! thanks, pals! and sorry for it taking so long. very excited to be able to do writing tag games again!

combined, my words were: pure, source, shallow, illusion, shiver, tongue, and roll. I have um... a lot of ignored wip docs right now so I didn't go through all of them, just the most recently opened!

illusion (from lover's rage)

The house is empty when Steve comes back, cavernous in its size with nothing to fill it. Being here alone is a dangerous, frightening thing and he knows he should double back. Call Robin. Drive in circles. He should go back outside, where at least there are crickets chirping and stars winking and a moon hanging high enough in the sky to give the illusion of perspective. Stars are born and die every second out there in the galaxy, and maybe if he watches the stars blink in and out, it’ll make Eddie’s death feel less catastrophic. Hell, Eddie belonged with the stars anyway. He always did. 

shiver (from blue hour, my second reverse big bang, coming soon!)

Eddie shivers. He hadn’t thought to grab a jacket when he escaped out the back door, unnoticed.

roll (from the football au)

Steve rolls his eyes. "Whatever, man. We’re teammates, but that doesn’t mean we have to be friends. If you need anything—" "I’ll be sure to blow a whistle or something, yeah, sure. Got it."

no pressure tags: @doublecherrypiediscosuperfly @thisapplepielife @kkpwnall @cheatghost @starrystevie @fragilecapric0rnn @judasofsuburbia @stevespookington @steddieas-shegoes @steddieasitgoes @lihhelsing @steddielations @hexiewrites @withacapitalp + anyone else who sees and wants to jump in!

your words are: hand(s), freckles, sunlight

#steddie #steddie fic #steddie fanfic #steddie fanfiction #stranger things #myfic #charmed au #football au #tag games

[neo-lucien]

I’d Rather Die

In.

Pause.

Out.

Pause.

Repeat.

The actions themselves were second nature themselves, yet the gentle directing words were the actual anxiety relievers. It was quiet out, the world had never felt so still before, almost seeming as though it had completely stopped moving itself. Even as I stood outside the Boar Hat, there wasn’t the slightest gust of wind, nor the chirping of crickets to prove that the world was still itself. After all that had happened, I’d have thought that the kingdom would be full of more life than this; it would be bustling with excitement and optimism, with opportunities and hope, yet it was quite the opposite. It was as though the Sins had never saved the kingdom from a demonic disaster, as though threat still loomed over the horizon.

It had felt like that for a while, long before we had even begun the expedition looking for the rest of the sins, subsequently leading to where we are now. It would be stupid of me to think the deeply rooted anxiety would just disappear after one day, yet still, it seemed…misplaced. The fear did not belong to the idea of another Holy War breaking out across the land, but rather in something that seemed so minuscule in comparison. Despite that, it still weighed just as heavily on my heart, and fueled my current decision of leaving the company of the Sins and the Princess. It was never to be permanent, I had planned on leaving after ensuring Princess Elizabeth’s safe return home, but along the way the plan started to change. And again it has changed, back to its original state, though for reasons quite opposite of the reasons for it changing in the first place.

In.

Pause.

Out.

Pause.

Repeat.

I hiked my bag further up my shoulder, holding it tightly as I began to walk towards the forest path, away from the Boar Hat. My heart seemed to sink further and further with every step I took, yet I continued. There was nothing left there for me, nothing that was true, anyhow. All that remained were sweet lies and sugar coated nightmares. The physical burden that came along with the Sins were easy to bear, but the emotional toll? I hadn’t signed up for that.

I didn’t sign up to meet someone so brazen and excitable, yet who could tell exactly what I was thinking and feeling at any given moment. I didn’t sign up to have someone learn to read me as easily as a book, and unravel the secrets I resolved to keep hidden as easily as untying a shoelace. I didn’t sign up to become accustomed to a single person’s presence around me, and be lost without them there. I didn’t sign up to be so wrapped around a person’s finger that they wouldn’t have to even look my way for me to know when they wanted something. And I most certainly didn’t sign up to learn that the person I had fallen so hard for was only concerned with finding ways to bring his own beloved back to life.

I didn’t sign up to have my heart broken.

The truth had never fully come out after the fight between Ban and Meliodas, but a simple ask of Hawk had the truth in the palm of my hands. I had never felt more stupid in my life, of course he wouldn’t feel the same way, things like that only happened in fairy tales. It seemed pointless, then, to stay with the Sins. I completed my job, I got Elizabeth back home safely, now it was time to move on. I successfully managed to pack my bags during dinner time without anyone noticing, and decided to leave after everyone had fallen asleep. I’ll be long gone by the time anyone wakes up, and even further away when they realize I’m no longer there.

So gone I was, away from the warm and comforting embrace of friends, and back into the icy hands of solitude. I was used to it, I had never had much of anyone in my life, and I always traveled alone, yet after traveling with the Sins and going through all the ventures we had, it felt wrong to continue alone. The forest broke into a small clearing, a cliff evident some odd yards off from the forest line. I could see a town below in the distance, gray clouds billowing from the smoke stacks letting me know that the town was alive.

Sunshine beamed down warmly, yet the world still felt so still. I set my bag down close to the edge of the cliff, then sit myself on top of it. I hadn’t really taken a moment to rest since I left, just the occasional stop to nap for a bit, and then again back to traveling. Closing my eyes, I allow my body to relax, the tightness in my chest slowly releasing as I breathed.

In.

Pause.

Out.

Pause.

Repeat.

The mantra echoed throughout my head, soothing my frayed nerves. I was gone, the walls were back up and reinforced, the chains had never been more sturdy. I was safe back in the reclusion of myself, a place where none could hurt me. Yet even as I convinced myself that I was safe, and I was yet again alone, the thundering of footsteps headed my way were a clear indication that I was not. I tended up, reflexively reaching for my sword as I stood and turned to face the forest.

I wasn’t quite sure what to expect. Perhaps some bandits, or wandering travelers, maybe even foragers from the town below. I most certainly, however, wasn’t expecting to see Ban’s towering figure break through the forest and stand before me. He breathed heavily, sweat forming on his forehead and chest. His outfit had changed from the last time I saw him, surprising me as he seemed to love the red leather outfit. What surprised me even more was the fact that he was somehow here before me despite being several days worth of travel away from the Boar Hat.

“How did you find me?” I asked, voice slightly wavering from shock.

“That would be thanks to my superior skills, hehe.” Another familiar voice responded.

From behind Ban emerged a large pig, and I internally groaned at Hawk’s arrival as well. Of course, he had more than likely caught my scent and led Ban right to me. I let out a sigh, somewhat relaxing as I let go of my sword and pick my bag up again.

“Well what do you want?” I question dryly, though I don’t quite wait for a response and I begin descending the mountain.

“I need a reason to come join you on a journey?” Ban replied somewhat jokingly. He started after me, easily catching up with me.

I give him a glare, not at all in the mood for his jokes. Yet he makes no effort to answer the question, just continues to stroll beside me in silence. It made me irrevocably angry to see him so peacefully walking, acting as though nothing at all had happened between us. It must be bliss for him, to be so unaware of the turmoil I had been in since his fight with Meliodas. I wanted so badly to scream at him, to tell him just what he had done to me, to tell him to leave and never come back, but all I could get out was “You should go back with the others.”

“Why?” He asked me, as though the mere notion were inconceivable to him.

“They need you, you’re one of them.”

“We completed our mission and stopped the Holy Knights. There’s no more need for us to stick together.”

“Then why are you here? What need do you have that requires you to be here?”

“Again, do I need one?”

“Yes. I left for a reason, but it means nothing if you follow me anyways.”

He didn’t exactly flinch, but I could see the slight recoil in his eyes. Part of me felt bad, I never intended to hurt him, but in the moment, I just wanted him to leave me alone. We both stopped walking, not even close to the base of the cliff, instead teetering rather close to the edge.

“You got something against us or something?” He asks nonchalantly, though I can hear the defensive undertones.

“My job was to return Elizabeth home safely. I did that, there’s no other reason for me to stay anymore.” I reply. Again, I could sense the recoil.

“If that’s the case, why are you so upset that I came to join you? If there’s something bothering you then just say it.”

“I’m fine, Ban, just go ba-“

“Bullshit. If you were fine you wouldn’t be acting like this.”

“What’s it to you how I’m acting, huh? Since when did you care?”

“You’re my friend and comrade, why wouldn’t I?”

Friend. Of course, I’m just a friend. Nothing would ever change that. I was tired, my heart hurt, I just wanted to be alone. Being alone would be better than this.

“Don’t you have a fairy to go revive? Why don’t you go find ways to bring her back and leave me alone for once.” I tell him. There was no life to my voice, just flat tones and exhaustion.

That was when he finally flinched, as though I had hit him across his face. There was pain etched across his face, and both remorse and understanding in his eyes.

“This is about Elaine?” He slowly asked.

I shook my head, almost in disbelief. He was so close yet so far. “Not exactly, Ban.”

“Then what is it?”

“It’s you yourself.” I finally say. “You took the time and effort to get to know me and understand me. You wormed your way into my life, and not only made me feel like I belonged, but that I actually mattered to someone. You protected me even though I didn’t need it, you comforted me when I had no one else to. For once, I didn’t feel alone anymore…and I was going to stay for you. I was going to travel and fight with the Sins because I wanted to be there with you. But what’s the point if the whole time you were only looking to bring back the girl that you actually love.”

I hadn’t even realized I was crying until at least a breath of wind flew across the way, and I could feel the chill of the tears on my cheeks. Ban stood silent for a while, and I just dryly chuckled, wiping the tears off of my face.

“But it’s just my dumb mistake, falling for someone whose heart is already taken, right?” I rhetorically ask.

I hike my bag again up my shoulder, and began to set off again. I said some of what had been plaguing my mind, but still my heart felt just as heavy as though it were an incurable disease.

“You’re still planning on leaving after that?” The audacity is what stopped me again.

“Why should I stay, Ban?

Silence again.

“I need you.”

I didn’t think I heard it at first, it was so quiet, but I turned around anyways.

“You need me?” I ask.

“Too hard to believe for you?”

“You’re planning on reviving your ex, Ban, excuse me for needing a little more than that to believe you.”

“Yes, sweets, I need you.”

That stupid pet name. He began calling me that not long after we met, he claimed me to be sweet as sugar despite having watched me wipe out several Holy Knights alone without breaking a sweat. It was dumb, it was untrue, yet it brought a small sense of comfort when he used it.

“Do you really need me? Or do you just need someone to fill the void until you can get Elaine back?” It sounded harsh when I said it, only half intending it to sound that way.

“I want you to be my last, sweets. I loved Elaine, but I can learn to live without her. I can’t learn to live without you, too. I’d rather die than be separated from you.”

There was a sincerity from him I hadn’t expected, at least not in these circumstances. Was it really that easy? He fought Meliodas, his best friend, because he thought by killing him he could bring Elaine back. Could his feelings really change that quickly just because I left? As if he could sense my hesitation, Ban stepped closer to me, and gingerly cupped my face in his hands.

“She showed me that love was possible for me, but even more than love, you make me feel alive. You make being immortal worth it, like I can bear eternity as long as I have you. I….just don’t leave me. I need you….I really do.” He says softly.

Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to give this a chance. Give us a chance.

“Okay.” I whisper, yet he was close enough to hear it clearly.

He smiled down at me, a look so tender and gentle I couldn’t help but lean more into him, legs beginning to weaken. Ban chuckled at me, and leaned down to place a kiss on my forehead. I smile softly at the touch, and I could feel my cheeks grow red. He tilt my face upwards more, kisses me again on my right cheek, and again my left. I giggle when he plants a kiss on my nose, and playfully bites the tip of my nose. Just when I think he’s finally going to indulge me and kiss me on the lips, he goes further down, and places a kiss on my chin.

“Really?” I ask, laughter in my voice.

He only grins at me, a silly smile that has me melting in laughter. He laughs alongside me, his hands dropping to hold my gently around my waist. And then, without warning, he dips his head down again to kiss me on the lips. I didn’t move at first, partially shocked, but soon leaned into the touch, allowing myself to relax and be guided by him. His kiss was both gentle yet so passionate, as though he were trying to convey entire stories to me through a single touch.

The aching in my chest slowly unraveled in his hold, replacing the pain and fear with only love and compassion. It felt so unreal, to be so wrapped in someone’s love and embrace. I didn’t ever want to stop, nor let go of this moment. In his own words, I’d rather die than let this go again.

#ban x reader #ban x reader if you look close enough #ban #seven deadly sins #nanatsu no taizai #fluff #angst if you squint #don’t read into this or it gets bad #brainrot

[sl-newsie]

Query: Q x 00 Agent- Ch. 10: Cold Hands, Warm Heart

I’m ready in 10 minutes. That’s how it works when all your belongings fit into a single storage room. I make sure I’ve got my pendant and matching bracelet, as well as extra ammunition. After leaving Cricket with a large supply of food and packing a heavy set of winter clothes I meet Q outside the lab. He’s waiting next to my motorcycle and is wearing a gray striped sweater, which is very different from his usual suits. He almost looks like a tourist.

Q notices me looking. “What? Is it too dull?”

I shake my head. “It’s exactly how I pictured you in a sweater, Quartermaster. Ready to go?”

He gestures to the bike. “You drive. I’ve deactivated the tracker and C doesn't know its registration so it’s the best way for us to disappear. I’ve already booked tickets under a false identity.”

As I mount the motorcycle I can’t help but admire his planning. “You’re surprisingly skilled at planning a sudden absence, Quartermaster. Have you ever gone on holiday?”

He sits down behind me and chuckles. “Not exactly. My childhood didn’t consist of many events people would classify as a holiday.”

“I see.” What’s your story, Q? I turn the key and the bike roars to life, yet he’s still leaning back. “Q, have you ridden a motorcycle before?”

“Once, in the country. It was a slow ride with lovely scenery-”

“Well this bike isn’t built for slow,” I say as I lift the kickstand. “You better hang on tight.”

With that I rev the engine and speed off at a meager 50 miles per hour. Q is very quick to wrap his arms around me to keep from falling off, though in his haste he grabs a bit too much.

“Passengers usually grab the driver’s waste,” I say nonchalantly.

“Then what am I-? Oh.” Q shakily lowers his hands from my bust. “Sorry. I’m not used to- Jesus!”

We accelerate past a yellow light heading to the Eurotunnel station. I feel Q bury his face in my neck. Now I understand just how little he gets out. It’s no wonder he’s afraid of flying.

“Now I see why you and Bond are such good chums! You drive like a madman!” Q shouts against the traffic. “Did he teach you?”

“Partially. I’m also self-taught,” I explain. 

We weave through traffic and quickly make it to the station, where I hide my bike under a tarp in a nearby alley. Once we’ve received our tickets and boarded the train Q takes out his laptop to check Bond’s status. Meanwhile I take out handkerchiefs to cover up the few security cameras in our private car.

“He’s changed course. He’s heading to the mountains… Looks like a very expensive psychological facility.”

I lean in and get a better look at the map. “Oh no. The only way to the lab is by plane!” I gasp dramatically. “How will you manage?”

“Shut up.”

We ride the rest of the way in silence. Q keeps to his laptop while I go back and forth between staring at the passing scenery and reading Einstein: His Life and Universe by Walter Isaacson.

“I’m surprised you picked that book,” Q comments, not even looking up.

“It was actually you who inspired me to, Quartermaster. After your World War II voicetape I took up a hobby in history.”

He hums. “Glad to know not all of my lecturing is ignored.”

I spot the next station approaching and gather my bag. “We’re here. Do you know what plane we take?”

Q’s getting nervous. He keeps fidgeting with his hands and biting his lip. And I thought my fear of failure was outrageous. He leads me to a charter bus station that leads directly to the airport. I look around to make sure we’re not being followed, wondering if my skills will pay off. This is the first time I’ve ever directly disobeyed orders, and it probably won’t be the last. This was Q’s idea but I’m the most experienced. He’s my responsibility.

The time spent boarding the small plane is almost like escorting a kid to get a shot. The whole time Q’s fidgeting gets worse, and it doesn't help that our seats are near the window. The plane begins gliding down the runway, gaining speed-

All of a sudden Q takes my hand in a death grip, all but squeezing the blood out. His breathing is getting heavier.

“Keep cool, Q,” I whisper soothingly. “Planes have been flying for decades. There’s nothing to be skittish about.”

He faces straight ahead. I can almost see his mind racing from how wide his eyes are. I tug my hand free and use both hands to grab his face. “Get a grip, Q. We’ve survived far worse. You cannot let this get to you, because the fighting hasn’t even started yet.”

My hand finds his again, hoping to give any degree of comfort, and I turn to look outside. It’s a gorgeous location. Majestic white mountain tops along with the crisp clean air provide a very peaceful setting. I only wish we weren’t here on such pressing matters.

The ride only takes half an hour. On the ground I see a small village and a road leading to a tunnel. Maybe we won’t have to relive this plane episode on the way home? After we land and exit the plane (and I wait for Q to start breathing properly), we make our way to a giant glass building. On top of his coat, Q’s also chosen a wool hat that I can’t stop staring at.

“What?”

“Really? The hat? You look like a poster boy for a ski commercial.”

“It keeps my head warm!” 

We continue walking and I start to look for anything suspicious. Where are you Bond…?

My eyes flick to the stairs. “I see him. He’s headed to the bar.”

Q scoffs. “How can you-?”

“Because half the whole building is made of glass.”

The structure reminds me of ice. Cold, boring, and gray. It’s curious how anyone would find psychological comfort here. I’m thankful for Q’s quirky sweater because it drives away all unwanted attention. We probably look like a couple on holiday so the security guards don’t give us a second look. Bond, of course, chooses to go to the bar.

“I’ll wait here,” I say to Q and lean against the back wall. “I’ll keep watch.”

Q nods and goes to approach Bond.

“Vodka martini, shaken not stirred,” Bond orders his usual.

The bartender smiles. “I’m sorry, we don’t serve alcohol.”

God this place is depressing.

“I’m starting to love this place,” Bond mutters dryly.

“He’ll have a prerogative digestive enzyme shake,” Q states plainly as he removes his coat.

The bartender nods. “Certainly.”

Did he just make that up? That sounds made up. Who would drink that?

Bond keeps his cold stare at the counter. “If you’ve come for the car I parked it at the bottom of the Tiber.”

“Not to worry 007, it was only a 3 million pound prototype-”

“Why are you here, Q?” Bond interrupts.

Q huffs. “Oh I just fancied a break, if I’m honest. I’ve been a tad stressed at work recently.” That’s the understatement of the year. “What with C’s people crawling all over and the fact that M wants my balls for Christmas decorations.”

Did he just crack another joke? I swear my witty remarks are starting to rub off on him.

“Get to the point,” Bond grumbles.

I decide to step out now, tutting at his attitude. “Still so stubborn.”

Bond turns around and sees me, then he looks between me and Q. “You followed him?”

I snicker. “Hilarious. No, Bond. I’m here because I’m trying to help unscramble this mess you’re in. I never minded covering for you when we went on missions as long as we trusted each other. Now you apparently don’t trust me at all.” I know Bond won’t care about the invisible knife I just jabbed at him but I’m still mad. “Was your secret business in Rome productive?”

“Indubitably.”

Q decides to continue. “The point, 007, is that Franz Oberhauser is dead and buried. And unless you come back with me right now my career and Moneypenny’s will go the same way. 0011’s as well. Do you understand? All Hell is breaking loose out there and-”

“I saw him.”

Bond saw a dead man?

Q quirks a brow at him. “You saw him? We’ve been through the records, he died in an avalanche with his father 20 years ago.”

“Yes I know that. Then I met him.” Bond shakes his head. “He’s not someone I will ever forget.”

“Ah.” Q nods. “So you have a lead?”

“I have a name. L'Américain.”

He gives a short laugh. “Well that narrows it down. Look, 007, time’s up.” Q looks at bond with both anxious determination. “My whole career is on the line here and you will come back and do this through proper channels or I will report you to M.”

I’m not sure how Q thinks he’s going to get Bond to budge. He knows as well as I do that Bond won’t back down from a lead no matter who’s career is at stake.

“Do one more thing for me. Then you’re out. Find out what you can from this.”

He hands Q a small silver ring. The geek looks like he’s fighting the urge to say no.

“I really really hate you right now,” Q states plainly.

Bond gives him a pat on the shoulder. “Thank you, Q.” He looks past him to look at me. “We’ll discuss more later. I’ve only got a few moments until security escorts me out. Where are you staying?”

Um, where are we-?

“The Pesnica, Room 12,” Q says without question.

"Excellent." On que some security guards appear and start ushering Bond away. "Right now I’ve got to go retrieve Dr. Swann before she’s kidnapped."

I frown. “Kidnapped-?” Then I spot a blonde woman being driven away by men in black suits. “Oh. Right. There she goes.” I nudge Q’s shoulder as we head out. “You really are a pushover.”

He groans. “That man is going to be the death of me.”

“You booked a room?”

Q nods proudly. “Always prepared.”

“That you are, Quartermaster. I suppose we should get there immediately and secure a proper research setting.” Q nods and we go on to the front lobby. “How do we get there? Those?”

I point to what looks like an elevator hooked up to a ski lift that’s carrying passengers up the mountain.

Q’s jaw drops. “Oh God. You’ve got to be joking.”

I grab his coat and push him towards the next available lift. “Suck it up, Q. It’s not flying, it’s just sitting hundreds of feet up in the air in a moving elevator.”

“Thanks for putting it in perspective.” Q retrieves his laptop and begins examining the ring. “Are you coming?”

I shake my head, still standing outside. “I’m taking the scenic route via snowmobile, just in case Bond needs help. I’ll meet you up there.” He’s still fidgety about this so I change to a softer tone. “You’ll be fine, Q. Just breathe.”

The doors shut just as one last passenger steps in, and it takes off up the steep slope. Now I’ve got to find a good snowmobile- ah. Bingo. There’s one right outside, and doesn’t look to be in order. After a quick jump the engine starts up and I start driving up the mountain. This place must be popular for tourists because there’s a well-groomed trail leading straight up. It’s much much chillier than London but I’m not complaining. I’d rather have my face frozen than be melting away. Now that I’m halfway up I activate my earpiece.

“How are you coping?” I ask Q.

“This isn’t so bad, actually. It’s steady, and the view really is lovely.” He actually sounds… relaxed. “What’s the news from down there?”

I look over to where Bond disappeared. “3 large vehicles headed to a tunnel. And- Oh God.” I give a heavy sigh.

“What?” Q asks anxiously.

“And Bond’s flying a plane after them,” I grunt. “He’s following them to the village. I’m almost at the lift checkpoint. Meet you there in 3 minutes.”

Jesus, Bond. You go from wrecking trains to wrecking planes. What’s next? Space stations? I see from where I am that there’s approximately a 2-minute window before Bond flys by the resort. I’m going to be cutting it close-

Q speaks up. “I need help.”

Almost there! I huff. “Isn’t that the truth?”

He sounds worried. “I’m stuck on the ski lift.”

Now I’ve made it to the resort parking lot. “I know you don’t like flying, but you’ve really got to get over this whole fear of-”

“I mean I am literally stuck on the fucking ski lift!” Q shouts. “There’s 2 blokes who are about to skin me alive! Maybe put your annoying tongue to rest and do some of that punching you’re always going on about?!”

Oh. I guess he’s not joking. I jump off the snowmobile and weave through the mob of patrons. The good news is that this messy crowd will allow a decent getaway. I get to the ski lift and try to Spot Q. He’s spaced himself between the corner and a bunch of noisy tourists. And he’s right, there’s two men watching his every move-

A loud noise catches everyone’s attention just as the plane flies past. Right on time. Nice going, Bond. Q doesn’t miss his chance and slips off before the two men notice he’s gone. But they quickly regain focus and start running. He keeps looking over his shoulder and doesn’t seem to notice me. I hold out a hand and grab Q’s coat to yank him into a storage closet just as they pass by. Though now we’ve both discovered how cramped the closet is and Q’s practically pushing me into the wall.

“Where were you!” He hisses in the dark. “I believe I said to administer some punching, yes?”

I scowl. “‘There’s more to being an agent than punching,’ Q. Ring a bell?” I feel his angry breathing against my face. “Besides they’re gone now and we didn’t need to punch our way out. What matters now is getting to our room and laying low.”

It takes a few seconds but we both eventually start to calm down. Q must also notice how close we are because he’s trying to find the doorknob.

“Here it is-” I grab it the same time he does, sending a chill through my arm.

“That’s your hand, right?” Q asks a bit awkwardly.

“Yes, Q. That is my hand. Do you want me to open the door?”

“Please do.”

He removes his warm hand from my cold one and I turn the knob, allowing us to squeeze out of the closet. 

“Why is your hand so cold?” Q asks openly.

I give him a pointed look. “You had a nice cozy ski lift to travel in. I was driving a snowmobile. I’m not immune to the elements, you know.”

Q’s eyes widen and he starts tugging at his coat. “Well then if you’re cold I could-”

“No no, that’s not necessary.” I hold up a hand. “I’ve dealt with worse and from the looks of things you need that coat more than me.”

He frowns. “Why’s that?”

“Because your face is so red it looks like a tomato.”

This comment drives Q to look away and busy himself with his messenger bag. “Yeah. Must be the cold wind.”

He walks off towards the ledge where people are gathering. I follow him and we both look down to see what’s left of a plane next to a crumbling cabin.

“Another one of Bond’s perfect landings,” I say. “More property damage. M’s not going to like this.”

“Bond can get away with it, because he’s right.” Has Q gone mad? Bond is right? “Oberhauser is alive. And right now I have to do one of the most scary things I can think of: apologize to Bond.”

Oh. That’s never an easy thing. 

I pat Q’s shoulder. “Prayers be with you, Q. Now let’s get to our room before another catastrophe happens.”

#quartermaster x reader #quartermaster #q x reader #james bond #daniel craig #ben whishaw #skyfall #spectre #no time to die #007 #james bond 007

[cptslibrary]

Whumpcember Day 8 - Isolation

Whumpcember Prompt 8 - Isolation Fandom - Peter Pan CW - None

Captain Hook felt the earth shake before he saw the rocks slide behind him. The last thing he saw was Smee’s concerned face before all the light to the small cave was cut off. In the inky darkness, he carefully moved his body, making sure he was still in one piece and unharmed. 

They had been searching for treasure. Peter - the brat - had stolen some off his ship again and flown off to play his favorite game: treasure hunt. Hook despised the brat for thinking his gold was one of Peter’s toys. Peter couldn’t even begin to fathom how much blood had been spilt to fill even one of Hook’s chests. And Hook would never be able to leave the island without it. 

Now though, he had bigger concerns. He bellowed in the cave. “Hello? Can you hear me? Get me out!” But there was no answer. Hook felt around the rocks where the entrance had just been. His hook was only so good at moving the rocks, and many were too heavy to move. He felt briefly lucky to not have been crushed. That quickly turned to despair as he realized that the few men he brought with him would not be enough to move the weight. He would be here for several hours at least. 

He kicked a rock blindly before setting down on the dirt. He felt a hand out against a wall and quickly pulled it back when he felt the damp sponginess against his fingers. Muttering to himself, he crossed his legs and leaned forward. 

As he settled in for a long wait, he became aware of a slight dripping. He paid it no mind. His thoughts were already leagues away, dreaming of capturing Pan. How dare he steal from Hook, and for no good reason. A child’s game. 

It was so easy for Peter. He hated that he could just decide to play games and the rest of the boys on the island would trip over themselves to join him. One could say adults still played games; chess and checkers and cards. But his crew were too simple and too afraid of him to ever entertain the idea. A game of chess, he laughed to himself. With who?

He thought back to his childhood. Alone in a big house, no boys his age to entertain himself with. He read quite often. Once, he had looked for fish in the small creek near the estate, but upon coming back his father had slapped him for getting his shoes dirty. He had never gone back to the creek. 

School had been a little better, but he still felt he was different from most other boys. He did better than most at charming the female staff of the school, who always complimented his hair and how clean and pressed his uniform was. He was not so successful with the male staff and students, who thought he was untrustworthy and prissy. A memory floated to his mind of one boy calling him Slimy Jim to his face. He broke that boy’s nose and was caned soundly for it, but no one dared call him that to his face again. He knew they said it behind his back though.

He only began to be accepted after he proved more than capable at rowing and cricket, and even then he felt a clear divide. He was never included in their weekend activities, and rarely spoken to outside of practice. He didn’t regret stealing those trophies. He never really felt like a member of a team anyway. 

He was always alone. He leaned forward in his seat and cupped his face with his hand. He never felt like he had belonged anywhere, and even as the captain of his own ship it didn’t fill him the way it wanted to. His ship, his treasures, his crew were all just possessions of his, not a community. He could consider Smee his closest companion, but still the jolly man could never understand him. James knew in his heart that he tried.  

He heard the cracking of rocks and quickly broke out of his reverie. The men were pulling through quicker than expected. A small victory for him. Perhaps they weren't completely useless after all. The rocks gave way to beams of light as he was excavated from his tomb. Soon enough, he could hear Smee's voice.

"Cap'n can you hear me? Are you hurt?"

"Smee! I'm fine. Get me out of this blasted cave!"

"On it, Cap'n." Hook was free only a few minutes later.

#whumpcember2023 #captain hook #whumpcember day8

[22degreehalo]

So recently, I started watching Bluey!

In a way, that was inevitable: I was a brony back in the day (and yes that sure is a whole subject in its own right I'm not getting into right now lmao), I work in a setting where I frequently interact with children, and I'm Australian. It was just a matter of time, and when my aunt over the Christmas hollies demanded my parents and I watch 'the cricket episode', that was just the final permission I needed to do it.

So, those are three potential reasons to watch it: because kids' cartoons can be highly enjoyable and good viewing in their own right, because it'll help me better understand and relate to kids, and because it is The big cultural product coming out of my country for this entire decade probably and that's interesting.

And all of them turned out to be well-founded! It has helped me to visualise a lot better how kids work and learn and live, and it's good viewing: the animation is pretty, the music work is great (some very well-placed classical pieces alongside the Steven Universe-esque chiptunes), and it's equally capable of being sweet and funny and genuinely meaningful. There's a lot that can be said about that; the contrast with the mixed reaction to the 'darker' Avatar remake, or even just the way limitations (in this case, quick 7-minute runtimes) can breed creativity.

But it was that third reason which surprised me the most. I'd heard all the jokes about how American kids are picking up Australian slang and even accents and so forth, but I never properly prepared myself for how... it would feel, seeing my life depicted on TV like that.

It's not like Australians never get to see our country on TV. We have our own reality shows and soapies and all that, but I don't watch the latter and the former... aren't exactly depictions of ordinary everyday life. When Australia does show up in media, it's usually through satire: either Simpsons-style, or our own home-grown Kath and Kim or The Castle. And that's not a knock on either of those last two: they're pitch-perfect depictions of Australian culture and I'd highly recommend anyone who wants to understand Australian humour or social mores to watch both! It's just that they're very... self-deprecating. Which, again: Australian culture. We're like that.

But Bluey is so... beautiful.

I've always had a weird relationship to my country. I've never really fit in much with the culture; I'm too sensitive and sincere for it, and it's usually pretty obvious I think. And the environment? I just don't entirely know how to relate to it. All of our holidays are based on a calendar and geography an entire world away. Native plants and animals and the like always seemed like they Belong To the, well, native Australians. I'm not witchy, I'm not a health junkie, and I'm not super outdoorsy (though I do like a hike now and then!). My main way of interacting with my country is through just walking down the street, and marvelling at how pretty my city is, and how lovely (and/or annoying!) the birds are.

And I get that from Bluey. Something it's good at, even outside my personal connection to it I think, is depicting this certain sense of awe at the world that children can have, when everything is so new and strange and wonderful. The pilot episode features a long, zoomed-in moment of the youngest child encountering a walking leaf bug, and her whispered, thinking-out-loud amazement. 'Why would a leaf want to walk?' indeed!

And there's that: the rainbow lorikeets flocking in trees; the jacaranda flowers softly falling outside the parents' bedroom window. But also the man-made things. The green deck chairs out on the lawn, drinking white wine and cider while the dads barbeque. The sausage sizzle and pavlova. The opening presents Christmas morning and then going for a swim in the pool with your cousins.

It's romanticised up the wazoo; it boggles me a little when people complain about how big the titular character's house is, because... yeah! It's idealised! It's meant to be pretty and comfy and a little wish-fulfilmenty. That's not to say that everything is perfect, but it's larger than life; not to quote the old cliche, but it's a preschoolers' show, for gosh sake.

And for someone who has always loved the world too much and felt silly and cringy and embarrassed by it, there's something really, really lovely about finally getting to see artists direct that love at the actual world I see around me. Not exactly the same; where I live is much drier than Brisbane, for starters. But it's close enough.

This, I really feel like, is a new cultural image of Australia that will resonate in the public memory. Not Mad Max, not Steve Irwin, just a pretty, hilly city by the beach, with bright cockatoos and wandering bin chickens, shallow creeks and gumnut 'dollars', and families gathering for barbeques and friendly games of backyard cricket.

(The cricket episode really is a very good one!!)

#Bluey #so yes I have gotten to see a fair bit more of this relatable Australian culture through the library #but it actually only increased my desire for more I think? #this past Christmas I actually felt a bit. less interested in the winter wonderland fantasy I usually dive into #I actually found myself really wanting to see my own Christmas shown on screen #I'm a couple months late but... here it is! #I'm... more connected to the world around me now. than I was a year ago. #it's nice. :)