#they drew my blood four times this week
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Sweet Girl
Summary: Miguel isn’t all that excited about you joining spider society, so why and how does he enter a spiral of maddening obsession?
Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x spider-woman!reader
Miguel POV. Obsessed Miguel. Soft/inexperienced reader. Pining.
This is more an of an introduction to my current series Frustration. You don’t have to read the first 3 parts to enjoy this.
Miguel crossed his arms as he stood on the lowered platform.
He was waiting.
And he hated being kept waiting.
Tense minutes went by until a swirling flash of light tore through the space continuum right in front of him.
Jessica Drew stepped out first, followed closely by Peter B. Parker.
And you.
You seemed so out of it, that Miguel wondered how a spider person could have been this badly affected by a mere dimensional travel.
As you tumbled out of the portal, you immediately lurched forward. “Oh, I’m going to be sick.”
Without further warning, you emptied the content of your stomach onto the floor.
Amazing.
Arching an eyebrow, he glared at Jess who was patting your back reassuringly.
“It’s her first time, Miguel,” she frowned lightly, helping you straighten up.
Peter offered you a tissue. “Oh, I remember my first time. My intestines were not the same for a week, and I do-”
Miguel immediately cut him off, not at all interested in hearing about Peter Parker’s bowl movements. “Welcome to Nueva York,” he stepped out of the platform, extending his hand to you. “I’m Miguel O’Hara.”
You cleared your throat and shook his hand. “So… you’re the boss.”
“I’m the boss.”
Miguel saw your eyes scanning him him up and down, widening slightly. “You’re… big.”
Peter snorted and Jessica chuckled.
But he could only roll his eyes. “You’ll eventually get used to your portal jumps.”
You scanned the room with curious eyes. “That portal really needs stabilisation,” you then mumbled, adjusting your suit. “The motion sickness…”
He scoffed. “You’re a spider-woman. I’m sure you can manage motion sickness.”
“Well… it’s not the same as swinging around in your web,” you retorted with a light shrug.
Jessica patted your shoulder. “That’s why we recruited you. Your intel might be able to helps us with some of these… instabilities.”
You immediately smiled brightly. “Oh, sure! I can’t wait to get started. This place looks so cool.”
Miguel groaned inwardly. Amateurs.
He had scanned your file thoroughly and had been against your recruitment initially, but Jess had brought up valid points in your favour, despite the fact that you had only been bitten less than six months ago.
Inexperienced and ambitious.
These two hardly ever worked together, but your vast knowledge in tech compounds had made him give Jess the benefit of the doubt.
“Follow me. I’ll have to draw blood to run some tests and Lyla here will fill you in later on other procedures.”
The hologram popped in obnoxiously by your shoulder. “If he asks nicely, that is.”
Your mouth dropped open in absolute bewilderment. “Woah! AI? That is really, really awesome!”
“Thank you, pumpkin,” she grinned with a wink.
Miguel paced through the long halled that stretched out towards Lab 1, with you following close by, as Peter and Jess flanked you.
From the corner of his eye, he saw you glaring out of the tall windows, completely transfixed by the the countless skyscrapers that sprawled out as far as the eye could see.
“You built this?” your voice echoed in sheer wonder.
“Yes.”
“All of this?”
“Miguel is really gifted with technology,” Peter chimed in proudly.
“Woah…”
That tingled his ego nicely.
As the four of you walked inside the lab, the surrounding spiders at work glanced over, voicing their greetings.
“Take a seat.”
You immediately did as he said with Jessica standing next to you, hand on your shoulder.
Miguel put his gloves on and readied the material for the blood testing.
“Give me your arm.”
“So you’re a tech guy…” you started, and he gripped your forearm, rolled the sleeve of your suit up with fingers probing for a vein. “What else?”
“A geneticist.”
“Nice! So you’re like a two for one type of deal?”
Once he found what he was looking for, he aligned the tube with your skin. “This will sting a bit.”
Before you could reply, you let out a gasp at the sudden intrusion.
“And you work at the lab, too?”
“Do you always ask so many questions?” Miguel said, waiting for the tube to fill in.
You nodded with a warm smile. “I just like to know what I’m getting myself into.”
You had no idea, but Miguel was testing you, trying to gather as much of your personality as he could. He enjoyed piecing people together like puzzles. It stroked his sense of control.
“I thought Jessica had briefed you.”
“I did,” she immediately said.
“Yet you’re the one drawing my blood,” you chirped happily, your eyes fixed on his.
Well, maybe you had an idea.
Miguel felt the corner of his lips turn into a faint smile.
Good.
He needed perceptive people around.
He pulled away from from you slightly and pressed a cotton pad to the small puncture.
Sliding open one of the drawers nearby, he grabbed a watch, never letting go of your arm.
“This is a dimensional travel watch,” he explain, snapping it snugly around your wrist. “Keep it with you at all times.”
He let go of you and you seized the moment to inspect it closer, fascination never leaving your face.
“Let me guess… you also built this,” you said with a chuckle, pressing on the screen a few times.
He reached out his hand to stop you. “This is not a toy. Lyla will inform you on how to properly use it.”
You nodded firmly.
“Welcome to spider society.”
It didn’t take long for Miguel to start walking in on you sleeping in the lab.
For the fourth time.
He was all too familiar with the riveting excitement that came with scientific progress that often led to many sleepless nights.
But he still couldn’t allow this to keep happening.
Halting a few inches away from you, he took a moment to access the situation: you sat hunched over the lab table, head resting on folded arms and a string of drool dangling from the corner of your mouth.
A heavy sigh parted his lips.
He tapped his foot once on the leg of your chair, causing you to jolt upright with a yelp, nearly falling back from the loss of balance as the chair swayed dangerously.
But Miguel was fast enough to prevent that by steadying you with a firm grip on your shoulder. You then leaned forward, panting and clutching at your chest.
“Good morning.”
You turned your head to stare at him, deep bags under your eyes and sleep lines covering your face. “Miguel! Oh — hi! I’m… oh my… that was such a scare!”
His crimson eyes narrowed slightly. “It’s the fourth time this week.”
Trying to regain some composure, you straightened your clothes and wiped the string of drool trailing down your chin with the back of your hand.
“Right. I was… uh…” you paused abruptly and looked around, as if momentarily disoriented. “Oh. Yeah! I am — was working on running some diagnostics and must have dozed off waiting for the results… and-”
He clicked his tongue and spun your chair around, effectively silencing you, his eyes boring into yours. “This isn’t going to happen again. You need to rest.”
You swallowed. “I was resting…”
Miguel didn’t have neither the patience nor the time for this.
“You need proper rest,” he pressed on with a scowl. “Jessica scouted you for a reason, and if you’re too sleep-deprived to work, you’re of no use to us.”
You broke eye contact with him, lowering your head. “I’m sorry…”
The sincerity in your voice took him slightly aback, and he relaxed his face, wondering if he had perhaps been too harsh.
You were chewing on your lip, staring down at your entwined hands.
He had no idea why, but his heart skipped a beat.
Probably stress.
“Look,” he tried again, softer this time. “I know what it’s like to want more. To do more. I’ve been there,” he then crouched, so he could eye-level with you. “But you can’t keep pushing yourself like this. We have time to figure this out.”
You looked to the side, hesitating at first. “I… was talking to other spiders and some mentioned they feel the side effects of motion sickness if they use the portal more than twice a day,” you went on with newfound confidence, gripping the pad on the table and lighting up the screen. “I’m close to getting the chips to work and ther-”
Miguel pinched the bridge of his nose. “Stop. Stop.”
You did.
“What part of me saying you need to sleep didn’t you understand?”
“I don’t mind sacrificing a few nights of sleep if it means I can help other spiders,” you said, a flash of defiance crossing your eyes. “Seriously, Miguel. I need to get this done… I need it.”
Miguel’s strictness shattered.
He then saw a reflection of himself staring right at him.
So much of your determination and persistence reminded him of his early days as a scientist. The struggle, the hunger for results, the need to achieve something that could help so many…
“I know you’re looking out for me,” you went on, placing one hand on his shoulder and giving it a soft squeeze. “And I’m grateful, but science and progress don’t wait. I know I can be helpful, so let me.”
For the first time in a very long time, Miguel O’Hara was left speechless.
“Please don’t fire me,” you laughed nervously.
He blinked a couple of times and stared down at his watch.
6:14AM
“You can come back in twelve hours.”
Your eyes widened in sheer excitement, lips parting into a wide smile.
He quicky lifted one finger. “If you try to sneak in, I’ll know.”
Your smile faltered, as he saw right through your intentions.
“And I’ll have you sent back to your dimension faster than you can say Nueva York. Got it?”
You lifted one hand in a salute and nodded.
He scowled. “And… stop hanging around Hobie.”
Dropping your hand, you bolted forward from your chair to hug him, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”
The sudden motion nearly caused him to topple over and you immediately let go of him, as he rose to his full height again.
“Oh! Sorry!” you stepped away, patting his arm apologetically.
He blinked.
Then, grabbing your pad, you began tapping rapidly. “I’m uploading all the data to your watch, so please take a look.”
He blinked again.
You gathered your backpack and threw him a final warm smile. “If you find anything important, please let me know!”
Miguel nodded curtly, but remained rooted in place, as you hurried across the lab and past the sliding door.
His heart skipped a beat for the second time that day.
Then it dawned on him: the last person who had hugged him had been Gabriella.
Miguel should probably call himself a hypocrite.
He was heavily against you or any other spider dozing off in the lab, but he had been indulging in this quite often as of late.
By the time he rose from his slumber, and sat back on his padded chair, he realised something soft had been placed around his shoulders.
He tugged on it and was met with a blanket covered in tiny prints of Peter B. Parker’s face.
This was definitely Mayday’s.
“What…” he drawled out, blinking a few times to adjust his eyes to the brightness that poured in from the windows.
The clock on the wall marked nine in the morning.
He stared down at his desk to find a handwritten note next to a plate of… empanadas?
“Hi~
wanted to wake you up, but you were sleeping so soundly and I didn’t want to disturb you. I found Mayday’s blankie on my lab desk — I suspect Hobie is sneaking her around to pull a prank on me hehe xOx
P.S. Jess told me you like empanadas, so I tried making some for you. Hope you like them~ (I’m crossing my fingers)
P.S. 2 You need proper rest :)”
You.
It had been you.
He glared at the plate containing the pastries, and grabbed one.
His heightened senses allowed him to immediately get flooded with an overwhelming delicious smell.
Taking a bite, he fluttered his eyes shut, allowing the overwhelming combination of flavours to take over.
It tasted so, so good.
It tasted like home.
He rose to his feet and walked out, scanning the lab for traces of you.
But he was met with Jessica instead who had just walked in.
“Oh, you look terrible.”
He swallowed what was left in his mouth. “Thanks.”
Her gaze dropped to your hand. “Oh! Did she make those for you?”
“Uh… yes.”
He felt ridiculous for having mumbled it like that.
The two of them paced along the corridors and into Lab 2, where you were sitting, back turned to them, visibly engrossed in your tasks.
“How’s she been doing?”
He took another bite. “Good. She’s persistent and focused. Those are good traits to have in this field.”
“She reminds me of yourself.”
Miguel wasn’t surprised in the slightest, because it was an undeniable fact.
“Hopefully, she won’t make the same mistakes I did.”
“Oh, I’m sure she’ll make some along the way,” she shrugged casually. “And she’ll learn from them, as you did.”
Miguel kept his gaze fixed on you and felt a strange need arise in him.
To look after you.
He took the last bite and savoured it in silence, as Jessica eyed him curiously.
“She really is a sweet girl,” she ended up saying lovingly. “She asked me what your comfort food was.”
Sweet girl.
He let the name replay in his head, and determined he liked the sound of it. It was fitting.
“Go on. Say it.”
Miguel arched an eyebrow at this. “Say what?”
Jess threw him a smug look. “That I was right for recruiting her. That you were wrong.”
In truth, Miguel hated having to admit to his mistakes, and it wasn’t even related to his ego or inability to take criticism.
As he had come to learn the hard way, his mistakes would usually lead to catastrophic consequences.
But when it came to you, he had no problem admitting he had been in the wrong. You had proved to be quite capable of handling a multitude of tasks.
… and now you were starting to grow on him.
“Yes. You were right, Jessica,” he mumbled, his eyes fixed on you. “She really is… something.”
She patted his back a few times. “Are you turning into a softie, Miguel?”
He scowled. “No.”
“Go ahead and thank her, then,” she said with a smile.
Miguel didn’t like being told what to do. He had every intention of letting you know he was grateful for your efforts.
But it had to be in his own way.
He parted ways with Jess and mad his way to you.
“Hey.”
You turned in your chair, bearing that kind smile he had grown so accustomed to. “Hi! You’re awake.”
“Cearly,” he grumbled with a shrug.
“Did you like the empanadas?”
He nodded. “They tasted amazing. Thank you.”
Like home.
“Great!” you beamed, your smile never wavering. “You looked really adorable while sleeping. Sorry for not waking you up.”
Adorable…?
He felt a lump form in his throat. Your energy was contagious, and he considered embracing it.
But he didn’t want to cave in…
He was a stubborn man by nature.
But he also didn’t want you to think he was too cold and distant like many in Nueva York thought.
“I want to show you something,” he said, tapping on his watch.
You waited expectantly and the screen in front of your flickered momentarily before a video started playing.
File: Gabriella.006
He didn’t even bother staring at the screen. He already knew by heart its content, and he didn’t want to revist the pain today.
No.
His eyes were fixed on you, instead.
He knew Lyla had already mentioned the event that led to him deciding to protect the multiverse.
He knew you knew of Gabriella.
Of what he had done.
Your smile dropped as the video went on, even though the sound of giggles and splashing water echoed around you.
“I’m not showing you this for you to feel bad for me.”
You shook your head, parting your eyes from the screen. “That didn’t even cross my mind.”
He paused the video.
“Right.”
Your eyes held kindness and your voice became softer. “I know why you’re showing this to me.”
He highly doubted it, but he waited for you to go on.
“We take care of each other here,” you began, twirling your chair to fully face bim. “And that means being open to showing vulnerabilities.”
He remained silent, digesting your words.
“Am I wrong?”
Partially, but he wouldn’t tell you that. The justification he had settled for in his head didn’t come close to your own.
And his heart skipped a beat.
He grown used to it happening whenever around you, but this time it felt more alarming.
More urgent.
“Miguel?”
You were eyeing him with concern, your hand reaching out to touch his arm.
He snapped out of his thoughts, and took a step back. “Send me the files you were working on yesterday. I need to check the coding.”
You gave him a nod, and he saw understanding soften your expression. He had expected you to press him on for an answer, but he was grateful you hadn’t.
“Oh, and… thank you, again. For… you know…” he drawled out as he ran a hand through his hair.
“You got it, Miguel,” you said, smiling sweetly.
Sweet girl.
His sweet girl.
It took Miguel one week to start dreaming about you.
At first, it would be a conglomerate of nonsensical blobs with your face or voice here and there. But as days went by, some began to take shape.
Your shape.
Nowadays, it would be your face and voice that would keep him company after tiring missions.
He had gotten quite fond of it.
Until things took a turn.
And he would wake up with a throbbing ache in between his legs, begging for relief.
That was when he knew he was letting his admiration for you get the best of him.
As he rose from his bed and walked to the tall window in his bedroom, he saw the sun lighting up the horizon line, bathing Nueva York in rays of orange and yellow.
He had built all of this in the hopes of a better future.
But now he started longing for one that had you in it somehow.
As a fellow spider.
A fellow scientist.
A friend, even.
He squinted as his sensitive eyes became increasingly sore from the intense light, so he moved to his bedside table and grabbed the peace of paper you had left him days ago.
Your handwriting mirrored your personality: graceful and captivating.
Maybe he should have tossed it away, but he couldn’t bring himself to do so.
Walking into his living room, he booted up the screens on the wall.
There was this crescendo inside him that urged him to look for you.
He tapped through various sections of the lan, but he found you near the refrigeration area, tapping on your chin with a pencil, as you glared at the screens in front of you.
He wanted to call you.
To hear your voice first thing in the morning.
To commend you for being up so early already and committing to your duties.
Suddenly, he saw your lips turn into a soft knowing smile, and he knew you must have figured something out.
Of course you had.
Your perception and tenacity were unmatched.
As much as he wanted to talk to you, he decided against it.
In his mind, he was too undeserving of anything more than a friendship with you.
He convinced himself that he was not good enough, and that he was meant to watch you from afar.
You were just like a flame. Too close and it burns. Too far away and it freezes.
He grazed his thumb across the screen, close to you.
His sweet, sweet girl.
It would be better off this way. Not for him, of course. He was already in too deep. But it would be better for you.
You deserved better.
But he still craved you.
Miguel recognised the feeling that was started to seep into his heart and mind. He had almost forgotten how suffocating that felt.
He couldn’t tear his eyes from your face.
He couldn’t tear his heart from your hold.
The level of despair was unmistakable and he knew exactly what this feeling was.
Frustration.
Next part (if you can’t access it, click here)
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#miguel o’hara x reader#miguel o’hara#miguel o’hara x you#miguel ohara x reader#miguel o’hara x fem!reader#spiderman 2099 x reader#spiderman 2099
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part four to this series
cw: 18+ mdni, mentions of blood drinking, fantasizing about biting, miguel’s got a thing for “sir”, EXTREMELY suggestive, no explicit smut just miguel losing his mind. this is the horniest one yet.. sorry!
miguel cannot get the taste of you out of his mind. it hadn’t been the part of you he’d wanted, the part of you that overwhelmed him, but it had been close. throughout the day he’d catch himself licking behind his fangs even though he’d since flushed his mouth clean of you. sometimes, he’d nick his tongue on his canine and the taste of his own blood would remind him of you again.
jessica asked about the gauze on your arm while miguel was in the room and you’d had a quick response, though not one that would spare him the knowing look from his (other) right-hand woman, “oh, miguel and I were playing too hard.”
sure enough, jessica drew’s eyes narrow behind her glasses. she even pushes them up into the crown of curls and coils on her head so her disappointment really gets across, “aren’t you a little too old to be rough-housing, miguel?”
if it were just that, miguel could confidently say it was an accident. if this had been about the cut on your eye that had healed over weeks before, there’d be honest guilt on his face when he defended himself. but no, you had asked. you’d practically put your arm in his mouth. you’d asked for him to hurt you, and you’d liked it.
and he’d liked it too. he didn’t know if he could hide that part.
before he can think of what to say, you chime in, “he’s always careful. it was my fault this time.”
“I don’t get why you two have to fight all the time. can’t you try, I dunno, healing yoga?”
miguel tried to picture himself in a downward dog pose and almost started laughing. from the flicker of mirth across your features, you seemed to be picturing the same thing. then he accidentally pictured you in that pose, pictured himself standing behind you, pictured taking your waist in his claws and crouching over you to sink his teeth into your shoulder so he could taste you there, too.
he digs his heels into the floor to rid himself of the image. his voice is strained as he replies, “it was their idea. can’t help that it works.”
jessica is far too exhausted with life as a new mother to try to understand that. she waves a hand, her white flag for the conversation, “whatever. I just came to borrow your assistant for the day. is that alright with you?”
lyla materializes on miguel’s shoulder, one holographic leg crossed over the other, “who, moi?”
“no thanks, tinkerbell. I need a person. preferably with some muscle.”
miguel would find that funny but all he can think to ask is, “why?” but you’re already standing up and following jessica to the doors of his office. he feels a sudden queasiness at the thought of not seeing you for the rest of the day. the day itself had just started. his morning coffee hadn’t even gone cold.
he hadn’t been left alone without you since you’d started here. now, he’d spend the whole day alone?—lyla sings a goodbye next to his ear—with just lyla?
he stands, abruptly, making his desk shake and shift a few inches. the sound is enough to stop the two of you in your tracks. your eyes bore into his own, curious, and he feels silly like the first day you’d caught him mid-tantrum. he means to sound intimidating and authoritative, but his voice can’t help the weakness when he looks at you, “I didn’t say yes.”
jessica’s hard look is almost enough to make him sit back down.
but you smile, tilt your head to the side, turn fully to him, “sorry. can I go, mr. o’hara?”
in truth, you didn’t need to ask him. but he didn’t know what else he’d expected when he objected like that. he wanted to hear it. he’d wanted to hear you ask for permission, or better yet refuse jessica altogether. he wanted you to sit back down across the desk from him and crack jokes at his expense, tease him and cackle even though he was the butt of the joke every single time. he wanted you to offer up a mini spar session after he came back from hunting down anomalies again just to get the adrenaline out of his system. he wanted you to pin him down and win, again, so he could flip you on your back when you least expected it and he could sink his teeth into your shoulder so he could taste you there, too-
miguel clears his throat and sits back down, painfully aware of where his blood was flowing to now. he waved a hand, murmured something noncommittal, but you’d really put the nails in his coffin. you bowed at the waist, smug like you always were when he was watching, and said in none too innocent of a tone, “thank you, sir.” and left.
miguel watched the doors shut. his ears tuned into the sound of jessica’s voice and yours mingling down the hallway, further and further away. he waited until you two were so far out of earshot that he couldn’t tell your mumble apart from the next spider’s. and then, he croaked out lyla’s name.
“yes?” she dragged out her response, the knowing, teasing lilt to her voice was more grating on his wound nerves than usual.
“lock the doors to my office, please. and turn off the lights.” his voice was a hair above a whisper. lyla did as told and quietly. “send the… send the society a message that I won’t be in for the next two hours.”
“shall I copy miss drew, too?”
“yes.”
“and… anyone else?”
miguel rests his forehead against his fist, taking even breaths in and out. he could feel the talons beneath his skin beginning to extend. his breath shudders, “yes.”
lyla hums, “anything else, miguel?”
“take a break for the afternoon.”
he can’t see her and he doesn’t want to see her (not right now, anytime but now) but he knows her code inside out, knows she’s questioning him. “that’s a first. got some business to take care of?” his answer is but a low, embarrassed growl, and that’s enough to send her off laughing into cyberspace.
a beat passes, then two. it’s quiet all the way up here in his office without the sounds of the other spider-people or lyla or jessica or you.
thinking about you brings back those images from earlier and when he bites into his clenched fist, he feels the sharp pain of his fangs breaking skin. the pain distracts him for all of two seconds and then he’s thinking of you on top of him, holding your arm out for him to bite you, except it’s your throat this time. you’re hovering over him, the smell at your neck and the bob of your swallowing throat overwhelm him.
you’re sitting on his lap in this very chair, hands clasped at his shoulders or gripping the arm rests or tied together behind his head as you lean in, press yourself flush against him, and bare your throat to him. he’d never wanted to bite anyone that wasn’t a threat to him, never wanted to taste the warmth of their blood as it couldn’t help but trickle onto his tongue, never wanted to hear and feel the guttural moan from you as you sink down on him.
“sir”. you’d called him “sir”. mr. o’hara, you’d done that before, but never sir. a wet and wild whine leaves his throat when he remembers how your voice wrapped around it.
before he goes any further, he sucks in a breath and removes his fist from between his teeth, collecting himself enough to summon lyla once more. the AI didn’t even bother to look in his direction when she appeared on the surface of his desk, her fingers swiping at some book she’d pulled up in front of her. this next “yes?” was just as dragged out, just as knowing, just as teasing.
“three hours.” miguel’s voice cracks out. lyla fades into thin air with a single, three-fingered salute.
part five
taglist: @yikes-buddy @alexxavicry @theclassicvinyldragon @marina-and-the-memes @sleepdeprived-barelyalive @internal-soundtrack @joceymoo @x-ratedhimbo @themedsaintworkin @adamsloverboy @giulia2372 @lemonrolls @p1nkliquor @syarblu @trished @serostapesweat @lilith-lovecraft @epicy0n
#also I'm sorry that this is the fic I remembered to tag my all fics followers on#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel o'hara scenarios#miguel o'hara imagines#miguel o'hara headcanons#miguel o'hara fic#miguel o'hara#spiderman 2099#across the spiderverse#marvel#mjwrites#i mean. what are you looking at me like that for
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part 4 mob boss mommy *i mean natty oops*
Title: The Oversight [Part 4/7]
Ship: Female!Reader x Natasha Romanoff
Wordcount: 4325
Warnings: Gun imagery, heights, unecessary tension, horrible grammar, and funnel cake
[A/n: Heads up, I wrote this while I had the flu & a pretty bad fever, so it's not my greatest work. Thank you all for the postive feedback!]
[ Part one | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven ]
Main Masterlist | Read my stuff on AO3 | Leave Requests
“Hit me.” Natasha’s words were growled, a low rumble compared to the warm spring breeze that produced nothing but a balmy environment. Sweat glossed her collarbone, moved against expanses of skin that you had let yourself imagine, but had never seen. She was a distraction, despite being your instructor.
Her wrapped fist made contact with your jaw, a metallic taste coating your tongue. You let out a grunt of protest, fingers quickly working against the area to ease the throbbing pain. “That wasn’t fair,”
“You think they’re going to play fair? Focus up. Hit me.”
There was something about being this close to Natasha that formed a pit in your stomach. You were meant to have skin on skin contact, though most of your mornings for the past two weeks had been spent at the gun range, she had deemed you ready enough to learn how to fight. It was an art, you figured, not just something you could blindly go into.
For the first fifteen minutes of your day, you had watched Natasha and Kate spar. Yelena was standing next to you, a borderline predatory gaze on her face. You’d realized that it was one of the only emotions she harbored, and that Clint was rightful in his fear. Still, her attention was not focused on you, and that was good enough for the time being.
Instead, it was homed in on Kate. “I have been teaching her for nearly a year now.”
“She’s good.”
“You do not have to lie, y/n. She’s sloppy, reckless. Look how calculated Natalia is.”
Those emerald eyes were tracking every move the taller girl made. She’d initiated contact with Kate’s ribs, with her knees, and her shoulders. She’d fallen to the grass more times than you could count, but she still got up. That’s what seemed to count around here. Even as green a brown stained her workout gear, and as purple blotches of dead blood rose to the surface of her skin.
“It pays to learn fighting styles. That is something the Danver’s family does not understand. They hire whoever they can. Bodies over skill, it can work in some situations, but not all.”
“When did this… war start?”
“Mm, the power struggle has been raging for decades. Our parents, and their parents, and their parents before them. Both of us were trained to take over the family business. Men, they fight with their hearts and not their heads. When Carol and Natalia took up the mantel, things only got worse.”
You felt silly, growing up on these city blocks, and not realizing that a fight bigger than yourself was raging just within the shadows. You supposed that was a good thing. If you knew, you’d have taken Ronnie out of here in a second.
Kate hit the ground for a fourth time, the air knocked out of her lungs. She still had enough left to groan and prop herself up on her elbows. Natasha chuckled, the sound bubbling past her lips. This was much too fun for her.
“She is fragile.” Yelena nudged you with her arm. You frowned. Kate accepted the outstretched hand and allowed herself to be pulled to her feet. She looked dazed. “Do not tell her I said so, but she was looking for a project. You have to give it your all. For both of your sakes.”
You drew in a breath to respond, but Yelena clapped a hand on your back before taking a step toward the dueling duo. “Alright Nat! I think you’ve tortured Kate Bishop enough. Do not break her.”
Kate was bouncing back and forth on the balls of her feet, her fists raised in a defensive position. Her lip was split, rusty crimson against the corner of her mouth. “I can do this all day.”
“You do not have to.” Yelena’s nose scrunched up “You stink. Go take a shower.”
The blonde shoved Kate playfully towards the house, trailing behind her and murmuring things in Russian. She’d left you alone with Natasha, something you had become quite accustomed to. In your workout gear, you felt more than a little exposed, her stare raking up and down your form before her cheeks turned a deeper shade of pink than they already were.
The two of you had sat on the lawn chairs as she wrapped your knuckles, had you punch the palm of her hand to see how much blowback it would cause. You were holding back, and you both knew it. Her last command had been non-negotiable.
When you swung your right hand towards her jaw, Natasha wrapped her fingers around your wrist. She had flipped you onto the ground with enough force to knock the air from your lungs. You’d flailed in panic instead of going limp like Kate had.
You’d dragged Natasha down on top of you. Her body weight was warm from the beating sun, her elbows on either side of your head. Natasha’s knee was between yours, pressing into your core. You let out a small gasp at the sensation, pulling in her musky scent of sweat and clove.
Stray strands of russet hair framed Natasha’s face as she peered down at you, her chest heaving, each breath pushing her closer to you. Her nose was brushed against yours. The two of you were impossibly close, soul-crushingly so. You were certain that she could feel your heartbeat through your shirt.
She made a quite noise “Pet, if you wanted to get me on top of you, all you had to do was ask.”
Your gaze had given you away, and Natasha suddenly had a shit-eating grin against her lips. You hooked your legs against hers an arm wrapping around her waist. In a smooth move, you had her flipped against the grass, eyes reflecting the blue of the cloudless sky. She nearly seemed impressed, and you preened at the stare.
That was before her knee came up and knocked the wind out of you for the second time. You grunted, rolling off her. The two of you stared up at the sky for a few moments before she hoisted herself up and offered you a hand. You batted it away out of habit, rising on your own.
“When you fall, you fall with grace.” Natasha said, her voice stoney, right back to her serious self. “That way you don’t end up like we just were.”
“And if they ask?” you lifted an eyebrow at her, a hint of malice in her voice. She took a step closer to you, and that ever-intoxicating scent filled your lungs once more. Your ribs still ached from her kick, fingers massaging the sore spot. However, all of your movement halted.
Her voice was murmured and rusty. “I don’t want anyone else on top of you.”
“Okay,” You whispered, throat suddenly tight. “Then show me how.”
Veronica had the excited reflection of light in her eyes. They scanned the traveling fair that had been set up in the park bordering the harbor and a square city block. Each year, tents with local vendors would go up, rides and carnival games in their stead.
The scent of kettle corn filled your lungs, a mix of sweet and salty that reminded you of your own childhood spent here. It was the one constant that every foster family took part in. Sometimes you’d be given a stack of tickets, others, you’d get enough for a large cup of the best lemonade you had ever tasted.
Her hand tightened around yours, squeezing in excitement. Despite your current situation, you couldn’t help but smile. The soft sound of music and the light breeze was enough to make your forget about your aching muscles, and the light sweater that you had thrown on to hide the bruising against your shoulders, your arms, and collarbone. Natasha had really done a number on you.
“Jimmy is a nice guy, he really is, but the whole magic thing is driving me nuts.” Darcy used her forefingers to pinch off a bit of blue cotton candy, shoving it into her mouth. She talked around the melting sugar. “Seriously, he spilled my coffee all over my lap attempting a card trick and then attempted to mop it up with a never-ending handkerchief.”
You snickered at that, earning a look cut from glass. “What? I’m sorry about your drycleaning, but it is kind of funny.”
“Yeah, whatever. I just have to grow a backbone. He doesn’t try to pull that shit with Monica. No one tries to pull that shit with her.” She knelt in front of Ronnie, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. “You’re not going to tolerate stupid magic tricks, are you?”
She was met with a silent, but amused stare, her eyebrow lifted. You’d been leveled with that look more than once yourself. It dissolved you into more laughter. “Alright, alright. No magic for the kid. Does the Ferris Wheel count as magic?”
“Well sure, but only at the worlds fair.”
You rolled your eyes but effectively tugged them both into the line. It had always been one of your favorites. It gave you a good look at the city you called home. Of course, your view of that city had been stunted lately. It never truly changed the beauty of the lights and the way they reflected off the water.
Your shoulder came in contact with chilled leather, your attention having been trained on fishing through your pockets for the small red tickets. Your eyes shot up, ready to rush out an apology until the words stopped in your throat.
Seeing Natasha outside of her manor was jarring. She looked nearly the same, a tight-fitting black T-shirt and a leather jacket draped over her shoulders. Her hair was loose, unlike it was at training earlier in the day, cascading down her shoulders. Her make-up was light, her unripe stare pouring into yours. That bewilderment melted into her cool exterior as if it were never there in the first place.
“Natasha,” the word poured from your lips before you could stop it, and the corner of her mouth quirked up in amusement. “Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.”
“I can take a hit” She stated matter-of-factly. You were well aware of the fact, and you had to stifle a shiver as it worked its way down your spine. Hours before she had been nestled so perfectly on top of you.
Your cheeks heated up and you glanced sparingly at your friend, her own eyes going back and forth between the both of you. It was then that you noticed Clint, towering over Natasha with his arms crossed over his chest. He gave you a finger wave, and you lifted your chin in return.
“I’m Darcy, you are?” She was beyond forward, and it made you internally cringe. She reached her hand out to the very woman that ran the city. It was like sticking your hand in the lions enclosure covered in steak sauce.
“Natasha,” her words dripped with a subtle hint of her accent “This is Clint.”
“Howdy,” he knelt then, Veronica was clinging tightly to your leg, peeking around tentatively. She hugged you closer as he spoke. “You must be Veronica.”
The woman in front of you softened as you had never seen before. Her eyes grew brighter, though you could pin that on the circulating lights of the Ferris Wheel. There was a genuine smile on her lips as she looked at the girl who hugged you ever close.
“She doesn’t talk much, I’m afraid.” Your hand moved comfortingly to her shoulder. Ronnie seemed comfortable, if not excited about the rides that were teeming around them.
Nat smiled at you “Oh, I’m sure she’ll speak when she has something to say.”
Ronnie’s death-grip on your leg seemed to loosen a bit as Clint straightened up. Darcy continued to scrutinize you and Natasha, something mischievous in her stare that you didn’t exactly care for. She rocked back and forth on her feet and directed her attention to Clint.
“How good are you at skeeball?”
“An absolute beast.” Clint replied.
“What do you say to a challenge? I bet I can kick your ass with the power of science. Winner springs for funnel cake.”
You picked up on the subtle look Clint gave Natasha and the even more subtle wave that she responded with. She blew an amused breath. Darcy stretched her hand towards Ronnie and wiggled her finger. “Kid, you staying or going?”
This time, Ronnie looked up at you for confirmation and you gave her a small, encouraging nod. She dislodged herself and wrapped her hand around Darcy’s. The promise of flaky and sweet funnel cake topped with powdered sugar was too tantalizing.
Admittedly, you were used to being left alone with Natasha at this point. Though it had mostly been in a business capacity. She seemed almost shy now, the line for the Ferris Wheel inching ever so closer.
“We can still go on, if you want.” She suggested.
“Yeah, yes. Of course.” You replied, “that would be lovely.”
“Your friend is very persistent.”
“She’s harmless, really.”
“And your daughter. She’s beautiful.” Natasha shoved her hands into her pockets, the two of you inching closer in line. “Just like her mother.”
Once again, you could feel the breath lodge in your throat, your cheeks flushing with fire. She was so bold at moments, and you remained silent in your conquest. There was no telling what was overstepping, though she blinked at you expectantly.
You fumbled dumbly with the tickets in your pockets, presenting them to the attendant. You both ended up in a cherry red car lined with nice leather cushions. Natasha’s thigh was warm against yours, her thick scent coating your lungs. Her arm was around the back of the cart, and a familiar sense of safety settled within you.
“You worry about her,” Natasha said to fill the silence as they loaded each cart. It lurched forward and back, making your stomach turn. “I didn’t start speaking until I was nine years old. My mother, she was so concerned that she rushed to be every specialist that money could buy. Whole days spent driving to different counties, just for them to say that same thing. Nothing is wrong, and I’ll talk when I’m ready.”
“What was that moment? The one where you were ready?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “The thing about being quiet, is that people tend not to notice when you’re in the room. My father protected Yelena and I from his world for as long as he could, but eavesdroppers hear no good of themselves, and others. I watched him give a man his last drink before shooting him between the eyes.”
“Fuck, Natasha.” You murmured.
“He doesn’t know I saw that. I ran as quietly as I could back to my room and hid under the duvet like a child. Something snapped in me that day and I no longer wanted to be silent. I suppose the fear of displeasing either of them ebbed the words from me.”
She was being vulnerable in front of you, a side that you had never seen. There were always her subtle touches, and her purred words that would hit the pit of your stomach. You’d watch as she gave unwavering commands to Clint, to Yelena and Kate. But this was different. This was her.
The city sparkled around you. Tricolored lights reflected off the blackness of the causeways that lapped listlessly at the harbor. If you squinted, you could almost make out the mansion where you spent most of your time.
The carnival buzzed below. Her scent was overwhelming, so warm and welcoming despite her danger. And dangerous she was. It was alluring, exciting. You looked at her, eyes pouring with emotion. Not so much pity, as she would snap your wrist at the fact. But a simple understanding.
Tentatively, you reached up and cupped her cheek. You both were too far above the ground to be realized and the simple gesture was one of good faith. Surprisingly, she leaned into your touch, making a quiet, relieved noise.
Your voice was whispered, “You didn’t deserve that. You were just a kid.”
She had closed her eyes, reveling in the warmth of your contact. Her features were so soft, so broken in this moment that you resisted the urge to kiss her frown away. Before you could contemplate it, the Ferris Wheel lurched and she gently took her fingers and wrapped them around your wrist, lowering both of your hands into her lap.
“She’ll talk,” Natasha gave your hand a squeeze “give her time.”
Natasha cleared her throat as the cart neared the end of its journey. She pulled away entirely, her arm still along the back of the seat. When she leaned closer, you could feel the weight of the gun in the inside pocket of her jacket. Seriousness had lidded over her eyes once more.
“We have a job tonight, and I want you to come along.” She said, breath hot on your collarbone.
You were suddenly snapped back to reality. Natasha was in fact the head of a crime ring that you had unwittingly stumbled into. Up until now, aside from the brutal beating, it had almost felt like child’s play. She’d relearned you how to shoot, and you knew the very basics of fighting. But, you were far from her Winter Soldier stand in. You weren’t even a toy soldier.
She sensed your hesitancy. “I have a meeting at a restaurant downtown. It’s not going to go south, but if it does, I need you there. You won’t be alone.”
“Clint?” You asked.
She shook her head “guys got a family of his own, he must spend some time with them outside of work hours. Kate.”
You fought back the noise that threatened to escape your throat. You didn’t doubt Kate, but you certainly doubted yourself. You didn’t have your own weapon, and the threat of leaving a restaurant with a bullet lodged between your ribs became very real, very quickly.
She chuckled at that, “I trust her. I trust you. Just stand there and follow her lead. Look hot and intimidating.”
“Is hot really a requirement?”
“Not really, but you pull it off.” There was a switch in her again, one that had been flipped effortlessly as she grabbed the collar of your sweater and pulled you impossibly close. You were nearly sitting in her lap. “Don’t fail me on this, y/n. It’s imperative that you do as you’re told.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
You swallowed thickly as her hands wandered your side expertly. It took you a moment to realize that she had pulled the gun from her own coat and silently transferred it to yours before she released her hold on you. You had admit that you missed the touch instantly.
She stood from the cart when the attendant unlocked the door, reaching her hand out to you. You took it was ease, letting her help you onto the metal dismount. There were no words exchanged as you readjusted the weapon as slyly as you could muster, hands shoved into your pockets a moment later.
“I don’t know what to tell you, dude.” You could hear Darcy’s voice from within the crowds. It was easy to spot them, and you swore you saw the ghost of a smile on Natasha’s face. “The kid kicked both of our asses. Split the difference and pay up.”
“Yeah, fine.” Clint fished out his wallet and placed a couple of bills in Darcy’s waiting palm. “The price of carnival food these days is outrageous.”
Kate had presented you with a leather holster that fit snuggly around your chest and abdomen. She’d tightened the straps, your arms halfway raised. It felt a bit like a dressing room at the mall, her breath hot on your cheek as she tugged the center strap to make sure it was secure.
“Natasha likes us to be presentable.” She handed you a dark jacket to throw over the contraption. “Inconspicuous and deadly. But still presentable.”
You followed Kate’s lead. Natasha was to drive to the restaurant, and the two of you were to follow in a separate car. It was important to stay quiet unless you were spoken to directly by Natasha. Kate seemed at ease on the ride over, drumming her fingers against the steering wheel to an incoherent pop song.
The holster pinched you uncomfortably, but you were so deep into your own fear, your own reluctance, to pay much attention. Kate shot you a look, hard in her nature, and then softer when she glanced at you a second time.
“You’re much too tense” she flicked off the radio, delving you into a comfortable silence. “Lower your shoulders and relax. It’ll be an uneventful night.”
“Right,” you let out a shaky breath “uneventful.”
“Look, I can’t imagine how jarring this is for you. I would have shut down by now, changed my name and gone into witness protection if I was thrown into this life the way you are. Without a choice. But, we can make the best of it and do what we can to protect Natasha.”
“It seems like she can handle herself,”
Kate chuckled “Oh, she can. But she doesn’t keep us around just for protection. It’s a big city, she wants people she trusts. She wants a family. And I know it might not seem like it, but her welcoming you into her inner circle… it’s a blessing. Just like we’d go to bat for her, she’d do the same for us.”
You swallowed the dryness in your throat as Natasha pulled her car to the curb in front of a russet brick building. Kate did the same expertly, shutting off the engine. She clapped you on the shoulder, giving you one more encouraging smile. “One night at a time, y/n. Follow my lead.”
Kate opened the door for Natasha, and you had to keep your jaw from dropping on the ground at the sight of her. Her long leg stretched onto the sidewalk, her hand squeezing Kate’s in return as she helped her from the vehicle.
She wore a maroon dress, one that had a slit down the leg that left little to the imagination. The color matched the shirt Kate had given you earlier, everything orchestrated to a tee. The woman looked at you approvingly before she took striding steps towards the front of the building. Out of habit, you held the door open for you, another look sparkling in her dark eyes.
It was a restaurant that you had never set foot in. There was a sour, yet pleasant, scent of vinegar and cabbage masked with that of freshly baked bread and beef. The walls were painted deep green, black and white photos of rolling hills placed above empty tables.
It was clear what table you were to be led to. There was one in the center of the restaurant that was set up with a bottle of wine, and water. A candle burned in the middle, shading the woman who occupied it with shadows that stretched her delicate features. She wasn’t alone.
The woman had cropped blonde hair at the shoulders. Her hazel eyes were calculating, clocking Kate and yourself immediately. Kate pulled Natasha’s chair back, allowing her to sit before she took a step back. You flanked her sides, arms behind your back and stare trained straight ahead like a sentinel.
“Two,” the woman smiled devilishly, hiding it behind a glass of deep red wine. “Are you compensating for something, or someone?”
The woman who stood much like you did behind her boss was not masking her contempt towards you. She was familiar in an irking way that you paid no mind to. It was in passing, you were sure, but it was one of those itches that would worsen until you could scratch it with your whole hand.
“Not at all,” Natasha replied cooly, “I believe there was something you wanted to discuss?”
“Mm, there was. You know the Maroni property on the west side.” She leaned forward, placing her glass down. Her lips were stained in a dark red that matched Natasha’s dress. “I want it.”
“That’s a horrible way to say please.”
“Natasha, we both know it doesn’t serve you in it’s current position.” She put emphasis on the name.
“I fail to see how that matters. Just giving you the property is out of the question. That’s not how this works, but I do admire your gumption.”
“Then how exactly does, this work?” She narrowed her eyes and leaned forward. Both you and Kate tensed. The vaguely-familiar woman behind Carol shifted on her feet in the slightest movement. “You kill one of my men and offer nothing in return?”
Natasha lifted her eyebrows “Exactly. This isn’t a bartering system, and it never has been. If I give you this building, it will change everything and I’m not much in the mood for a power struggle. What do you need it for?”
She seemed to falter “I don’t have to answer that. I’m offering to buy the property from you.”
“It’s not for sale.”
There was finality in her voice that rocked the room into silence. She hadn’t touched her wine, nor her water, and you figured she wouldn’t. Carol glowered at her, clearly not used to having her endeavors squashed with such ferocity.
Natasha took a steadying breath. “Is that all? It’s late and I’m tired of your graveling.”
She let out a sigh and crossed her legs, drumming her ringed fingers on the cloth-laid table. The flames in the candle seemed to react to her impatience. Kate’s jaw clenched and unclenched as she leveled the woman behind Carol with a fierce stare.
“I suppose. I want you to remember this moment, Natasha. I offered you a deal.” She stood and dramatically sighed once more. “This could have been easy.”
Kate always kept her eyes on Carol, on the woman who followed behind her with her hands shoved into her pockets. The darkness of a previous scar littered her collarbone. She had the same stare that Bucky had, that same determined anger that came with years of meetings with higher stakes than this.
“Oh, and Nat.” She stopped just short of the door, turning to face the three of you.
Kate reached for her weapon, and out of a blind trust, so had you. It was warm from its housed place against your side. In that moment, you knew that anyone else in the room would be a quicker shot than you. Still, your heart was beating quickly in your throat.
“I don’t know where your Winter Soldier is, but this is a sorry excuse for a replacement.” She laughed, a mean sound. “A kid and a burn-out… you should’ve taken the deal.”
She left without another word, leaving you in a chilling silence. For a few long moments, Natasha stared at the table, at her reflection in the syrupy red wine. Her fingers brushed against the glass, frowning.
“I’m twenty-three.” Kate let out in a single breath, eyes drifting from you.
“Don’t look at me,” You whispered back, “I am a burn-out.”
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Maybe One Day. (Ghost x Petite!Reader.)
!CW! NSFW, Smut, Size kink, Ghost being a little talkative, petite!reader, unprotected sex, some sad parts, mentions of death, blood, violence, (sorry if I missed any)
(Summary): Reader is in love with Ghost but is okay with the fact that it’ll never lead anywhere.
I got a petite!reader ask, you can find that here.
If she wasn’t on her phone, working, or buried in a book, she was thinking about him. Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley.
Y/N has worked alongside Ghost for quite some time now. A few years. From the very moment she’d laid eyes on him, she fell in love. As time went on, her feelings only seemed to grow for him. Up to this point, the fifth year working alongside him, she’d had very limited conversations with him. Anytime she made an attempt to deepen any kind of conversation, he shrugged her off. At first, she thought maybe if she talked to him enough. Close enough to him, maybe. Just maybe something would happen. But he ignored her, walked away from her, and always kept it short. So she gave up after about a year. From then on, the last four years after that, she kept it professional. Only talked to Ghost on missions when she absolutely had to. Didn’t interact with him on base aside from small waves, and kept to herself for the most part.
She made an attempt to hide the feelings she had for Ghost, but it didn’t always work. Most people caught on. The waves, the way she smiled and acted all giddy when he was around. Everything. She was nice to everyone but it was different when it came to Ghost. Nearly anybody could tell. Soap looked at her from the hallway. Ghost stood next to him. “Are you sure about this Ghost?” Soap asks. Ghost nods his head. You were currently folding up a table cloth. Soap sighs, spinning on his heels and entering the mess hall.
"Hey." He smiles. "Uh.. hi." You smile. "You scared me."
"Oh, my bad." He smiles. "I just heard you come out and thought I'd come talk to you."
“About what?”
"Simon."
"What about him?"
"I.. think you know."
You pause for a moment. Looking down at your feet.
"That obvious ah?" You smile. "Uhh.. maybe just a little bit." Soap laughs. "I just… I wouldn't want you getting hurt Y/N. He's kinda.. guarded. Yknow?"
"Oh I know Soap. There's no chance in hell we'd ever work out. Hell, it'd be a shot in the dark if he was even into me." Soap knows you're keeping it together but he can see the hurt in your eyes.
"What?"
"I'm.. not that interesting." You laugh. Simon waited right on the other side of the wall, listening in.
"I think he's just well guarded Y/N. There's nothing wrong with you."
You let out a small laugh, looking down at the ground. "Yeah. I know that nothing will ever come of it. It's just a dumb crush, nothing more."
Soap was only talking to you because Simon asked him to. He told Soap that there was no chance anything would ever work between the two of you and he needed you to know exactly what to expect. After finishing up the conversation with Soap, it had been made clear. Ghost had put Soap up to it. Which meant Ghost was getting tired of it or you’d been making him uncomfortable. You just wished Ghost had come to you about it personally rather than making it everyone else’s business and embarrassing you like that. After that day, you started ignoring Ghost. No more small waves when passing by. No more making conversation with him up on the roof when you took over watch, no more offering to take over his shifts or helping him with his chores. You drew back completely and passed by him with a cold shoulder. You were short when he needed to talk to you, just like he’d been with you. He noticed it immediately.
After a week or so, everyone noticed you hadn’t been active. Nobody had seen you in passing, nobody had talked to you or seen you during meals, and they noticed your captain was picking up your part of the chores. It was unusual. Eventually after they all pestered their Captain enough, he finally caved. “Alright fine. Meet in my office after Lunch and we’ll talk. But this stays between all of us.” He glares. They all nod their heads. After lunch, everyone met up. Ghost waited until a few minutes after, hiding in the hallway. “Alright. Y/N has been on rest in her room until we can get her home. She got a phone call about a week ago that her younger brother was killed in a car accident. She’s very upset, and you guys need to leave her be unless she comes to you for help. Am I clear?” He says. Everyone nods their heads. As everyone finishes up the conversation, Ghost notices a flash of black pass by the doorway to Captain Price’s office. He follows whatever it is, noticing you in the mess hall picking up the lukewarm pot of coffee. Once their conversation was done, Captain Price came in. When he sees you, he’s curious. “Hey, what’re you doing out of your room?” He asks. You raise the cup of coffee. John nods. You say nothing, making your way back to your room. It was odd for the both of them to see you in night clothes. Just shorts and a t-shirt. John looks at Ghost, getting a shrug back.
The following day, Ghost is eating breakfast with Soap in the mess hall. It’s only them and Captain Price inside so far. To their surprise, you walk inside. Broom in hand. You start sweeping up the mess hall. Something you did on a daily basis. It was a very small part of your chores. Not just that, you have your full uniform on. “Uh.. Y/N.” John looks up from his coffee. You pause, looking at him. Your eyes are bloodshot. You look like you haven’t slept in days. “You don’t have to do that, I got you covered. We’re trying to get you home.” You don’t stop sweeping. “They had his funeral already, I have no reason to go home. I’ll be just fine here, thanks anyways Captain.” You sweep everything into the dustpan, walking off. John sighs.
This goes on for a couple days. You’re on edge. Nobody sees you eat, you don’t sleep very well. You’re struggling and there’s nothing anybody can do. Everyone tells Ghost to check up on you. You like Ghost, maybe you’d open up to him. And he did try. Went out of his comfort zone to ask you how you’re doing. You gave him a short “I’m fine.” And shrugged him off after that.
To you, he didn’t care. Nobody cared. They were coworkers, nothing more. They didn’t care what you were going through, they only cared about what you were useful for.
You sat quietly on the chopper. Everyone else made small talk but you, you just stared ahead. You had a blank expression on your face. Like you were staring right through everything. Expressionless, emotionless. Like you weren’t there. Soap is the first to notice, but knows not to get involved. You’re struggling. The last thing you need is someone pestering you. “Alright. Don’t forget the plan. Y/N and Ghost are frontlines. Entering through vents on the rooftops. Gaz and I will be posting guard with rifles, Soap will be entering through the mines. It’s where the least amount of threats are.” Your Captain explains more details before the chopper lands, and when it lands it’s a go. You and Ghost quickly make your way inside, dropping tear gas through the vents and waiting for it to dissolve completely before jumping in.
Ghost notices immediately you’re more ruthless than before. Wearing no emotion on your face as you ambush people, stabbing them. Blood spatters over your face and you don’t even flinch as it does. It’s shocking to see someone so small being so violent. Successfully at that. When the buildings are clear, you’re leaning up against a pool table in the back room. Ghost is sitting in a chair in the corner of the room. “You told Captain they had his Funeral already. They didn’t wait for you?” Ghost asks. “No.” You rolls your eyes. “Why?” He asks. Drawing a chuckle from your lips. You cross your arms, not turning your head to even look at him. “Deadbeat parents, they don’t give a fuck about me or how I feel.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” He sighs. “Luck of the draw, how d’ya think I ended up in this shit show?”
The body in front of Ghost has one of your knives in his chest, you walk over to it. Pressing your foot down onto his shoulder and pulling the knife out of him. You wipe it off on your pants before returning back to where you were leaning at the pool table. Everyone else walks into the room, lowering their weapons when they see you and Ghost waiting patiently. They look like they had a hell of a fight. “We gave you guys the hardest task and you look untouched.” Captain Price laughs. “Just too good.” You shrug, walking passed them. Soap smiles, stepping in. “Successful mission.” He holds up a flash drive. The one you’d been looking for. “Fuck yeah.” You smile. You still had that same pain in your eyes. No matter how happy you seemed, it stayed there. You twirl the knife in your hand the entire way back to the chopper, and just like before. You’re staring off into space. Brain in an entire different dimension as you spin it around in your hand.
Overtime, Ghost notices you more and more. How much different you’ve become, how cold you’ve been acting. You’re still giving him the cold shoulder. Still not making much conversation with him.
He makes his way onto the watch post, seeing you sitting back in a chair with your feet kicked up, looking at the room full of cameras. He makes his way up to you, he’s a few minutes early. You stand up, picking up your items and going to walk away. “Leaving so soon?” He asks. You pause, body going rigid. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I?” You still have your back turned to him. “Just thought you’d want to make some small talk. Talk about what’s going on.” He shrugs. You turn around, a smile on your face. “Yeah, let’s be friends, we’ll exchange stories about our shitty lives. It’ll be a sleepover.” You smile. “So that’s a no.” He chuckles. You bite your lip for just a second, taking a step toward him. “What? You want to be friends now? The few times I tried making small talk with you, you had Soap tell me to leave you alone. So no, I don’t really feel like talking.” You roll your eyes, spinning to walk around. “I had him tell you to back off because I could tell you liked me. I knew you wanted to be more than friends.” You laugh, “See that’s where you’re mistaken Ghost, we’re not friends. Hell, we’re not even acquaintances. You and I? We’re just coworkers. Nothing more.” With that, you walk down the stairs. It stings Ghost a little bit that you’re so cold to him, but really he asked for this. “Hey!” He calls to you. “I’m your superior, when Captain Price isn’t around, you answer to me, Sergeant.” You turn around, smirk at your lips. You cross you arms, taking a couple steps up the stairs. “Yeah? What can I do for you, Lieutenant.” The venom in your voice is potent. “Go back inside the watch tower.” You roll your eyes. “Yes sir.” You throw your bag back down once you step inside. Ghost closes the door. “Sit down.” You hate that you have to listen to him. But you do anyways. Crossing your arms and leaning back. “Good. Now talk.” He looks at you. “About what?”
“What’s bothering you?” He asks. You narrow your eyes. “You already know what’s bothering me.”
He shakes his head. “Can we just be done here? Or am I going to have to fight my way out?” Ghost let’s out a deep chuckle. “Sweetheart, you can’t fight me. You won’t win.” A scoff leaves your lips. “The hell is that supposed to mean?” He laughs. “In case you haven’t noticed, you’re tiny. I could pick you up with one hand.” He sits back in his chair, the tight shirt he has on tightens perfectly over his arms and shoulders. You swallow hard, but Ghost doesn’t miss it. “You’re hiding something else, something else was bothering you.” You raise your eyebrows, giving him a ‘are you fucking serious.’ Look. “You’re joking right?” You laugh. He looks confused. “You assumed that I like you, and instead of coming to me to tell me to back off, you told someone else to come to me and say it. Not only is that a concern that should have stayed between the both of us, but it’s pretty embarrassing that everyone knows now.” You roll your eyes. “Okay. That was a bad call on my part. I’m sorry.” He places his hands on his thighs. Your eyes glancing at them for a split second. “Are we done now?” You swallow hard. “I suppose.” He mumbles.
—
A few weeks later, Captain Price put you on leave for a week.
When you come back, you seem in worse shape than before. Ghost is the first to notice. You look like you haven’t been eating or sleeping. It’s late and he can hear weights crashing in the gym, pulling himself out his bed to go check on whoever it is, not surprised to see that it’s you. “Bad idea to do that without a spotter.” He mumbles. He rubs his eyes tiredly. His mask isn’t on straight, he just threw it on really quick. You say nothing in return. “Y/N, what’s going on?” You’re breathing hard from lifting the weight up. “Parents lied about my little brother dying, wanted me to send money for his funeral so that they could just have the money.” You breathe. Teeth gritted as you lift the weight. “They’ve brainwashed him, made him hate me. I got nobody left.” You’re panting hard, groaning as you lift the weight. Ghost takes it from your hands, lifting it up with one hand and laying it in the rack. “Talk to me.” He breathes. The action doesn’t go unnoticed by you. What you were just struggling to lift, he lifted with one hand.
You shake yourself out of your thoughts. “I don’t have anybody either. That’s why I joined the military in the first place, but it’s not exactly worked out too well in my favor because 141 is like my family. Something I’ve never had.” He breathes. You laugh. “How sweet.” He rolls his eyes. “I’m serious. We look out for each other. Make sure everyone is okay all the time, why you think I’m here hm? Everyone worries about you.” You laugh. “That’s complete bullshit and you know it. I used to try to talk to you all of the time and you just shrugged me off like nothing. Nothing was different between then and now. You’re free to leave whenever you want, Ghost.” You roll your eyes. He takes a deep breath. He’s clearly getting frustrated with you. “Why do you care about em? Hm? They don’t give a fuck about you, never have. Why lose sleep over it? I don’t.” He shrugs. “Rough concept. Maybe you’re just mentally stronger than me. But that’s not exactly my point.” You roll your eyes. You stand up, walking away to another area to work out. “Look. It’s almost midnight and we have to be up at 6. I’m not too keen on losing this much sleep. Let’s go to bed, we’ll talk more tomorrow.” He mumbles. “Go ahead, I’m not making you stay here.”
“Goddamnit.” He mumbles. He makes his way near you as you reach for a bar, he lifts you up with ease, throwing you over his shoulder. “Simon! Put me down!”
“No. You’re going to bed.”
“I’ll just lay awake.”
“Than you’ll lay awake in my bed.”
Your body goes rigid and Ghost chuckles. He opens his door up and spins around to close and lock it behind him. He throws you down onto his bed and you bounce up, scrambling to prop yourself up onto your elbows. He grasps the hem of his shirt, pulling it off. “Um.. what the fuck is going on?” You ask. He straddles your hips, leaning down into you. You let yourself fall all of the way back, backing away from his face. He laughs. “This is what you wanted, right?” You shake your head. “No-no. I don’t want your weird pity s-“ he covers your throat with his hand, the small size of you has him smiling. He likes the control he has over you. “Mnot trying to fuck you out of pity. I know you like me, I know you want to fuck me. I wanna fuck you too.” He mumbles. This side of Simon is weird. You’re used to the guarded, quiet Simon. This was new. “I like you, have forever. S’just a bad idea to start something with someone when you could die any day. But you don’t mind right?” He smirks. He pulls his mask off, and you swallow hard, seeing him.
All of him.
Everyone on base but you had seen his face.
“You’re so tiny..” he mumbles. “So easy to..” he pins your hips down into his bed. Earning a gasp from your lips. “You want me to fuck you or not?” He bites his lip. You swallow hard, cheeks burning. You nod slowly. He smirks, tugging his sweatpants down his legs. You’re only wearing a tank top and shorts, since you were working out. He tugs them off of you quickly. He is massive, you swallow hard when you see the size of his cock. He can’t help but chuckle at your reaction. “Don’t worry, M’gonna make you feel real good. Just try to be quiet for me.” He lines himself up with your entrance and you breathe out. All of the pining you’d done. The sleep you lost over him, everything. And now? A deep breath leaves your lips when he prods at your opening. The tip of his fat cock disappearing between your folds. He’s stretching you already and he’s barely started. He groans out, holding onto your hips tightly. Holding you exactly where he wants you. He clamps a hand over your mouth when he thrusts all of the way inside of you, enjoying the way your eyes roll back as he bottoms out. He’s huge. When he starts fucking into you, it’s intense. You’re watching him disappear inside of you. He says something but you aren’t listening. “Don’t tell me you’re cock drunk already?” He chuckles. He pushes you back by your chest, shoving his thumb into your mouth. “Such a good girl.” Your mouth makes his cock twitch slightly. You’re tight around Simon and he moans out. “So. Fucking. Good.” He groans between thrusts. You’re surprised how vocal he is.
You feel a high approaching already and he notices how wet you’re getting on him. He bites his lip. Lowering his gaze so that he can watch his big cock disappear into your little hole. He’s gritting his teeth, keeping a steady pace and you tilt your head back. “Ah! S-Simon-“ you whimper. “S’alright. You can cum baby.” He mumbles, leaning down slightly and attaching his lips to yours for the first time. It sends you right into a su space, the softness of his lips has you disappearing. Your moans get muffled by him as he fucks you through your first high. It won’t be your last of the night. Your thighs shake as he overstimulates you. Not giving you anytime to adjust to him. “Fuck you get so tight on me when you cum.” He groans. He starts to rock his hips into yours a little faster than before. He’s eager, wanting his own high. “Why don’t you ride me, hm?” You nod your head. He slides out of you, moving so that you can sit up. When he lays down you straddle him, lowering yourself onto him. Hissing at the new angle, he’s going too deep. He chuckles. “It’s okay.” You rock your hips up, turning around to see how far you’re taking him down. “Try to take all of me.” He mumbles. “I-I can’t.” He chuckles. “You can. Just relax for me.” You nod your head, if you wanted to stop now, he’d let you obviously. He runs his hands up your thighs, resting on your hips. He licks his lips when he forces your hips down onto him, a gasp leaving your lips as he bottoms out again. Your legs weaken and you rest yourself onto him.
You give yourself a second to adjust and he doesn’t try to make you. Letting you rock your hips into him, getting used to it. Pretty soon, you’re bouncing on his cock, moaning out. He’s smiling a lazy smile at you, loving how dirty it is. You’re addicted to him, chasing your high on his cock. He’s getting close and he can tell you’re close too by the way you’re tightening around him and the intensity of your moans. He’s panting hard, thighs clenching and lower stomach knotting up. That sweet knot was going to unravel and against his better judgement, if you don’t stop. He’s going to fill your little pussy full of his cum. You’re rocking back and fourth in him, feeling so good. He loves seeing it, loves seeing you pleasure yourself on him. It’s just a bonus that he gets to watch it, and cum too. This is so much better than jerking off. It’s all he’s done to cum in the last few years. He wanted to make a move on you sooner but knew it was a bad idea. He grips your thighs, helping guide you onto him. “Got me fucking close baby.” He groans. “M-me too.” You pant. Your eyes are watering from being overwhelmed. He lifts his hips into yours, getting frustrated and holding you up so he can thrust up into you. “Oh fuck-“ his voice cracks and a whimper leaves his lips. “I’m gonna cum.” He pants. “Fuck I’m gonna cum baby-“ he cries. “Me too Simon-“ a gasp leaves your lips when you hit your second high, feeling his warmth spill into your depths. Filling you up. Your lips are parted and you’re resting your hands on his chest. Feeling him leak down out of you.
You climb off him, going to stand up but he stops you, pulling you back into him. “Relax.” He breathes. “Sleep here.” He mumbles. Pulling you into his front. “Simon-“ he stops you. “We can talk more about this tomorrow alright? But you need sleep, and I got you. I always got you. Just sleep for now.” He breathes. Feeling his warmth and the way his arms are wrapping around you is too much. You feel your eyes getting heavy.
@clove-shitposts
#call of duty mw2#soap mw2#cod mw2#ghost mw2#captain john price#price mw2#alejandro mw2#captain price#johnny soap mactavish#mw2 smut#ghost fanfiction#simon ghost x reader#simon riley x you#simon ghost riley
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Used & Abused
Raphael x F!Tav/Reader x Haarlep
18+
⋆˙⟡♡ Summary: You fail to bring back the crown to Raphael, this is your punishment.
⋆˙⟡♡ Notes: It's been a little too soft up in here lately, i think its time to change that... Plus I'm horny right now. Not sorry.
⋆˙⟡♡ NSFW | Deep Throat/Throat Bulge | Rough | Asphyxiation | Anal | Minor Comfort Towards The End
Your disheveled, matted, hair hung in front of your eyes as you looked up at him, what little make up you had on when you came here, to the House Of Hope, streaked down your cheeks with your tears. You try to choke out a few words, but only a strangled, sob-like cry comes out as Haarlep’s arm tightens around your neck.
Your nails dig into the creatures muscular forearm, thick and solid beneath your chin. They’re pushing it right up against your windpipe, pressing harder and harder until your vision begins to darken, until you're almost laying limp against their hard body. Their cock driving into your tight little ass over and over again, forcing it open wider and wider, as if they were trying to break it.
It hurt. It burned. Your whole body was in pain from their brutal assault on your forbidden passage. Their free hand was clamped down hard around your hip, fingers digging into your soft flesh as they held you in place above them. Their hips pounding against your ass with a furious energy, their breath hot on the side of your face as they whispered their vile filth in your ear, their laughter mocking you as you struggled weakly against them.
You stopped your struggling the moment you felt Raphael’s cock, it was warm, so warm. The heat of his cock told you he was in his cambion form tonight… He must want to see you in pain tonight…
“Ah, my little mouse. We find ourselves at the juncture of the second week, do we not? Yet, it appears the crown remains undelivered into my keeping. A true pity, indeed.” His voice was smooth, yet carried an undertone of danger that made you tremble.
Haarlep ceased their assault, and pulled their still rigid cock from your aching, raw, hole. They released you and, after a brief pause, you felt their weight shift before they flipped you over on your belly. The incubus forcing you on all fours on the bed in front of Raphael.
“R-Raphael! I-I-“
His eyes hardened, cutting you off as you began to babble, his eyes filled with a dark hunger. You felt a cold fear in the pit of your stomach as his eyes bore into yours, his mouth slowly curling up into a cruel grin. He lifted his hand and stroked your hair gently, a sharp contrast to his eyes and the way he was looking at you.
Raphael turned to Haarlep and flicked his hand towards them, a silent go ahead for the incubus to take what they please from you. Haarlep, in one smooth motion, entered your ruined ass, and began fucking you hard yet again. Their claws raking across your back, drawing blood, as their cock plunged into you.
You cried out and tried to move away, but Haarlep grabbed a handful of your hair and yanked your head back as they pounded into you. Tears sprang to your eyes at the sudden, sharp pain in your scalp, and you let out a pitiful moan.
Haarlep didn't respond, their hips pistoning faster, their grip on your hair tightening until you were sure they would rip it out. You heard a low growl, then felt their teeth sink into your shoulder. The bite was deep, and drew a sob of pain from you, causing a fresh wave of tears to run down your face.
They released your shoulder and their tongue darted out to lick up the blood, a deep, purr-like sound emanating from their chest, “Such a feast~”
Raphael watched as his sex doll fucked you, a small smile on his face. You were beautiful in your pain, it was a pity he didn’t have time to savor it. The devil gripped your chin, “Be a dear, and open up for me, little mouse. I want to see those pretty little lips stretched wide around my cock. You can do that for me, can't you, pet?”
You bit your lip and hesitated, Raphael raised an eyebrow, and his smile vanished. Your eyes went wide, and you hurried to do as he said. As soon as your mouth was open, Haarlep’s nails dug into the back of your head, your hair wrapped around the incubus’s fist as they shoved you down onto Raphael’s cock. The devil groaned, the head of his cock slamming into the back of your throat.
You struggled to breathe, your lungs burning with each labored breath that you were able to take. You wanted to pull off of Raphael, wanted to catch your breath, but you couldn't. You choked and gagged on his cock, your vision swimming with tears, and black spots clouding the edges.
Raphael chuckled, a cruel and mocking sound, and reached down to rub his thumb over your lips where they were stretched tight around his length, “Ah, my poor little mouse. So fragile, yet so full of potential. I could make you powerful beyond measure. All you have to do is deliver my crown. Surely such a simple task is not too much for someone such as yourself?”
You can barely hear as you begin to dig a set of nails into Raphael’s thighs, leaving long red scratches down his flesh. This only caused Raphael to moan, his hips bucking up, shoving his cock further down your throat. You could feel it bulging down the length of your neck as Haarlep continued to push your head down until your nose was buried in the soft curls at the base of Raphael.
You struggled weakly against the two, your eyes rolling back into your head, saliva dripping down your chin, your nose running, and your lungs screaming for air. Your throat felt like it was going to tear and your jaw felt as if it was about to be dislocated… Your ass was a bloody mess by now, the delicate hole broken and bleeding, bruises forming where Haarlep would smack against your flesh.
Your vision tunnels, the inky abyss surrounding you, a deep, dark void, swallowing you. Your eyelids flutter weakly, a final resistance before your body succumbs to the numbing embrace of unconsciousness, or death… You cannot say which it is, and, quite frankly, you don't care anymore.
You are numb.
You are nothing.
A lifeless doll.
And before you’re consumed entirely by the dark, you feel a warmth fill your bowels and shoot down into your stomach, the hot, viscous milky fluids, the telltale sign that both Haarlep and Raphael have finished their brutal use of your body.
They both pull out of you simultaneously, watching as you fall forward onto the bed- leaving you a bloodied, cum filled mess…
── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──
When you awaken your throat burns, your ass is in agony, and you feel utterly drained. You can feel every inch of it, the swollen, abused tissues, the cuts, the bite, and the bruises... You're on the bed still, naked and covered in your own blood, your face stained with the remnants of Raphael’s dried cum… There’s only a small bit of comfort coming from the arm loosely draped around your hip- looking over you see Haarlep curled up beside you, sleeping peacefully. It's a familiar scene, one you've experienced many times before.
You can hear footsteps, heavy and deliberate. You don't have the energy to look up, but you know it's Raphael. You can smell his cheap perfume a mile away... He sits down beside you, his hand lightly tracing the outline of the bite mark on your shoulder, “Such a lovely little creature... It would indeed be a great misfortune to part with you, little mouse. I am uncertain if my heart could withstand such a loss.” He chuckles to himself.
You're unable to reply, but he doesn't expect you to. He's simply musing to himself, as if you're not even there. His eyes meet yours and his hand moves to stroke your cheek, the action is almost gentle, tender, and if you didn't know better, you'd think he cared for you. But you do know better, and you know he doesn't. He's a demon, and a devil. He doesn't care for anything but himself.
Raphael leans down and places a soft kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there a moment, before pulling back, “Next time I won’t be so kind. Next time, I won't be so merciful. Should you fail again to retrieve the crown, your value might dissipate, compelling me to ensure that Hope is attended with a new face.”
Haarlep’s arm somewhat tightens possessively around your waist, as their brows furrow at Raphael. You were the only source of energy the incubus has had in a long time. They weren’t particularly fond of the idea of letting you rot with that dwarf…
You nod weakly, the only response you can give. You can't even open your mouth, let alone speak, your throat still raw and swollen from earlier.
Raphael rises and leaves the room without another word, a smirk tugging at his lips as he walks down the hall. He knew he had gotten his message across.
You were a smart girl.
You knew what you had to do.
And if you didn't, you would end up like Hope…
You were his little mouse afterall.
His pawn.
His plaything.
Body and soul, it belonged to him, to the Cambion, Raphael.
#will be working on requests after this#thank you everyone for the love and support#bg3#baldurs gate 3#raphael bg3#bg3 raphael#haarlep#tav#raphael the cambion#raphael x tav#haarlep x tav#bg3 smut#haarlep x reader#raphael bg3 x reader
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injection stable ~ maria o'hara x fem reader
one shot, nsfw, 18+
cw: dom!maria, fem!miguel, maria o’hara x reader, vampire!maria, mention of drug usage, biting, little blood
wc: 1.4k
not full smut, just a spicy lead up bc i like edging you freaks.
"haunted" by beyoncé while you read >:)
cred to og artists - i got these pics from pinterests, not my own !
------------------------------------------
location: nueva york, earth-928
it had been almost two weeks since maria stopped taking rapture. every day her relapse had been worse than the last. rapture was a drug maria had taken involuntarily to limit the more dangerous traits of her spider-like behaviors and powers, and she had been addicted to it ever since. she has tried stopping many times, but her relapses became so destructive and severe that she just couldn’t survive without it. you had to pick the lesser of two evils and just remove it from her entirely.
she needed help and extra care during this time, which is the reason you, jessica drew, and peter parker have deemed it necessary to check on her multiple times a day as recruits at headquarters.
“maria?” your voice echoes as you enter her dark office-like room.
no reply.
you sigh before swinging up to her pedestal, seeing her standing over her desk, her face focused on a blinking notification on the holographic screens. her gloved hands were tense on either side of the main keyboard.
“maria?” you repeat softly, taking a cautious step forward and crossing your arms. “what are you doing, spider?”
the nickname you have for her slips out in hopes that it lightens the tension in the air.
it doesn’t. you run a hand through your hair and sigh. “spider?”
her head snaps to the side quickly, allowing you to see her side profile. it’s difficult to tell in the dim lighting, but her wide eyes almost seem bloodshot. you study the sight of her. her holographic red and blue spider suit is snagged and glitchy while her dark hair is tangled yet loosely curled. the bridge of her nose is scrunched and her teeth are barred – that’s when you notice something you've never seen before, it’s almost like she has… fangs?
'hell. no way,' you think to yourself. 'again–it's probably just the lighting. she’s a spiderwoman, not a vampire.'
“maria, do you wanna try going to bed? i could get you something to eat,” you offer, still cautious of her mannerisms. her breathing seems ragged yet slow, but you can tell she needs something in her system. at least, something other than the empanadas from the cafeteria. “hm? how does that sound?”
she only stares at you with that narrow look in her eye that is honestly unnerving, but it drives something inside you crazy. 'it’s only maria,' you tell yourself, 'nothing to be scared of.'
“go home, y/n” she snaps, her voice laced with that smooth, spanish accent. you can see her back muscles tensing through her spider suit as she breathes.
you need more than a few words of attitude to check off if she’s going to be okay. not that you care, it’s more for protocol. no one besides you, jessica, and peter know that maria is off her rapture. it was a 2/3rds vote that one else in the spider society should know that their boss is secretly going through major withdrawal. you thought it would be better for her to take some time off and get some rest, or at least tell the others so her workload can be lightened or something.
again. not that you care.
“spider, i can’t leave without a proper check in. you know this,” you retort with a huff. you don’t understand why this is so easy for peter and jessica. every time you're alone with maria, which isn’t too often, it’s like talking to a damn brick wall. the possibility crosses your mind that she could still hold a grudge towards you for being a so-called 'anomaly' or whatever. that's how you met about four months ago. she's been cold to you ever since.
“so?” you eventually ask. “are you gonna make this easy for me?”
“no.” her tone is growing more agitated, and her brown eyes are still on you as her breaths quicken.
“and why not?” you raise a brow, starting to grow annoyed.
“because you haven’t made this easy for me,” she grits out, her hands balling into fists against the surface of her desk.
'cool. so she has officially lost it,' you think to yourself.
you notice her shift an object in one of her shaky hands until you recognize it to be a half-used rapture needle locked in her tight grip.
'god, damnit.'
“alright, come on,” you sigh, walking towards her.
“y/n,” maria warns. you sense tension in the air rising, but decide to push your luck.
“look, o'hara. i’m no therapist, and i can’t promise i’ll pay attention either, but it could help to just talk about it.” you stretch a hand out to touch her shoulder. “for all i know, your powers or abilities could-”
she turns abruptly and grabs the fabric of your f/c spider suit, letting the needle fall to the floor. the sound of crashing glass rings in your ears. green fluid oozes onto the floor by your feet, and all of a sudden your heightened spider senses are alarming in emergency-like flashes. your mind is racing as your breaths pick up speed in a panic.
you look back up to her towering figure that held your body close. you quickly lift your hands up in a surrendering motion, showing her you mean no harm.
“what are you– i don’t wanna figh–”
your defenses are cut off by the motion of her teeth sinking into your neck. you tense at the feeling as she inhales deeply against your skin.
it was not the lighting earlier. she definitely has fangs.
you feel a hot liquid, of what you can assume is your own blood, dripping down the nape of your neck, and you freeze as she drinks it in. maria is seemingly oblivious that one of her large hands is tangling itself in your h/c hair. you feel her fingers pull on it with intention to tilt your head back, and you allow her to, giving her mouth further access.
your eyes start to roll to the back of your skull as you let yourself almost enjoy her touch. as soon as you start to relax, her mouth pulls away while her tongue laps away any excess bleeding. a soft moan involuntarily escapes your lips from the sensitivity of it all, followed by her name in a breathy, sensual haze.
any control you have left is gone. and you think you're okay with that.
maria’s eyes open to observe the wound she left on your neck. her breaths are warm as her mouth hovers over your skin. she motions as if she’s going in for a second bite, until she pauses, and then pulls away completely. a gloved thumb runs across her bloody lips before her hands grip your waist. she simply pushes you away, creating space between you both as if nothing happened. your expression portrays speechlessness—eyes wide and lips parted slightly. maria’s hands linger on your hips while she avoids eye contact, her focus trailing up and down your frozen body.
a moment passes. you lick your lips and take a breath to speak, but her words cut you off.
“leave now, mi querida.”
she then drops her hands and turns around to lean on her desk. a hand runs through her hair to fix her appearance, and you can only stand still while your eyes level with her back. your body is ridden with shock. a blushful heat creeps its way up your aching neck and face as your mind begins to process what just happened.
you finally regain the consciousness to move, and on your way out, you catch a glimpse of the holographic screen in front of maria, a new notification now reading:
~ injection stable ~
hours pass and you still can’t tell if the darkening marks on your neck are from bruising or her dark lipstick.
or both.
you secretly hope it’s both…
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anyway lol comment if you want more, maybe i'll write full smut soon, requests are open bc idk what to write !!
-bee xx
#bee#maneskinwh0re#lesbian#wlw#maria ohara#fem miguel ohara#miguel o'hara#atsv miguel#spiderman 2099#miguel spiderverse#miguel x reader#miguel spiderman#marvel#marvel cinematic universe#across the spiderverse#wlw ns/fw
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"Roadside Attraction" | Aki x Reader (Kinktober 2023)
Car Sex - Aki Hayakawa
Fandom: Chainsaw Man
Pairing: Aki Hayakawa x Reader
Words: 2.4k
A/N: This is my first time writing for any CSM character, so I'm not sure how this turned out, but at least I had fun with writing it! I have a soft spot for Aki, man needs a hug and lots of sleep for dealing with those 2 weirdos Denji and Power! (But I love them all.) Also I drew a blank with the title, if I think of a better one I'll change it. I hope you guys enjoy! :)
Warnings: canon au, dry humping, brief breast/nipple play, unprotected sex, pulling out method, mentions of aftercare, slight dirty talk, Reader is unabashedly horny in this one
As much as you’ve grown to love Denji and Power over the last few weeks…you have to admit, they can be such serious cockblocks sometimes.
Not that you and your boyfriend could ever be considered sex fiends (you both like to keep an air of modesty around, even in the safety of your shared apartment). But nowadays, it’s almost as if you can’t even kiss him without an extra pair of eyes drinking in the scene.
Doing a load of laundry? Denji’s sitting on top of the dryer, eyes darting back and forth between the two of you. Making dinner in the kitchen? Power’s not far behind, peeking over your shoulders, demanding to know what kind of food you’ve chosen to prepare for her. Hell, even your own bedroom isn’t as safe as it once was. One night Aki had barely managed to slip your shirt over your head, lips warm against the base of your throat, when you nearly screamed about something brushing against your leg.
Power’s pet cat Meowy, pressing her cheek against your leg, begging for a quick pat on the head. At that point you had half a mind to pick her up by the scruff and drop her right into Power’s lap—but the last thing you wanted was a vengeful Blood Fiend after you for daring to hurt her precious cat.
Even the fucking cat is getting in your way.
“We need a vacation,” you mumble one morning, perched on the kitchen counter.
Aki shrugs his shoulders and takes a sip of his coffee, not even bothering to chide you for sitting on the counter. You know damn well Denji and Power wouldn’t be able to get away with that.
“We have that mission from Ms. Makima coming up this weekend.”
“That’s…not what I meant…”
He pauses, lips lingering on the rim of his mug. His hair is still frazzled from sleep, hanging over his shoulders. (Not that you want to run your fingers through it or anything. No, of course not.)
“…Then what do you mean?”
You smile, tugging on the hem of his sleepshirt, inching his body closer to yours. “We need a vacation, a real one. Not just a solo mission, either. Just you and me…” You lean in close, lips brushing against the apple of his cheek. Lifting your knees and wrapping your legs around his waist. “…And maybe a nice hotel room, with soft sheets, a bottle of wine, and maybe even—”
“Ooh, sounds good! When are we heading out?”
The two of you pull away from each other at once; your face flushed with heat as Aki clears his throat, turning back to the mess of dishes in the sink. Denji sprawls his upper half along the counter, eyes shifting lazily back and forth between you and your boyfriend.
You don’t know how much more of this you can take.
“We aren’t going anywhere,” you hiss through your teeth. “Forget it.”
He lets out a groan just as Power stumbles into the kitchen, Meowy snuggled up in her arms. You sigh and jump off the counter; out of the corner of your eye, you can see Aki shaking his head at you.
You love the little family the four of you have created…but damn it, not at the cost of a little private time with your own boyfriend.
Thankfully the weekend comes faster than you thought, and as you’re driving through the streets at night, the files from Makima resting in your lap, you’re starting to wonder if Aki had a point when he saw this as a vacation.
The destination’s set, the roads are quiet, and the stars are absolutely gorgeous. And the best part? No Denji and Power to bother you.
For the first time in literal months, you have Aki all to yourself. And you’ll be damned if you let this opportunity slip through your fingers.
You shift in your seat, adjusting the papers and folders in your lap (also possibly parting your thighs a bit—just to get comfortable, you swear). “How much longer till we get there?”
“It’s not far,” he says, sounding a little strained from the long drive. “We’ll be there within the hour.”
Meaning the hotel Makima booked for the two of you. Despite the work and expectations for the two of you during this mission, it’s hard not to get excited at the thought of finally being alone with him. And in just an hour you’ll be in that hotel room, far away from any distractions named Denji and Power. Locked inside four walls with no one there to bother you. Just you, your boyfriend, a comfy king-sized bed…and the whole night ahead of you.
Trouble is, you don’t think you can wait that long.
You clear your throat and shift in your seat again. Aki hasn’t noticed your little game yet, too focused on the empty road ahead. So you stretch out your arms in a yawn, tossing the files into the backseat of his car. Rolling your shoulders, squeezing your thighs together.
When he still doesn’t glance your way, you reach out and rest your hand on his crotch.
You’re lucky he doesn’t swerve off the road at that; immediately his body goes rigid, his knuckles a stark white as he grips the steering wheel. Gritting his teeth as he struggles to keep his eyes on the road.
“…Seriously? You can’t wait a bit longer?”
“I’ve been waiting for weeks now,” you mumble, squeezing your fingers around him. He rolls his eyes, as though he’s not growing hard beneath your palm right now. “Can’t help it, I need you—”
“And I need to focus on driving.” He sucks in a sharp breath at your touch, but he makes no move to swat your hand away. “…Stop it.”
“Or what?” It’s hard not to smirk at the look on his face, the way his eyes glow beneath the faint lights on the side of the road. “You gonna punish me? Tell me what a bad girl I am?”
“I-I’m serious—”
“And so am I.” This time he full-on whines when you squeeze your hand around him. You press your thighs together, already feeling your panties growing damp. “It’s just the two of us, Aki. Me and you, like it was in the beginning. Like hell I’m not gonna try to get in your pants.”
He groans again, shaking his head, jolting when the car hits a slight bump in the road. His fingers flex against the steering wheel, eyes fluttering shut with every roll of your wrist, every touch of your fingers.
But you win in the end; before you know it he’s slowing the car down to a stop, right on the side of the road. No one’s around for miles, no cars coming up in the distance.
Just you and him, as it always should be.
He’s panting by the time he unbuckles his seatbelt. Sliding his seat back to make room for you, as you wrestle with your own seatbelt in the passenger’s seat. It finally slips off and you crawl into his lap, pressing your chest against his own, lips hot and demanding as he pulls you in for a kiss.
“Such a fucking brat,” he mumbles, already fumbling with the hem of your shirt. You barely manage to pull it over your head before he’s on you again, trailing a line of kisses down the side of your neck. “Really couldn’t wait another fucking hour, huh?”
“Nope,” you reply, popping the p with a smirk.
He opens his mouth but you cut him off with a roll of your hips. The delicious friction of your clothes and the heat of the car sending your eyes rolling back into your skull.
Damn it, you’re like a pair of horny teenagers. Has it really been that long since you last shared a night together? Are you really that desperate to be close to him that you’d risk it all for a quick fuck in his car on the side of the road?
Yes, absolutely. You’ve always been the type to take risks, after all.
“Fuck,” he groans into your mouth when you roll your hips again. Too eager to feel him against your body, can’t be bothered to take off any more of your clothes. He reaches up, squeezing your breasts, rolling them in his palms as you kiss your way down his neck. “T-too fast—”
But you can’t stop, and he makes no move to push you off. So you keep thrusting your hips, eagerly chasing your release. He brings your mouth to his again, sliding one hand to cup your ass, dragging your hips along his own.
You reach out behind him, fingers snagging on the little hair tie and pulling it free. His black hair spills over his shoulders, making it easier for you to tangle your fingers in the strands. He doesn’t seem to mind; only pulls you closer, hips stuttering against your own.
Your name tumbles from his lips as a faint pink color washes over his cheeks. “Can’t—shit, ’m gonna—”
You cut him off with a kiss, stilling your hips slightly, shifting yourself just enough to unfasten his belt. The last thing either of you want to do is finish the car ride with messy pants; it’s bad enough you already have to change your panties by the time you’re through here.
He slips his cock out, giving it a few quick strokes, his eyes never leaving yours as you shimmy your way out of your pants. It’s a little hard, given the lack of space in the car to begin with. But finally they’re on the passenger’s seat beside you, panties resting right on top of them. You spread your legs and straddle him, hands curled around his shoulders. Swallowing his moan of your name as you sink yourself onto him, the stretch of his cock sending a shiver down your spine.
“F-fuck,” he hisses against your throat, “missed this, y’know…”
You can’t hold back your smile, nuzzling your face in the crook of his neck. “I know, I did too.”
At least now you know you’re not the only one left feeling needy after the last couple months.
The two of you stay like that for a bit, getting used to the feel of each other. His hands sinking down to your waist, fingertips pressing into the soft skin of your hips. You swirl his hair in your hand, pulling it back and kissing his forehead. Only when he gives you a nod do you start to move your hips; slow and soft, eyes fluttering when you lean in and capture his lips in a kiss.
It’s been too fucking long since you were able to do this last; you’d almost forgotten how wonderful it feels, having him deep inside you. Hard and heavy, sending blissful shivers along the length of your body. Pressing up against that spongy spot inside you, the same one that makes you squirm and clench around his aching cock. Just the thought of it has you moving your hips faster, matching your earlier pace. But Aki is quick to help you, his hands guiding your hips against his own, moaning into your mouth with every thrust.
The windows are starting to fog up around you, the car jerking with every move you make. It must look so stereotypical from an outsider’s perspective; a couple of horny lovebirds who couldn’t wait till they got to their hotel room. Well, you’re the horny one—but Aki is just as guilty as you are, if his moans are anything to go by.
“That’s it,” he mumbles against your lips, “feel that? Feel how hard you get me? What you fucking do to me?”
Yeah, you do, and you love every fucking second of it.
“M-much better than waiting for the…for the hotel room, right?”
He doesn’t answer, only grasps your hips tighter and forces himself deeper into you. You’re panting hard, bouncing on his cock at a brutal pace, a thin layer of sweat beading at your forehead. Aki leans down to kiss your breasts, taking one of your nipples between his teeth.
You’re close, so fucking close you’re practically babbling at this point. Eyes squeezed shut as he rocks himself deeper into you. Whining out his name, nails biting into his shoulders as he drives you closer and closer to the edge.
“Please,” your voice is sweet against his lips, words tasting like honey on his tongue—and suddenly he’s thrusting into your wet heat as hard as he can, as fast as he can, just a little bit more, a little bit, a little bit—
He swallows your scream as you gush around his cock, thighs trembling around his waist. It’s not long before he follows suit, barely managing to pull out before he reaches his own peak. Your fingers find his cock at once, and with a few rapid strokes he’s groaning into your neck, thick white ropes coating your palms.
As much as you want to stay in his lap for a little while longer, you know better than to push your luck. Aki never likes dealing with too much of a mess after sex; besides, you two still have a mission to do, a hotel to get to before they give your room away.
He helps you climb off his lap, as gently as he can, settling you back into the passenger’s seat. He keeps a stash of wipes in the glove compartment, something you never thought you’d be grateful for in the past. He cleans you up and pulls your panties back over your legs, giving you a firm kiss on your lips when he’s done.
“Think you can hold out just a bit, till we get to the room?”
You give him a weak nod, snuggling against the seat cushion with a smile on your face. “I think so.”
And then he smiles, a soft and small one that makes your heart flutter in your chest. He rolls down the windows, letting the cool night air wash out the sticky smell of sex. Once your clothes are straightened and the windows aren’t as steamy, he starts the car again and begins the trek down the road, picking up right where the two of you left off.
But this time he holds your hand in his own, giving it a soft squeeze as declarations of love spill from your lips.
#aki hayakawa x reader#aki hayakawa#kinktober 2023#star's kinktober 2023#aki hayakawa smut#smut#csm fics
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Old Bones Part Six
Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five
CW: Blood, cannibalism, abduction and being trapped, starving, death, undead description
Vampire smelt blood. Not the sweet or savory scents they were accustomed to, but a bland, metallic flavor that simply...existed.
Ah.
Their own.
As soon as they registered that truth, the lacerations on their ankles began to burn, sliced by the sharp edges of the snow as each step shattered the icy top layer.
Didn't matter. Run!
Footsteps crashed behind them.
But where next? They didn't know the way. They had not left Lav's cabin in weeks. And it was earlier in the morning than they'd originally thought. No later than 4 as the sun still hadn't come up. And it had begun to snow again.
"Vampire!"
Didn't matter. Run!
Anywhere. Anytime. Any place safe and lavender-scented and before all this happened.
Something heavy crashed into them from behind. The ice cut their cheek as they fell; a half-second later, their nose was filled with cold, stale powder. The weight lifted slightly as rough hands rolled them onto their back. Vampire blinked against the snow, making out a blur of red, and the weight plopped back on their chest.
“Vampire!"
"No, no, no!" Vampire warded them away with clawing hands, but the villager's beefy fists clasped them tight, drawing them in against their warm breast.
" It’s me! It’s me!" They kissed Vampire's knuckles. "It's Lav."
Vampire's eyes welled. "You don't-- You don't look like Lav. You don't... Your eyes...but not... What are you?"
The villager--Lav-- drew back as if slapped. Their yellow eyes drifted away from Vampire's face, fixing instead just past their shoulder. "Let me explain."
Vampire swallowed. Lav's grip had grown tight, almost painful. Worse because they couldn't seem to stop trembling, though, from the fear or the snow, they didn't know. "W-when you're done...can I go?"
Another slap. This time enough to make them drop Vampire's hands. "Yes. In fact...I've been quite expecting it. Should we go back to the house?"
Vampire shook their head rapidly. It felt like a trap. Walls they could be cornered against and kept behind. They couldn't imagine sitting down in the living room with that face across from them. They couldn't even make sense of what was going on. Was Lav even really their friend?
"Ok..." Lav said, shifting a little in the snow. Their new ruddy face was turning a bright shade of red in the cold, but they didn't even shudder. "You know I'm undead. Not like you though. You're beautiful. I'm... desecrated. You didn't have a choice in your transformation. And mine...well, it's only possible with some degree of choice."
"What are you?" Vampire said firmly, frankly tired of all this beating around the bush.
"I call myself an abomination. You'd call me a ghoul."
"A...ghoul?" Vampire blinked.
Lav thumbed away the cold dribble of blood rolling down their cheek. "You're smart. All those books. You've heard of ghouls."
Not a question, a certainty. And a correct one. Vampire had read about ghouls. They simply couldn't correlate the hideous illustrations from their books with the seeming human in front of them. The face they wore now may appear monstrous after last night, but If it weren't for those predatory eyes and the bone-chilling wrongness of their air, Vampire wouldn't have guessed anything supernatural about them.
Lav must have seen the recognition in their face and the wheels turning behind their eyes because they said, "What do you know?"
"Y-you live in graveyards," Vampire said. "You eat the dead."
"I eat the dead, true. As for the graveyard, it's more a hunting ground than a home. I much prefer my cabin. But I've never acquainted myself with another of my kind, so what do I know of others' habits. Anything else?"
Vampire shook their head. Since ghouls were apparently one of the less common creatures one could run into, the book hadn't dedicated much page space to them. And they weren't about to tell Lav the unflattering details of the entry's description. Especially when it had also offered no defenses.
"Ah." Lav's smile looked more like a grimace. "Then, unfortunately, I must be the one to give you the disturbing history of ghoulish birth."
Vampire grimaced. They weren't sure they wanted to know. There had to be a reason why Lav had kept it veiled for so long.
"I once told you my kind are not quite so simple as a bite. There are several parts to it. One, the moon: the process must last a full cycle, beginning and ending on a new moon. Two, the subject must willingly cannibalize. Three, the subject must die and with that death, make a choice: pass on permanently or return to life."
Vampire shuddered. Their death had been no picnic. Bloody. Nightmarish. Agonizing. But at least it had been quick. "So, y-you wanted to become a ghoul?"
Lav's eyes flashed. Vampire immediately shrank away, but Lav snatched them close again. It seemed meant as a comfort, but their digging grip and cold voice set Vampire's heart pounding.
"When I was 23 years old," Lav hissed in their ear. "I was abducted from my home and locked inside a tomb for thirty days. A sacrifice for a death god rumored to be plaguing our town. They were the cause of all their misfortunes, and my death would surely save them all in time for the next harvest. For four days, I starved in the dark, surrounded by the quiet dead. But, enough time passes, and anything begins looking like food. I survived on corpses' bones and spoiled flesh until the cold and the stomach sick killed me all on their own. But when the death god came for my soul, he gave me a choice. Most people don't know there's a choice. And that there's a reason almost no one chooses to stay.
"I didn't want to die. I had barely lived. I chose life. At first, it seemed like the right choice. I had escaped certain demise without consequences. Yes, something was wrong; anyone could tell that. Any extended amount of time with other people ended with their discomfort and avoidance. But I still looked like me. Sounded like me. Lived like me. And that was enough."
Lav's nails dug unconciously vicious into Vampire's shoulders. Vampire bit back a yelp. They leaned paralyzed on the again-stranger's chest, half frozen in horror, half captivated. Though Lav spoke rapidly, the words obviously came out with some difficulty. Any movement, any sound, seemed likely to send them back into silence.
Lav swallowed hard, throat bobbing against Vampire's resting head. "But I was dead. I couldn't stop the decay. Or the hunger. The craving for the things I had only eaten out of desperation before. My being twisted into something other, something monstrous. And soon enough...I was gone."
Vampire slowly pulled back, and Lav's hands slipped off them, settling in their own lap. They smiled vaguely at their snow-crusted knees, a sort of pasted-on, empty thing without any real feeling behind it. At least, not any of the good ones.
"So you...the real you..." Vampire trailed off, not exactly sure how to finish the question. It seemed insensitive to pry after such a confession. And yet so many questions churned in their head. Did Lav have a body? Were they a spirit that took others' bodies? What did Lav really look like?
Luckily, Lav seemed to understand where the thought was going.
"There's nothing left of me but old bones."
"Ah."
They couldn’t think of another response. This was all happening so fast. A few hours ago they were almost killed. A few hours ago Lav saved their life in a horrifying display. And now all this… Did they care that Lav had changed?
"I can shift my shape into the last human I consumed," Lav continued. "A facade for myself as much as others. I've done it enough times for it to have become commonplace, but each one still takes some getting used to. However, this body...was a less-than-savory choice."
Vampire cocked their head. Did a difference in appearance even count as a real change? They were still the same person. Even with this bulkier body, their mannerisms hadn't changed. The delicate way they folded their hands. The elegant tone of speech, so different from the villager’s harsh voice at the door last night.
Lav mistook their thoughtful look for further inquiry and rushed on. "I mostly survive on animal flesh, but every few months I must eat something human or I fall ill...as you witnessed yourself. I grew too weak on the way to the cemetery, and I needed to return to you...so I did what I must. It made you terribly uncomfortable. For that, I'm sorry."
Yesterday's conversation drifted back to them.
'Should you be getting fevers?'
'Sometimes. I’ve put something off too long, that’s all.'
So that's what they had been referring to. A few months, huh? Vampire had been with them for a few weeks, so they must have had their other form for a while. Had they been refraining for Vampire's sake? But why? They'd never hidden the fact that they ate things outside of Vampire's own comfort zone.
"So the way you looked before...when we met..."
"A traveling noble."
Vampire grimaced involuntarily.
"You don't need to look at me that way; I wasn't the one who killed them. I don't kill any of them if I can help it. From the looks of the carriage and the body, it was bandits. But who was I to waste a fresh body?"
"Why didn't you tell me? Why did you let yourself fall ill?"
Lav's shoulder sank, and they folded their arms tight against their chest. For truly the first time since they'd met, they seemed small. "Because I've been alone so long. And you were the first person who ever chose to stay. Even if it was out of convenience. With you around, I could pretend I was normal, like a real host with a real guest who both really enjoyed each other's company. I knew once the truth was out, you would want to leave, and I... I just wanted to pretend a little longer."
Vampire paused. The immediate denial of Lav's words dying on their tongue. They had run. And they had wanted to leave. And part of that had been because of Lav's choice of body, but the rest... They couldn't deny that a part of them had recognized Lav immediately. And they'd still run. Maybe had even been looking for excuses to do so. Lav was easy to love when they were making tea or dozing on the sofa. It was a whole different story when they were ripping people apart. Or when they looked like something Vampire had decided they shouldn't. It was the wrongness that made them run. The predator part of their friend that their instincts had always told them to flee from.
They could keep ignoring it or...
"Lav...can I see you?"
The ghoul's yellow eyes flicked unblinkingly to their own. "I don't think that's a good idea."
"I don't care. I...I want to see you. The real you. I think I have to."
If they didn't, it would keep eating at them. They'd always know they were only pretending to accept what they refused to even see. And the distrust would curdle any remains of their relationship.
Lav wet their lips. For a long while, they were quiet, the only sounds the ghostly whistle of the wind through the naked trees and the creaking of the branches as they became overladen with snow. Vampire expected them to refuse again when they said, "Can I ask one thing?"
Vampire nodded.
"Don't run. I want to say goodbye properly."
Vampire's heart skipped an uncertain beat, but they nodded again. "I won't run."
Lav rose brusquely to their feet, thoroughly patting themselves off and taking a long, deep breath.
Vampire's chest tightened. They only knew they were breathing from the faint cloud puffing in front of their face. They gripped the snow on either side of them in handfuls the icy bite grounding them just enough to keep them still.
Lav gave Vampire one last mournful glance and squeezed their eyes shut. Then their face began to melt.
Freckles and hair and ruddy skin, it all dripped away like candle wax. There was no blood or terrible cracking of bone Vampire had imagined in shapeshifting; it was liquid illusion, wet watercolor running off the page, exposing the pale paper beneath.
Vampire bit back their gasp, but a strangled whimper still escaped through their teeth.
The creature was ghastly. A skeletal thing with only dried sinews holding them together. Their tunic, once pulled taught against a broad chest, now hung like drapes off their bony frame. Exposed teeth trapped their expression in an eerie eternal grin, while their yellow eyes, bigger without lids, seemed to roll in their sockets as they looked to Vampire for a reaction.
Run.
The thought wasn't so much verbal as it was a visceral reaction.
Vampire slowly rose, legs shaking.
The creature shielded their face with a grayed hand, nails discomfortingly long and claw-like
Run.
Their instincts had always been wary around Lav, but now they were screaming.
Run!
Vampire stepped forward.
The snow had deepened since the start of their conversation, and with their legs already unsteady, the drift immediately tripped them. Lav lurched forward, catching them in cadaverous arms. In turn, Vampire slid up their hands to hold their desiccated face.
It was much colder and stiffer than while tending their fever, but Vampire stroked the raw cheekbones and haggard brow. So terrible. So familiar. They knew these bones.
"Vampire--"
"I'll stay with you."
Lav's breath hitched. Immediately, they were fleshy and warm again, buried in Vampire's neck in a fit of stifled sobs. Vampire could have gone longer; they didn't think they'd made any hint for them return to a living guise. Maybe Lav was the one uncomfortable in their own skin.
Vampire ran their fingers through the stolen red hair. "But we can't stay here."
Lav spoke muffled into their shoulder. "I'll keep you safe. If we stay in the cabin--"
Vampire forced Lav's face toward them. "Three villagers gone missing after visiting your house? They'll come investigating. And they'll find the bodies soon enough." They squirmed a little. "...Whatever you've done with them. We can't fight them all. And I don't want to. I don't think you do either."
Lav opened their mouth, eyes roiling with a surge of emotions, but the protest died on their lips.
"You can't travel in the day," they said instead.
"They'll be back before nightfall. I'll...I'll wrap up tight."
Lav frowned.
"Besides, it's winter," Vampire rushed. "The sun doesn't rise for a few more hours. Maybe we can at least get the other edge of the wood before they come looking. Find a tavern or inn to hide out in until nightfall."
"And then?" Lav said.
Vampire's brain stuttered to a stop. What was next? They'd barely survived here, and what they had managed had been mostly from hiding. Not much chance of that on the open road. But there would be more information available. More rumors. More people, maybe the inhuman variety.
"Find a clan," they said more firmly than they felt. "For the both of us.
Lav mouth pulled into a skeptical line, but they simply pulled the collar of Vampire's tunic closer around their throat. "We can talk more inside. You're not going anywhere until you've warmed up."
Vampire was suddenly aware of their aching toes, bare and several feet deep in snow. The wind whipped their cheeks and snuck up their shirt sleeves, prompting a violent shiver.
Lav hoisted them into their arms. "You really are the strangest vampire I've ever met."
"H-hey!"
"Darling, I chased you all the way out here; I'm not chasing you home."
Vampire stuttered incoherently but eventually settled tiredly against their brawny chest. They’d been through too many traumatic things in the last 24 hours, and having Lav so close was steadying, even if their outer packaging still unsettled them. They closed their eyes and concentrated on what they could feel beneath the skin, ribs, sternum, collarbones, shoulders…
They could get used to old bones.
Part Seven
Me after finishing this section:
I know it’s not the typical attractive love interest love story, but I think it’s important for Vampire to love Lav for who and what they truly are even if it’s ugly. And it not like they’re suddenly completely ok with it all either, more they’re comfortable enough with it at the moment to move forward. They’re still going to have to accustom to the idea that the physical attraction they’ve had up to this point has all been fake. And they’re going to have to be ok with an ever changing appearance and be confident in their love for what’s on the inside. Anyway, as I finished up this section I was thinking, “this might come off kinda weird for some people” but I enjoyed writing it so that’s what matters haha
Master Taglist:
@moss-tombstone @crazytwentythrees-deactivated @just-1-lonely-person @the-vagabond-nun @willow-trees-are-beautiful @cocoasprite @insanedreamer7905 @valiantlytransparentwhispers @whovian378 @watercolorfreckles @thebluepolarbear @yulanlavender @kitsunesakii @deflated-bouncingball @lem-hhn @office-plant-in-a-trenchcoat @ghostfacepepper @pigeonwhumps @demonictumble @inkbirdie @vuvulia @bouncyartist @lunatic-moss-studio @breilobrealdi @freefallingup13 @i-am-a-story-goblin @ryunniez @rainy-knights-of-villany @distractedlydistracted @saspas-corner @echoednonny @perilous-dreamer @blood-enthusiast @randomfixation @alexkolax @pksnowie @blessupblessup @wolfeyedwitch @thedeepvoidinmyheart @cornflower-cowboy @bestblob @a-chaotic-gremlin @espresso-depresso-system @prompt-fills-and-writing-spills @paleassprince @takingawildbreath @yindo @psychiclibrariesquotestoad @harpycartoons @pickleking8 @urmyhopeeee @goldenflame2516 @tobeornottobeateacher @talesofurbania1 @sweetsigyn
#I 've seen several versions of ghouls in literature#so I sort of made up my own version#with hints of real lore#more fun that way#vampire x ghoul#vampire x monster#undead x undead#spooky#supernatural#writing snippet#creative writing#writblr#writeblr#writing community#fantasci#writing#fantasci tumblr#fantasy#fantasy writing#writing series#old bones
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Resurface 21 - Rely
What went before.
How do you prove you are who you say you are?
With a little dose of DINKY EARTH&SKY STORYTIME.
I agonised over the flashback being from Virgil’s POV rather than Scott who is supposed to be the one telling the story… but Virg very much took front and centre (is about time tbh cos it’s HIS story after all and Scotty keeps muscling in). So yeah it might be a jarring shift, hope you’ll forgive me if so and enjoy the mini earth & sky antics anyway xx
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“Prove it.”
“I… what?”
“Prove you’re not Dad just trying to talk me down off the roof again so Scott has to leave without me.”
Scott’s blood was now red ice-slushie and his heart seemed to be struggling to pump it where it was needed. He was going to mess this up. He was going to let his brother down again. Was it even possible to logic him out of this? Probably not. But, now they were here, he had to try. He had to fix whatever it was that had prompted his brother’s fractured psyche to replace him with… a better version? His mind raced.
“Uh… ok. Ok! How about you ask me something Dad wouldn’t know.”
Virgil silently consulted to his left again, his eyebrows raising with a sudden idea. His head snapped back around and his eyes narrowed on Scott before he raised one finger to his own face and slowly drew a short line along the bottom of his jaw towards his chin. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to.
Scott had already unconsciously mimicked the action, tracing the marginally firmer texture of the almost invisible scar he carried there. A slight wash of relief ran through him as he realised he could answer this one very easily but their father could not have.
“Well it certainly wasn’t an argument with a barbed wire fence like we told Mom and Dad…”
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“The math works, Virgil! The lift from the drones will be just enough to support the two of us into a glide then the wings will do the rest.”
Virgil eyed Scott’s pride and joy with a bucketload of awe mixed with a few shovelfuls of suspicion.
The flying machine’s body was the old carbon fibre kayak, consigned to the garage long ago when their attempt to navigate the nearby stream in midsummer left it slightly… holey… in places. The two of them had manhandled it on to the roof via the internal ladder in the middle of the night about three weeks ago. The swarm of eight small tricopter-drones Scott had requested for his birthday were attached (four across the front, one each wing and two to the back) with lots of complicated-looking knots Virgil hadn’t learnt at Rescue Scouts yet but his brother had practised for hours to perfect.
The main event - the wings themselves - were an ingenious combination of fishing poles, some chicken wire fencing Scott had liberated from behind the shed and a patchwork of pieces of an old parachute Mom had stashed away for a rainy (or last minute fancy dress costume) day.
It did look impressive but also maybe a little more… home made… than Virgil had pictured when Scott had explained his Big Idea.
“I’m not sure your math is the same as real life, Scotty…”
“Sure it is! In high school you do real life math - it’s called physics and its all about balancing up forces with down forces. I checked my calculations with my physics teacher last week. She thought it was brilliant. It will work.”
“Did she know you were planning to do it in real life though?”
“Of course not, 11 year olds aren’t meant to be able to fly. It’d cause a fuss.”
“Hmm.” Virgil scratched his head and tried to figure out why the flying machine made him uneasy. It wasn’t just that the stitching of the parachute to the mesh was somewhat wobblier than Virgil had drawn in the neat plan they’d sketched together. nor was it the fact he could see daylight through some of the gashes in the boat.
“Did your sums include using duct tape?” Scotty had for sure used a lot. A lot of a lot.
“It’s really strong. Ever tried to unstick it from something? Impossible! Nothing unsticks what duct tape says should be stuck.”
“Ok.” Virgil’s voice was small because it was being squashed by big feelings. Some excited and proud ones. Quite a lot more scared ones. And some guilty ones.
And some deep misgivings about whatever “physics” was.
Since leaving them to go to High School Scott’s brain had been full of so many clever new things and he was so confident and excited. Virgil felt bad for not trusting him. After all, Scotty always made the crazy ideas work and then his eyes would twinkle with the annoying “told you so”. They always came out ok because Scotty wouldn’t let Virgil get hurt.
His big brother suddenly crouched down to look him in the eye. His eyes were soft behind the sparkle.
“You don’t have to do it if you’re scared Virgie. 11 years olds aren’t supposed to fly so I guess 9 year olds are even more… uh… not supposed to fly. It won’t matter, you could just watch instead and…” he frowned in thought “I would just need a weight about the same as you to strap to the seat behind… so the math still works. Hmm, maybe a rock or something…”
Scott trailed off and looked around them as if expecting to find a ideal Virgil-sized boulder just waiting there on the rooftop. Virgil hoped he wasn’t going to have to help carry one up the ladder.
Except, no. Of course he wasn’t. Scotty wasn’t going flying with a rock. Not while Virgil was around. His brother could always rely on him to always be right there at his side. He gave himself a little shake, put his hands on his hips and pulled what he thought might be a strong, reliable face:
“You need a wingman. That’s gotta be me. It can’t be a rock, that’s just silly!”
Scott beamed with obvious relief. “Alright short stuff, if you’re sure?”
Virgil was developing a talent for deadly glares and directed his best scowl at the lanky beanpole towering over him. His brother just seemed amused rather than appropriately terrified.
“I’m not that short Scott. I’m nearly as tall as Mom.”
“Yeah well Mom’s teeny. Dad calls her his Li’l Lightning Bolt cos…”
“She’s not! She told me we are the normal ones and you and Dad are secretly Sasquatches hiding from the FBI!”
Scott’s chirpy cackle was loud and long and Virgil glowed with pleasure at making him laugh, even if it hadn’t been his own joke originally. Then a little pang of worry hit him.
“Do you think they are alright?”
Scott squeezed his shoulder. “Of course they are, I promise. Baby Gordon just needs a bit of looking after at hospital because he’s even teenier than you...” Virgil gave him his best killer glare “… and Mom and Dad are just keeping him company. She’s alright Virgie.”
“Yeah.” Another squeeze then his brother stood up tall and together they surveyed the view.
Scott checked his new watch then licked his finger and put it up in the air. His very serious and important expression was a bit spoiled by his tongue sticking out to the side as he concentrated on working out the wind direction but Virgil suppressed the giggle. This was Scotty’s big moment.
“Alright, if we are gonna do this it needs to be now. Wind’s good and Grandma and Grandpa will be back with Johnny in about 20 minutes.”
“Aye aye Captain Scott!”
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#thunderbirds are go#thunderbirds#thunderbirds fanfiction#scott tracy#virgil tracy#idontknowreallywhy fanfic#resurface fic#earth&sky#earth and sky#wee!tracys
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THE FOOL
p .pascal x f!oc
jfc you guys. im so sorry for the delay, truthfully i have been so sucked up in work and my other hobbies that its hard to get to writing, especially at stuff this length. i hope the length of this one kind of makes up for it and also that i can get the next chapter out sooner.
Masterlist | Playlist
Summary: Naela is nervous for the season premier. It ends up going swimmingly, but the celebration is ruined during the after party.
Words: 4.1k
Warnings: Angst, self esteem issues, violence, hurt/comfort, toxic bf, blood, sexual tension, mutual pining, toxic relationship, jealousy, hot bloody face trope, not edited
Taglist: @marvel-sw-lover , @lokislittle , @red-red-rogue, @babukat , @joels-darlin , @weho2kcmo , @violac0la , @poodlebae , @darleneslane , @absssposts
comment if you want to be added to the taglist!
CHAPTER NINE -- GRAND PREMIER
The weeks leading up to the release of the first season had Naela incredibly high-strung. Between the fan accounts posting edits of the little footage they had, and the constant questions from news outlets, she couldn't get Pedro out of her head no matter how hard she tried. Everything was Pedro this, Narcos that. Josh wasn't on social media that often so it wasn't hard to keep it all from him. Knowing it would upset him, she held it in and pretended it wasn't happening.
That was, until the premier. Luckily, Boyd was nice enough to invite Josh to the after party, although he wasn't psyched to be barred from the event. A part of her wished Boyd hadn't been so kind as she was putting the finishing touches on her look in the mirror.
Her signature scarlet color draped over her frame in a silk slip-dress that stopped just above her ankles. A teasing slit trailed up her leg, showing off her favorite feature: her plump thighs. She twirled her hair into a curly up-do, thinking it was a crime to hide the low back of the dress. Normally, she preferred a glowy, sheer makeup look but tonight she would be a flash-photography spectacle. She needed full-coverage, a dramatic eye and the perfect glossy lip to tie it all together.
Looking in the mirror, she could hardly recognize herself, but in a good way that made it impossible to stop smiling. She felt more confidence than the last four weeks combined since leaving Columbia. Seeing the look on Pedro’s face when she opened the door made that feeling skyrocket as well.
His eyes instantly lit up, darting up and down her body as he took in the sight. He too was dressed to the nines, a perfectly tailored black suit jacket covering his broad shoulders, accompanied by matching slacks and a pop of color in the partially undone dress shirt. His stubble shaped his sharp jaw perfectly and his tossled hair somehow looked devilishly handsome yet so casual at the same time.
“How’d you know I was wearing red?” She quizzed him, pointing at the evidence.
“You always wear red to special occasions. The first cast dinner and the last, you wore red dresses,” he quickly answered without another thought. She squinted at him and looked around for cameras jokingly.
He chuckled at her antics, “Hey, I know you,” he reasoned. Upon joining him in the doorway again, she realized one hand was hidden behind his back. He slowly drew it out, revealing a small, light blue bag.
No. No fucking way.
“I didn’t know what kind of flowers you liked, but I knew you liked gold instead of silver, so,” he shrugged casually, his smug expression contradicting his nonchalant tone. It was her turn to pick her jaw up off the floor as she recognized the logo on the bag, Tiffany & Co.
“Pedro, you have to return that,” she shook her head, a protective hand over her heart and the other covering her mouth.
“At least look at it,” he started, holding the bag out further. “You know you want to, c’mon.”
She sighed, glaring at him with a smile on her face before taking the bag and pulling out the matching rectangular box. He instinctively took the bag out of her hands to allow her mobility as she excitedly opened the gift.
Inside was a gold necklace that carried a dainty pendant, which apon further inspection, was a lowercase ‘p’. She looked up at him, a playfully unamused look on her face.
“Gotta make it seem real, right?” His smirk quickly turned to a smile at her inability to be angry with him.
“Right,” she agreed sarcastically before gently lifting the expensive piece of jewelry out of it’s box. Pedro took both in his hands, slipping the container into the bag and unclasping the necklace. He motioned for her to turn around, and she obliged, shivering at the feeling of his hands ghosting over her neck. Once she felt him secure it, her hand darted up to the pendant, feeling it between her fingertips as she turned to face him again. She couldn't fathom being able to just drop that much money on a necklace for someone you're not even dating.
“Thank you.” She admitted sincerely, almost making him melt with her doe-eyed expression. “Next time just get me sunflowers,” she added teasingly.
“Noted,” he played along, chuckling as he let his hand rest on the door frame.
She blinked, struggling to form words for a moment as he loomed over her with a smug look in his eye. "I-- um, just need to put on my shoes."
"Sure," he nodded, holding the door as he followed her into the living room. He noticed the strappy nude heels laid out perfectly next to the couch. She fell onto the plush cushions and one leg over the other, attempting to get the best angle. She tried to fasten the tiny buckle for a few unsuccessful moments before Pedro started toward her.
"You don't have to--" Before she could finish, he had already stooped down on one knee, a flippant expression on his face. He held out one hand, silently urging her to let him help. She rolled her eyes and tried the clasp again, only to find his hand sliding under her knee and gliding all the way down and holding her ankle gently in his grasp.
He furrowed his brow at the puzzle on the side of her shoe for mere seconds before securing it and placing her heel comfortably on the floor. He waved for the second half of the challenge, and this time she gratefully allowed him. Soon, he was straightening his spine and offering his hand once more, this time to pull her to her feet.
"All set?" She glanced around the room, looking for her purse until she spotted it on the kitchen counter. She quickly threw the small, faux leather bag over her shoulder and let Pedro lead her out of her apartment. She locked the door behind her and locked eyes with a grinning Pedro before following him to the elevator.
The only comparable experience to being on the runway that Naela had was when haunted houses used those strobe lights. It was almost disorienting, especially with dozens of people shouting for her attention. Holding tightly onto Pedro's muscular forearm and the encouragements he whispered in her ear were the only things keeping her grounded.
"You look so pretty."
"I'm gonna step forward so they can get some of just you, okay?"
"You're doing a really good job."
"Almost done, hermosa."
Once they reached the end of the photography portion, they separated to talk to a few of the interviewers. Pedro stopped at Vanity Fair, while Naela continued until she saw a younger woman with The New York Times. She honestly reminded Naela of herself, with her curly brown hair and tan skin, and she found comfort in that.
"Naela Rivera, just the girl I wanted to see! Morgan with NYT, so nice to meet you," she blurted out enthusiastically, extending her hand in greetings. Naela enveloped her soft hand in her own and smiled brightly at the woman.
"Nice to meet you too!"
"I won't take up too much of your time, you have so many people to talk to." She paused to laugh with her. "I just have three questions for you, Naela."
She nodded at the woman, giving her consent.
"So, I think what is pressing on everyone's minds is how you got your name! It's so beautiful!" Naela palmed her chest and smiled humbly.
"Aw, thank you-- the name itself has a bunch of different origins, but pretty much everywhere it means 'winner' or 'strong'." The woman nodded along with her, listening intently.
"I think we could all definitely say that you are a winner, Naela. You just landed this huge role, and on top of that you're dating Pedro Pascal! I don't think there's a woman out there that doesn't want to be you or be with you!" Naela laughed on the outside, but she desperately wanted to tell everyone the truth about Hollywood. For the sake of her career, she fronted with a dashing smile.
"Thats very kind of you," she added calmly.
"Now, I won't ask you about Pedro, I'm sure everyone bugs you enough about it," Thank god. "But I do want to know, what does your future look like to you-- do you think you'll stay with TV, maybe move to movies, or possibly delving into the music side of things." Naela scoffed playfully at the thought of her trying to write a song.
"Definitely not music, but I'm open to exploring new roles-- I'm really excited to."
"Yes, I think everyone is excited to see you in more projects too-- with just the small clips we've seen, you've gotten so much positive feedback!" Naela nodded, although she was mostly unaware of the comments left by fans. She tried her best to stay off of the internet these days.
"Well, Naela Rivera, thank you so much for stopping to talk with me, I just have one more question before you go-- I've got to know who you're wearing." Morgan offered her the microphone as Naela frantically searched her mind for the answer.
"Oh, my dress?" She asked, glancing down at the shiny fabric to try and regain her memory. "Ralph Lauren, I think!" She answered not-so-confidently, making the interviewer laugh once more.
"You look gorgeous, Naela. Have a wonderful night!" Just as they were finishing up, she felt a strong hand gently tug her away. She looked up to see Pedro smiling down at her.
"We don't have to do another one if you don't want to," he reasoned, as if he could sense she was ready to go inside. Naela shook her head and smiled bashfully, averting her eyes to the crimson carpet beneath her heals. Pedro reassured her it was okay before leading her through the back entrance of the theater. The inside was essentially a larger, more grand movie theater with security. Only a few people, of with Naela didn't recognize, were scattered in the seats. Pedro knew exactly where to go, leading her to the reserved part of the theater and stopping at their names, which were of course placed next to each other. Their seats were only a few rows back from the front and in the dead center of the isle.
The two sat mostly in silence as the attendees slowly trickled in, all dressed in semi-formal attire with a few sore thumbs here and there. Just before the designated start time, Boyd arrived with Joanne in tow and their respective plus one's. The group stayed standing to greet one another for a few moments before they noticed the sudden shift in the lighting. The spotlights at the edge of the stage lit up the area as the director, Tom, walked out. Everyone took their seats before he started.
"Welcome, everyone! Thank you so much for coming out, the support here and everywhere has just been so overwhelming," he paused for a bundle of applause. "I also want to thank my incredible crew and cast; you guys are what made this possible. Special thanks to Boyd, Pedro, and Naela, our main characters. They worked so, so hard on this, and trust me, it was a lot," he added, half-joking. Another round of applause, this time directed at the trio in the center of the theater. Those close enough congratulated them. Naela couldn't stop blushing between the praise and Pedro's thigh resting against hers.
The rest of the event went swimmingly; luckily the most the audience saw of Naela and Pedro was a steamy make out scene. However, the night was far from over. She was excited for the afterparty, but more so nervous because her boyfriend and Pedro would be in the same room, which was a recipe for chaos at this stage. She was going to do everything she could to keep the peace and make sure everyone had a good night. Except for herself, apparently, because that meant she was glued to Josh's side for most of the night.
Around an hour in, Josh already had a few too many. He was lounging on Boyd's couch as if it were his own, opened beer bottle propped up on his knee as he reclined. Naela's arms were crossed as she sat next to him, sober and bored out of her mind.
"Hey, I have a good idea," he proposed sloppily, slurring his words as he turned to face her. Naela raised her brow, urging him to answer with a fictitious interest. "We should get out of here." He bit his lip and let his eyes fall to the valley of her breasts. She tried to hide her disgust as she gently pushed him away.
"No, that's not a good idea," she answered simply, keeping her tone as gentle as possible. His face twisted to anger as he scoffed and downed the rest of the bottle in one go.
"Fine," he spat as he rose from the couch and walking through the glass doors to join the other half of the party outside. Naela sighed and rolled her eyes. She just hoped he wouldn't be too much of a bother without her to supervise. Free of her restraints, she rose to her feet, heels clicking against the wood as she made her rounds, looking for one familiar face.
When the only place left to look was outside, she felt a gentle tug on her forearm. The corners of her mouth turned up expectantly, but she was left disappointed when she was met with a woman she didn’t know.
“Oh! Hi,” Naela started politely, noticing the bright smiles on the woman and her friend’s face.
“Hi, Naela, right?” She nodded instinctively, but her expression faltered when her eyes darted to the woman’s hand that dug her phone out of her purse.
“Can we get a picture?” Before Naela could respond, the two woman took their positions on either side of her. They posed and before she knew it, the flash was going off and the photo was over.
“Thanks so much! Hey, do you know where Boyd is? We’d love to meet him.” Naela was starting to wonder who let them in.
“Um—“
As if he sensed the trouble, Pedro joined them, placing a comforting hand on Naela’s shoulder.
“Mind if I borrow you for a second? Cool.” Without letting her answer, he lead her in the opposite direction, back to the living room. She joined him on the empty space her and her boyfriend left moments ago.
“Some might consider that rude, Pedro,” she scolded with an unconvincing smile.
“I don’t care,” he shrugged, chuckling a bit at his harsh honesty.
“Thank you,” she added sincerily, squeezing his firm bicep for a bit longer than she should have.
“Sometimes you have to be rude to those people. If you keep letting them overstep your boundaries, they won’t stop.” He took an indulgent sip from the plastic cup in his hand as if what he was saying reminded him of something he’d rather forget.
“Sounds like you’re speaking from experience,” she prodded as she shifted in her seat to face him more. With her entire body turned toward him, he had her full attention.
“I am,” he responded simply, taking another sip. “It happens to everyone. After my season of Game of Thrones released, a lot of people asked to put their thumbs on my eyes like this.” He demonstrated, turning his wrists so his thumbs were pressing into his eye sockets. She giggled at the pose, but continued to listen.
“At first I let them, I thought it was cool— but then one day, I got really bad pink eye.” He scrunched his nose with disgust as they felt a mutual cringe.
“Aw, no.” She mirrored his expression, sticking her tongue out at the thought of a dirty stranger’s hands on her face.
“Yeah,” he sighed. “Probably shouldn’t have been doing that in New York, of all places—“
His sentence was cut short of whatever caught his eye. Naela didn’t notice at first, but Pedro’s smile had entirely dropped. She followed his gaze to see that Josh had suddenly appeared, standing just a few feet away from the couch. He stepped even closer, an unreadable look in his eye. Naela’s heart quickened as her entire body tensed in his presence.
“Hey, babe….what’s going on here?” he asked knowingly. He wasn’t yelling but Naela could tell he was more irate than she’d ever seen him. That coupled with the liquor had her heart racing.
“Nothing, we’re just talking—“
“Just talking? He sure showed up pretty quick when I left.” He took another step forward, his voice growing in volume with every sentence.
Pedro raised a protective hand in front of Naela, “Hey, man, let’s just calm down, okay?”
“Calm down? You need to calm down off my woman!” Although it made no sense, in his drunken state, his loud babbling was starting to attract the attention of the other partygoers.
“Josh, please—“
“Josh, please!” He whined mockingly at her. Pedro’s jaw clenched as his fists tightened at his side. “I don’t want to hear your whore mouth—“
“Okay, you’re done!” Pedro shot to his feet, using his hands to push John away from her. “Get the fuck out before I call the police,” he added in a low, but booming voice. They had the entire room’s attention now, much to Naela’s dislike. She followed the two, staying a safe distance away while begging them to stop.
“Sure, call the police instead. If you were a good enough man for Naela, you’d fight me!”
As if it flipped a switch it Pedro’s brain, Josh’s words suddenly alleviated any desire he had to diffuse the situation. He was no longer playing defense.
“Really? Cause I didn’t have to do any of this! She came to me, John!”
Josh’s face twisted up like Naela had never seen. His nostrils flared, his mouth turned down and his brow furrowed. There was a brief moment of silence before Josh drew back his balled fist and drove it straight through the side of Pedro’s face. Naela shrieked, covering her mouth instinctively. Pedro stumbled back a bit, but regained his balance fairly quickly, touching where he felt the burn of a tiny cut on his cheekbone. Josh stood there, seething, before Boyd and a few of his other male friends finally arrived to remove him. They roughly grabbed his arms and dragged him toward the front door, which wasn’t far away from where everyone gathered in the living room.
“Naela! Naela!” He called out hoarsely. They let go of him once they were in the doorway. He straightened his clothes before waving her over.
“Lets go Naela,” he demanded. She stood stunned for a moment. If she went with Josh, it would surely be hell when they got home. The rest of her contract would be hell, in fact. If she stayed…she would be alone. But maybe being with Josh was becoming scarier than being alone.
“No,” she answered simply. She glanced over at Pedro, a small streak of blood falling down his cheek. Somehow, he looked relieved.
“No?!” He called back, looking just as angry as before.
“How fucking dare—!” The men that still guarded him finally pushed him all the way out, shutting the door behind them before he could finish. A small group of a people clapped for his removal, but Naela hardly noticed as the party slowly resumed. She froze for a moment, entirely shocked that Josh would cause a scene like that. She folded her arms protectively in front of herself, trying to breathe and slow down her heart rate. Putting his injury aside, Pedro stepped toward her, giving her a comforting smile before engulfing her in his strong arms. She finally felt like she could take a full breath.
“I’m sorry," she muttered into his chest, lazily hanging her arms around his waist.
"You don't have to be sorry." He let his chin rest on the top of her head as she relaxed. Not wanting to intrude, Boyd gave Pedro a thumbs up, silently asking if they were okay. Pedro nodded, continuing to hold Naela as long as she wanted him to.
After a few moments of deep breathing, she withdrew from him to take a look at his face. She raised her hand, turning his face and wincing as she did so. She could swear his face had already started to swell.
"Here, I'll clean that up for you. Come on." She gently led him to the guest bathroom he was in just moments before and began rummaging through the cabinets and drawers.
"Should've guessed Boyd wouldn't have a first aid kit," she admitted, chuckling awkwardly and breaking the uncomfortable silence. Pedro huffed, his smile slowly returning.
"Towel and some warm water would do just fine," she reasoned as she took a cloth from the stack next to the sink and damped it in the sink. He leaned onto the counter, anticipating the pain. Once she could see the steam coming from the water, she rang out the excess and put the warm towel on his cheek. It was his turn to wince as it stung his small, but still fresh wound.
"I know, I'm sorry," she whispered, her focus locked on his cheek as she dabbed the cloth. Once the sharpness subsided, he allowed his hand to fall on her waist as she stood so close to him. He knew in his heart that it wouldn't be the right time for a while, but he was at least thankful he was allowed to touch her like this again. Once his face was clean, she folded the towel over the wrack next to the shower to dry. He still let his weight rest against the counter as he smiled contently at her. She mirrored his expression and joined him on the counter.
"Thank you," she added sincerely.
"I'm just happy you didn't leave with him," he admitted, the corners of his mouth slightly falling to give her his signature doe eyes. She shifted her gaze, trying to hide the way that look made her feel. Before she could retort, he gasped lightly, as if something suddenly popped into his head.
"You can't go home tonight, can you?" Seemingly, she hadn't thought about it either, as she looked surprised as well.
"No, you're right. I can't," she echoed, searching her mind for a solution.
"What a shame," he added sarcastically, a knowing smirk returning to his face. "Guess you have to come home with me."
She scoffed and rolled her eyes, "I guess so."
Naela soon realized that Pedro was being incredibly modest about his apartment. It wasn't huge, but it was nothing short of luxury. Modern appliances and interior, scattered with bits of his personality in the decorations. Movie posters and various sports memorabilia lined the walls, along with sizeable DVD and record collection in the shelves on the other end of the room. She didn't look around for too long, though. Before they could settle in, she was already rummaging through his freezer for something to put over his eye. She found a bag of frozen peas pretty quickly, and instantly handed it to him to press over his eye.
"Thank you," he groaned, already feeling some sort of relief from the cold. She sighed, a pained look on her face.
"I'm just so sorry, Pedro--"
"Ah! No more of that." He raised his hand, warning her to stop. "This was not your fault."
She sighed, "It kind of was, though." She quickly started to spiral, listing her regrets over and over. "If I hadn't kissed you--"
"I would've kissed you anyway. I wanted to. You just did it first," he admitted. Naela sighed and let her shoulders drop again. Their eyes lingered on one another for a moment before Naela couldn't suppress her laughter anymore. There they were, having the most honest conversation ever, and yet he had a bag of frozen vegetables over his black eye. He shook his head and joined in. He knew how ridiculous it must've looked.
"You promise we're okay?" She needed to know. She was undoubtedly alone now, and even if she wanted Pedro, they both knew she needed to heal.
"I promise," he reassured her.
reblog if you made it to the end!
#pedro pascal#pedro pascal fanfiction#pedro pascal x reader#pedro pascal smut#pedro pascal x oc#pedro pascal fanfic#pedro#joel miller fanfiction#pedropascaledit#joel miller#pascalispunk#pascal
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Wednesday Nights || Part Four
Pairing: pre-outbreak!Joel Miller x Fem!Reader
Warnings: canon typical violence, time skip, angst, fluff
Word count: 1.3k
A/N: Sorry if this chapter seems a bit choppy. I am not a fan of time skips. Four chapters down, one more to go. Thank y'all for reading. Please like, comment, and share!
part one
part two
part three
part five
“Mom!”
You awakened with a jolt, in a cold sweat in your new living quarters. You'd been suffering the same nightmare for 20 years. You had to witness your mother turn and attack your father, turning him. Then, before they could attack and turn you, they were both gunned down.
That was 20 years ago and you still weren’t fully recovered. Your luck finally started to come through these last six months.
You were walking alone in the winter cold. The cold air was stinging on your skin as you traveled down the icy river.
Six people on horses surrounded you and grilled you so badly that you thought they were going to kill you. One of the men on the horses yanked his bandana down over his face and screamed your name so loudly that he startled the horses and a few of the others with him.
“Y/N!” Tommy called as he hopped down from his horse, running over to you. Even though his hair was longer and he'd grown a beard, you recognized Tommy right away.
The blood rushed to your face so quickly that you almost passed out. You thought he was dead. You assumed all three of them were all dead. You peered over Tommy's shoulder at the other riders as he drew you into a crushing hug. You didn't see Joel. Was Joel still alive? Was he even here with Tommy?
You rode back with Tommy on his horse, relieved to be off your feet. You'd been walking for weeks. You were in the dining hall eating with Tommy and his new wife, Maria. She was gorgeous and a little intimidating, but she made small talk.
You couldn’t help but notice her body language and the way her lips would thin into a straight line and shoulders would tense at any mention of Joel. Tommy let you know as soon as possible that Sarah didn’t make it. You felt your heart drop to your stomach, but managed to keep it together. Before today, you already assumed she died.
“It’s not like your brother is the best at making decisions,” Maria mumbled, fighting back an eye roll.
Tommy was sharing with you some of the things he and Joel had to do in order to survive. You’d done similar things and a few worse things. You weren’t one to judge and you weren’t going to judge Tommy and Joel. They were the only family you had left.
“And just what the hell is that supposed to mean?” You snapped, no longer able to ignore the jabs Maria kept taking at Joel.
And the fact that Tommy just sat there and let her insult his brother really pissed you off. Not so much Tommy, but Maria's uppity demeanor got under your skin. Who the hell did she think she was? Good for her if she never had to stoop so low to survive in this shitty post-apocalyptic world. Good for fuckin' her, you thought.
Tommy leaned forward and whispered something into his wife's ear. She cringed and glanced at you before apologizing. Tommy opted to change the subject and asked you what happened to you on breakout day.
“My parents turned right in front of me. Before I could even comprehend what was happenin’ to ‘em they were shot dead.”
You remembered that day like it was yesterday. It was awful. Your parents were taken from you too fast. It was unfair.
“Then I hauled ass across Austin to try and get to you, Joel and Sarah. None of you were answering your phones so I figured it must have been happening around y’all too.”
You had a severe panic attack once you realized that you were well and truly on your own. You were lost. You didn’t know what to do without any of them. How were you supposed to survive in a world when your favorite five people no longer existed?
“Eventually I ended up working with a small group of nine people to help find a cure for whatever this was. I worked with doctors, nurses, scientists on this. We were desperate to find a cure. Tommy, I’ve done things that I’m not proud of, but we’ve exhausted every single possibility and nothing. There is no cure for this.”
“Wow.” Tommy said, sighing deeply at your newfound news. He had held out hope that there was a cure, but he wasn’t shocked that there wasn’t one.
Enough about you. Tommy told you that Joel was alive and I just missed him by a few weeks.
“Where is Joel?”
“Ellie—the young girl he’s with is immune. Joel took her to a hospital — a firefly post so that they could use Ellie’s blood to make a cure.” Tommy explained cooly.
“What?” You uttered lowly. You had your fair share of run-ins with the fireflies. Enough for a lifetime, and each instance damn near cost you your life. You had the awful pleasure of meeting their leader, Marlene. She had an impressive right hook, but your left was a lot meaner.
The nine people you'd been traveling with for the past 20 years were all dead. The majority were killed by clickers, while the others were killed by firefly bombs. You were furious and alone. On a mission to find Marlene, the leader of the fireflies.
You were determined to kill her where she stood. You'd had a few run-ins with Marlene, and they always ended bloody.
You didn't belong to FEDRA or the Fireflies. You were part of a small group of surgeons, biologists, nurses, and medical researchers. You were the only immunologist on the team. Shortly after the outbreak, all nine of you got together to try to find a cure. You clung to them after you assumed Joel, Sarah, and Tommy were no longer alive.
After your parents were killed, you attempted to drive across town to Joel's house, but the highway was already shut down. You'd also overheard from an officer that Joel's neighborhood was a hot zone full of infected people. You were devastated. You had no family left within a matter of hours.
You last saw her and her band of fireflies in Atlanta about a year ago. She ordered her men to blow up a couple buildings where you and the rest of your group were hiding from FEDRA. You barely escaped with your life. Everyone else who was with you died. Blown to smithereens.
“There is no fuckin’ cure, Tommy.”
“But Joel said—“
“—Well whoever told Joel and Ellie that is a goddamn liar. They’re gonna kill that poor girl and it’ll have been for nothin’.”
Tommy chewed on his lip, pondering your information. He was probably even more worried about his brother now. As he should be. Joel wasn’t safe with the fireflies. No one was.
“Is there any way to contact them?” You asked, still hopeful.
“They’ve been gone for a month, Y/N,” Tommy admitted, hesitancy heavy in his voice, “Joel said they’d come back once they were finished.”
“Hopefully Joel realizes that Ellie will die and they’ll come back.” Maria reasoned, shooting you a small smile.
“This isn’t good.” You exhaled sharply.
Anyway, that was five months ago. You were still with them in Jackson. It was a safe community that actually thrived plus you weren’t going to give up the opportunity to see Joel again.
You were with Tommy in Jackson for almost six months now and still no word from Joel or his whereabouts.
You were starting to get discouraged.
You didn’t know it, but off in the far distance, Joel and Ellie were making their way back to Jackson.
You just needed to hold on just a little while longer.
#this one was hard to write sorry I just couldn't find a groove#I make up for it with the next chapter though I PROMISE#joel miller#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller x female reader#joel miller x reader#joel tlou#tlou joel#joel x reader#joel miller angst#tommy miller#tommy miller fluff#tommy miller angst#joel the last of us#the last of us fanfic#the last of us fanfiction#joel miller x you#joel miller fic#joel miller series#joel miller smut
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October Prompts
5 October: Silver
She paused her breathing—only for a moment. She paused it, slowed it, to slow her heart. She wouldn’t let Robert see her nerves. She wouldn’t let him see the small panic she felt winding its way up and between her ribs, choking the space there, where her heart beat.
Doctor Clarkson nodded at the brown bottle of iodine he held in his grasp. It glimmered mockingly in the bright spring sunlight that shone through the windows.
“You’ll use this when it’s time to change the bandaging.” She lowered her chin, listening. “It should be applied twice daily for the first few days, though I believe we’ll be able change to only once daily soon enough. We’ll allow the wound to air likely at the beginning of … er, next week.”
Cora nodded. Iodine. Twice daily when bandaging. Until next week, she committed to memory.
He handed it to her, reaching his arm across Robert lying between them, and he picked up the clean bandages. “Now, I’ll start the first change and, if you’re agreeable, I’ll have you complete it, Lady Grantham. To be certain.”
“Alright,” she mumbled, again the panic flirting with her resolve. It made sense, she knew, for him to teach her. She did hear a bit of condescendence there, she thought, but she was too tired to mind. For the truth was, she had never changed a bandage. She had hardly ever changed or cleaned anything. And she wanted him home with her.
Steeling herself, she quickly glanced at Robert lying there beneath her. Her own dear Robert, lips bloodless, dark circles beneath his eyes. Oh, while he looked terribly tired and unwell, he was, in fact, on the mend. His being here, lying between she and Clarkson, proved it.
Robert didn’t meet her gaze as Clarkson inspected his bandages and then began to neatly pull them away from his side. He still didn’t meet her gaze when Clarkson asked Cora to pay close attention to a particular area that was healing slower than the rest.
She did.
Cora did her best not to wince as Doctor Clarkson slowly pulled the bandage from Robert’s skin, a section of it sticking to where blood had dried against it.
She blinked. She, again, glanced to her husband’s face whose eyes were trained on the ceiling above them. She drew in a deep breath.
“Aye,” Clarkson said quietly as he rolled the bloodied fabric against itself. “Everything looks well.”
She made herself look now. If Robert was coming home—and he was—and she was to be the one to care for him—and she was determined to—then she couldn’t afford the fear that stung her chest.
Oh. But it was worse than she thought it would be. The sutures were there. Down the center of his stomach. Then below, a small line of additional sutures marching across.
Larger than she thought it would be.
One. Two. Three. Four. She stopped counting them, each thick stitch, realizing suddenly that there were more than enough to throw her heart into quick spasms.
She swallowed and looked to Clarkson, who nodded again at the bottle she held.
“Alright, my lady. The iodine first. On a cotton ball. Pressing lightly.”
She glanced at Robert, and then, gathering courage, grinned in an effort to pretend confidence. I will do this. Easily, she soaked the cotton with the iodine. And then, praying very quickly that she’d not hurt him, she pressed it gently—very gently—to the healing incision.
She noticed the way his shoulders tensed as she pressed. She had to ignore it. She noticed the way his eyes looked further upwards, and then as they closed. She had to ignore that, too. And then she noticed, with a rush of fresh panic, blood—red and new—beginning to seep from where her fingers had been.
“Have I—“
“—Ah,” Clarkson stopped her, remarking upon it as one may when finding a sixpence on the floor. “Leave it and just continue there. Near the sternum. I’ll return.”
But Cora didn’t want to continue there. She watched the blood form a neat and perfect sphere, and she swallowed away the threat of tears. Stupid, stupid, useless tears—oh, she’d not slept.
“It isn’t as awful as I’d imagined,” her pretended self lied aloud. “And this seems very simple. If I’d have known, we could’ve had you home days ago.” Lies. Lies, again.
Lying there, still, she heard her husband groan.
Oh, what had she done? “You aren’t in any pain, are you?” She studied his worn features for any hint of discomfort. “Does it hurt at all?”
At last, he spoke. “No.”
And again, it made her want to cry.
“Good,” she answered, tightly and curtly, and demanded herself to press the cotton ball to the very top of the long vertical incision. “I dare say this will all heal up very nicely.” Her fingers were trembling, and she pulled in a long—very long—breath. “Especially once we get you home and—“
What? What was happening to her? She’d done so well. She’d not cried. A few moments of weepiness, yes. But she’d not cried because, well, he was alright. He was here and healing and he was able to come home and Doctor Clarkson was so pleased with his recovery and—
—his cold fingers stilled her own.
Cora looked at his face and saw, at last, that he met her eye. Embarrassed, she sniffed back the emotion, the illogical and delayed emotion … the terrifyingly deep love she felt for him.
His thumb passed over her fingers, and Cora closed her eyes. Nodded. And opened them again.
“I feel quite capable of this, you know,” she lied one last time. “But I warn you, once you’re home again, I won’t have you over-exerting yourself and undoing all my hard work.”
He didn’t speak, but Cora could feel it. She felt the way his finger held her own tighter.
“—here we are.”
He dropped her hand. She turned to Doctor Clarkson.
“Silver nitrate,” he said, brandishing another small bottle. “Just a touch to stop the bleeding.”
Cora watched him; she watched the way he administered to the tiny bleeding spot. “Wounds can sometimes bleed, a wee bit, post-trauma.” And she watched in wonder as the bleeding stopped, as if frozen by the tiny silver drop against his skin. “Even the smallest prodding can do it. But, not to worry, it’ll heal.”
#cobert#cobert drabbles#cobert s6#need to masterpost#obviously I’m behind on my October prompts#and I’ve done ‘silver’ a zillion times I feel like#huzzah!
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Psychological
I am borrowing halibellecter 's super awesome neuroactive ammo, however: Force users don't need ammo.
Kallus straightened his ISB uniform as he walked to the Dome's conference suite reserved for the Inquisitors' use, wishing he had an excuse to wear his armor. Something about his latest failure to capture Garazeb's rebels had drawn the Inquisitors' attention. Although he'd reviewed the incident over and over since receiving his summons to the Inquisitors' suite, he still couldn't think what he'd done to draw their ire. Aside from losing track of the Ghost, of course, which he did not remotely regret.
A Togruta with green and white marking on gray-blue skin paced in the suite entryway. The dark robes and the cold eyes he turned on Kallus as he let himself in left no question as to whether this person were the Inquisitor who'd summoned him.
"Reporting as ordered, Third Brother." Kallus stood at attention and stopped himself from flinching when the door slid shut behind him.
"Why did you fail to bring the rebels you hunted, 'as ordered?'" The Inquisitor's voice was as cold as his eyes.
"The rebels were jamming my communications. It took time to get the TIEs their order to launch, during which the Ghost escaped to hyperspace."
It hadn't hurt that Kallus had spent the past few weeks cultivating a deeply unpleasant animosity with the local squadron commanders, ensuring that none of them would rush to follow his orders. What he sacrificed in control he made up for in plausible excuses like this one.
The Inquisitor's eyes narrowed. "There's more to this. What aren't you saying?"
In Kallus's mind, ocean waves rolled onto a shore near the Academy's field training facility. He focused on the rising and retreating rush of water on sand. "As I said in my report, we first received word of the rebels--"
Something shifted in Kallus's chest. It felt foreign, not any muscle or organ of his. He coughed. He hoped he was imagining something pressing on his left lung.
"We received word of them through our port security liaison," which was true, "but their ship had already gotten take-off clearance. I contacted Captain--"
The thing in Kallus's chest ignited into blazing, writhing agony.
He clawed his uniform jacket open. Propriety didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was getting this thing out of him before it squirmed its way to his heart.
Low groans fell from his lips with every breath. The Inquisitor hadn't said anything as Kallus got a hand under his shirt and felt for whatever was moving under his skin. Did the Inquisitor not realize something was wrong?
Kallus risked a glance up and found the Third Brother watching him claw at his own skin. The Inquisitor didn't look alarmed. More like... amused.
The thing in Kallus's chest flailed, and this time it drew a scream from him. It was under the muscle, burning like a living blaster bolt. Kallus raked his nails across his chest. Torn skin wedged itself under his fingernails. Blood ran down his stomach and stained his uniform pants.
"Help me," he groaned at the watching Inquisitor, in case the Third Brother hadn't activated the kriffing thing inside Kallus, somehow.
The Third Brother just bared his sharp teeth in a grin.
Kallus's nails slipped in blood and raw skin. Why hadn't the thing burned its way through him by now? Clawing at it wouldn't work, he couldn't get through the slick muscles over his ribs. He drew his vibroblade from its sheath.
In his panic and overwhelming pain, clawing at his skin hadn't really hurt. Digging the vibroblade's tip into the muscle near where the thing continued to writhe and burn inside him, though... That did. Blood sheeted over his abdomen.
"Hm. You went to that rather quickly." The Third Brother waved his hand.
The writhing pressure against Kallus's lung disappeared. The burning pain vanished like it had never been there. The only pain he felt now was the urgent throb where four centimeters of vibroblade were still buried in his chest muscles.
Gasping, Kallus pulled the blade free. More blood ran down his front. His balance wavered. Kallus dropped his shirt over the mess of his torso, so he didn't have to look at it.
"What..." Kallus swallowed, desperate to get his cracking voice under control. "What did I..."
"What have you been leaving out of these reports, Agent Kallus?"
The sea, the sea on the shore, the sea and the blood running down his chest and gods, what a scar that desperate digging would leave... "I've been having some difficulty with the local TIE squadron commanders. Nothing... Nothing I felt the need to report. It is my problem to solve. But." Kallus wished he had something other than seawater to drink. His mouth felt so dry. "Those difficulties... contributed to the delay... In following the rebels."
That was the truth, that was the truth, he was going to pass out in a moment and that was truth too.
The Inquisitor sighed in obvious disappointment. "Solve it, then. See that they don't slow you down again. On my authority, if yours is insufficient." Kallus should not be pleased at that sneer, he should be terrified, he was terrified, what had been done to him... "Begin now." The Third Brother pointed sternly toward the door.
Kallus staggered out the suite door. He was lucky it closed itself behind him. If he turned around now, he really would pass out.
A squad of Stormtroopers in the hall outside the Inquisitor's suite stared at Kallus, their faces unreadable in their helmets. "As you were," Kallus croaked at them. Only once they moved on did he begin the long, slow walk to the medbay.
#star wars#swr#whump#yes him again shush#No Effort Whumptober#no.19#Psychological#so many textures!#text#I am so glad they left me an undescribed Inquisitor to play with#Although this might be that guy in Ahsoka who is very much not a Togruta#Self harm whump
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Wip whenever or whatever
I'm tired, had a hell of a (two) weeks and then I worded like...7000 words in a day then I drew the descriptions....
And throwing in some other art stuff I'm bouncing around XD
That's it really XD
tagged by @mareenavee and @saltymaplesyrup
~Art and Writing~
And that writing I was doing under the cut!
Jiub's POV
Your brow furrowed, the faded, violet tattoos that framed your face creasing with the movement. I had worried about covering this part in my memoirs. Talking about the last six years often upset you but I wanted your opinion on it. I wanted your thoughts on everything, really. It was you who had inspired me to take on the winged menace after all. On that one fateful day in the Ashlands. A raging ashstorm and a flock of the things had taken you down by the old Redoran estate at Bal Isra. I had heard your cries as I made my crossing on my silt strider, my destination, Ald’ruhn, where you had been travelling from. I had shot every last one of the things, though the fight was a difficult one. Then I offered you my hand…and a ride back to Maar Gan.
It was out of my way, in the opposite direction to my destination but there was that look in your eye that I recognised from our first meeting on that prison ship. Fear. Fear made you combative, made you lash out. Though that time, you let me console you. You let me help. You even took that leftover lunch I had offered you. You had been so concerned over the loss of the gift you’d carefully prepared to give to that Velothi. The one your superior had charged with guiding you to that Ashland camp. I couldn’t just let you walk into that potential snake pit with nothing to show. I had grown fond of you during our brief interactions, though that was often a habit of mine. I always form attachments too quickly.
Though the truth was there was little to worry about. That Velothi would become more than a hired guide to you after all. He was your champion, your right hand through the ordeals to come. I supposed I had always been a little envious of your late husband. How you had taken to him, the stories I’d overhear in Vvadenfell’s corner clubs and tradehouses of the Nerevarine and his champion. The rumours of your exploits, as the two of you gathered armies and favours and… I wished I could have been a part of it, but fate would not have our paths cross again until four years later and my dear, you always knew how to make an entrance.
It was an evening, not unlike this. A storm crashing through Kvatch, winds raging and the loud, rambunctious jeering from a mer who had way too much to drink in the alley below. When the crashing came from the alley and not from the storm, I resolved to go check. It was not an uncommon occurrence, my apartment sat behind the local tavern after all. Drunks were a common sight but there was a certain, potent distress to the cries that had been coming from the alley that night. Odd, considering that night was meant to be one of celebration… well, amongst the Dunmeri diaspora anyway. The fourth anniversary of the defeat of Dagoth Ur and his minions. An end to the Blight that had decimated our homeland for centuries and counting. A festival to honour Morrowind’s great protector. I had chosen to stay in that night, to work on my memoirs, as I often did but the commotion from outside, the yelling the- I had come outside to tell you to piss off somewhere else. That you were disrupting my concentration! How could I tell the world of my own brilliant exploits when there was some drunken fetcher screaming profanities about the Nerevarine at the top of his lungs?
I always said you knew how to make an entrance, Sero and an entrance you made. I found you passed out alone in that alley. A large gash to your head where you had struck a barrel of gods know what and a curious, expensive dagger laying by your side. There was blood everywhere, I couldn’t make sense of it all. You were lying alone, crumpled and small, shivering half naked in soiled clothing. A bottle of Cyrodiilic brandy smashed into a thousand pieces against my wall.
It was sad, to see how far you had fallen in such a short time. I had seen the paintings of you throughout Morrowind and later, the reproductions in Cheydinhal. You always looked so regal in them. So strong, like the hero everyone expected you to be. The legend from the stories. The mer with a fire in his eyes. He who had stared death in the face and sent it screaming into the jaws of Oblivion.
It was a stark contrast to the mer who lay passed out cold from drink and grief in the alley beside my apartment in Kvatch. Small, shivering and horribly scared from all that had happened in these last few years. I felt a sense of compassion I supposed, you always showed up in the strangest of circumstances. I gathered you into my arms as you whispered a name that wasn’t mine and I chose not to correct you. I took you inside and placed you on the daybed in my study. It would be easiest to watch over you from there. I had cleaned you up, changed you out of those filthy trousers and left you to sleep off your bender in the warm quiet of my study. It was as I was cleaning you up that I found the source of the bleeding, a series of deep lacerations around a ring too small for your finger. The one that told everyone who had heard the tales exactly who you were.
You told me when you had awoken that you had tried to remove the ring. That you had resorted to trying to amputate the entire digit when the band wouldn’t budge. As it tightened around your finger. As His taunts swirled like a sickness in your head. You wanted to be rid of it all, to forget that the last few years had ever happened. That you always broke like this whenever this day came around.
#my art#my wips#teldryn sero#danger!josh#Jiub#he's the POV here#Erra Ilaba'andul#nerevarine#dunmer#morrowind#oblivion#the elder scrolls#skyrim#kvatch#saint jiub#nerevarine teldryn#tesblr#urshilaku#ashlander
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The Queen of Lies: Faith and Freedom
Story Intro | Contents [Warnings] | Mood Board | Vibey Song Lyrics | Ao3
Contents: blood, injury, illness, guy whump [all just leftover stuff from the last few chapters :) no new bad stuff]
Previous | Masterlist | Next
Word count: 3650 || Approx reading time: 15 mins
Faith and Freedom
Teaser: “Just give me a minute,” he said, grunting and coughing as he sat up. After a moment, he drew up his knees and rested his forehead there. “Feels like I’m dying.”
The world beyond the prison walls was cloaked in shadow, with thick cloud cover blocking out the stars, leaving only the yellow gas street lamps to illuminate a city that had mostly gone to sleep. Two frantic figures, a boy and a girl—a thief, a prisoner who had been set free, and his rescuer, who had spent four long year being Baden Hatchett’s wife and who no longer knew what she was—stumbled through the streets. He did not speak, nor did she; rather, they fled in silence, letting their ceaseless, hurried footfalls break the peace of the autumn midnight. It was not long, however, before the boy’s strength waned, his steps growing unsteady and his breathing more laboured.
The hand that was still clutched in the girl’s went slack.
And the thief fell.
Fear spread through her, so strong it sent numbness to her toes and fingertips, as the boy hit the ground. “No!” Dropping to her knees, shaking his shoulder as gently and urgently as she could, she breathed, “Please, please, no, no, no, wake up, wake up—”
He groaned, blinking open eyes that in the gloom appeared a much darker hue than the gold-and-green colour she knew them to be. “What?”
She almost collapsed to the cobblestone, too, but not with exhaustion; rather, it was with relief that she’d been able to rouse him. “You…you scared me.”
He glanced around, seeming to perceive that he was on the ground and woozy. With a soft groan, he took a deep breath and let his head fall back against the stone. “Fuck. Just…”
The girl swallowed. “I’m scared you’re…” She wanted to say, too weak to keep going, but how would he react to those words? If she’d ever said such a thing to Baden, he would have slapped her hard enough to leave a bruise for a week.
“Just give me a minute,” he said, grunting and coughing as he sat up. After a moment, he drew up his knees and rested his forehead there. “Feels like I’m dying.”
“You’re not dying.” He couldn’t be; she wouldn’t allow it, not after everything she’d gone through to get him out of that awful prison cell. She glanced around, wishing it weren’t so dark. It had been a blessing as they crept from the prison grounds, but now it served only to make the towering houses and unlit storefronts seem dingy and menacing. “We need to get somewhere safe. It’s only going to get colder, and you need to eat. And drink. And rest.”
“What?” he said, half-heartedly mocking. “Can’t I stay at your house?”
She clenched her jaw and refused to take the bait. It was too cold, and she was kneeling in a puddle, and the wind was picking up into a sinister sort of howl, and she was too frightened to chase down whether the teasing was good-natured or not. “I’ve got an inn room booked, but we need to make it there.”
The secret note for Alice, hidden in the returned copy of The Scarlet Letter—tucked into the last marked page and written in the tiniest hand she could form: As I am unwell and cannot make the arrangements myself, could you please visit the Whitemoor Inn and book a room for my cousin, Lucy Cooper, for one night? I’ve enclosed enough funds to cover her stay.
One night for a young woman named Lucy Cooper to fleetingly exist, and come morning, she would dissolve into the ether, gone forever—as would the girl and the boy who’d occupied her room.
“A room booked?” he repeated, holding his head now. “You—you actually got some kind of plan? Seriously?” His eyes were still hazy with pain, but he was alert, and his gaze had gone wide. “You got money?”
“Yes,” she said, “I do.” She’d had one chance, one, between Baden letting her out of her room and him taking her to the prison to beg for forgiveness—one fleeting blissful moment when no one’s eyes had been on her. She’d taken as much money as she could from the safe in his study, the one he thought she didn’t know about.
That wasn’t all, though. In her coat pocket, sewn into the lining, there hid as much jewelry as she’d dared to take from the box on her dresser—enough to pawn for extra funds, not so much that it would weigh down her clothes or jingle as she walked.
Finally, there was the second half of her entreaty to Alice: if her friend had come through for her and done as she asked, a parcel waited for “Lucy Cooper” at the inn, containing a necklace and a ring, all she could reasonably and surreptitiously fit into Alice’s book. They would fetch a good price somewhere. Of course, the girl had no way of knowing if Alice had acquiesced, but she’d picked that friend over the other for a reason. Marguerite would never have gotten involved, but Alice was sensible and kind, and she knew—she knew. So surely, surely, she’d made the arrangements.
As long as that was true, and as long as the innkeeper didn’t turn them away at the sight of her companion, they would have somewhere warm and safe to sleep for the night.
If only the thief didn’t look like he had just stumbled out of a street brawl.
“Do you think you can keep going?” Her voice slipped out high-pitched and breathy. Too many worries, too few answers to soothe them.
He fixed her with a look of pained, miserable resignation. “Gonna have to.”
She pressed a hand to his face again. Despite the chill of the night, it was still hot. “I’m scared...” She couldn’t finish her thought.
The thief groaned again as he got cautiously to his feet—not pulling away when she held his good arm to steady him—and said, “Scared? Don’t worry. I’ll protect you.”
For a moment, she didn’t even know what to say. Her eyes roamed from his blood-flecked shirt to his black-and-blue skin to the entirely useless arm in Mrs. Bristow’s apron-sling.
They landed on his lips, which were ever so slightly quirked upwards.
“Well, good,” she finally managed. “If—if we are set upon by an army of kittens, I’m very glad you’ll be here to defend me.”
He choked out a laugh, coughed, and took a few wary steps, letting her cling to his arm; he wobbled slightly, but he stayed upright. “Lead the way, princess.”
She was going to have to do something about the name problem.
As they moved through the winding streets, she stuck close to him, partially because she feared he would pass out again, but also because she had never wandered the city at night before, by herself or with anyone else, and the warm presence of his body—beaten and worn-out though it was—gave her a peculiar sense of security. She knew it was probably false.
Still, she clung to it anyway.
“What am I to call you?” she dared to ask after a while. Although she was, indeed, desperate for an answer, she also worried that if she remained too quiet, he’d slip back into unconsciousness. “Am I allowed to know now?”
“Don’t get all uppity about that,” he mumbled. “Can you blame me for being suspicious?”
No, she thought, but she didn’t say it. She merely pointed the way down a nearby street. Almost there. They had to be almost there. “That’s not an answer.”
It was a long while, it seemed, of something happening behind his eyes that she could not decipher, some tug-of-war between giving a real answer and not until he at last told her, “I don’t have a name.”
Another lie, of course; he had a name, but he didn’t trust her with it. What a surprise. Why should he? All she had done was give up her entire life and risk everything to break him out of prison. “Please.”
He bit his lip and again took a long time to answer. “I…I can’t.” His gaze flitted around, as if he expected someone to burst out of the dark and streak towards them. As if he feared they were being followed.
Why should her chest feel so tight? He came from a life of crime—of course he was perpetually suspicious. Surely, he had to be. It had been foolish to hope for he might give a straight answer. “Something. Anything.”
After a moment, after a third agonizingly long pause, he said, “Fox.”
“Fox?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
A phrase she’d heard the day Baden found her in his cell drifted back to mind. “Fox-thief…”
He stiffened. Yanked his hand from her grasp. “Don’t—don’t. Don’t call me that. Please.”
“All right,” she said, horrified. “I won’t.”
When silence fell again, she didn’t chase it away.
He stumbled once more, dropping to his knees but staying conscious, and when she pulled him up, her tears blurred her vision enough that it obscured the strain in his features and the violent shaking of his limbs.
Finally, when the inn loomed before them, she pointed at its dimly lit door. “This one.”
“This one,” he repeated. Voice weaker now, words slightly slurred. He was failing by the second, she realized, perhaps having depleted the frenetic, urgency-fuelled strength that had helped him run once Mrs. Bristow got them beyond the prison gate.
“Let me go in first,” she said. “I’ll settle up if I need to and come get you.” That, she supposed, was the best course of action. The innkeeper might not notice her bruises—but Fox? A superstitious person might take one glance and conclude that he had risen from the very pits of hell.
“Okay,” he said, bracing his good arm against the wall, and she turned on her heel and hurried inside.
The woman who presumably ran the inn was dozing, and no wonder; it was the middle of the night. Her eyes snapped open, however, at the sound of approaching footsteps.
“My name is Lucy Cooper,” said the girl whose name was not Lucy Cooper. “One Mrs. Wright made arrangements for my room a few days ago, I believe?” Too late, she remembered she was wearing trousers. “I—um—please excuse my appearance. I’ve been...um...I’ve been travelling.”
The woman peered down at a piece of paper in front of her, appearing merely drowsy and rather bored. “Just one night?”
Relieved that the woman either hadn’t noticed or did not care what she was wearing, the girl said firmly, “Yes. Only one.” Once Baden learned that she was missing, he would search for her, and at some point, he would speak to Alice, and Alice, not knowing what else to do, would lead him here.
He would find neither Breanna Hatchett nor Lucy Cooper in this inn.
Instead, the boy called Fox and the girl who was called—well, who was called something—would be long gone.
“You’re already settled up for the room.” The woman tapped a list of meals and their fees and turned it towards the girl. “You want to pay for food, too?”
“Yes. I would.” The answer rushed out. “Whatever you have now, if you please, and some breakfast, too, before we depart.”
The woman raised her eyebrows and glanced toward the grandfather clock behind her, which displayed an hour not typically associated with taking a meal. “Now?”
“Yes,” repeated the girl firmly.
The woman frowned. “We might have some broth still,” she said. “It won’t be hot anymore.”
“That’s all right.” She paused. One more inquiry before she paid. “Did Mrs. Wright leave a parcel for me, by any chance?”
With a sigh, the woman turned away to rummage somewhere behind her. After a few moments, she returned with a wrapped box, slightly crumpled but intact. “There you are, Miss Cooper.”
“Thank you.” The girl took it gratefully, promising silently that she would one day find a way to repay Alice for her kindness.
As the innkeeper took the money and filled out the rest of the paperwork, the girl tried to steady her breath, bracing herself against the new fears that rushed in. Never mind the fact that she was renting a room for herself and a strange, half-clothed, terribly battered man who bore only a false name and who was not her husband. Now she had to contend with bringing him inside without drawing attention. What if the woman took one look at his bloody skin and the tattoo on his arm, and threw them out?
“All finished up, Miss Cooper.” The woman handed her a key. It lay cold and heavy in her palm.
At first, she couldn’t find the man in question at all. It took a few moments to realize he had sat down on the ground, back against the wall, slumped and half-conscious.
“Fox,” she whispered, tapping his uninjured shoulder, eliciting a moan. “Wake up.”
His eyelids fluttered open. “Hmm?”
“We can go in now.” He groaned, and she tried again to rouse him. “Do you want to sleep out here in the cold?”
“Not really,” he mumbled, letting her help him to his feet. “I’m so fucking tired. Everything…everything hurts.”
“I know,” she said, her heart cracking open in her chest. “We’ve got our room. Let’s find it.”
In the narrow, lamplit corridor where she located their room, he leaned against the wall, waiting for her to finish struggling with the key in the lock. With his head resting on his good arm, as he breathed heavily from the climb up the stairs, he watched her, or seemed to, although his eyes kept drifting closed.
“Bed. Now,” she said, pointing toward it when they made it inside. His exhausted gaze swept the room, obviously counting.
“Just one. It’s for you,” he mumbled.
“Don’t be absurd.” She pulled him toward the lumpy-looking mattress with its yellowed sheets and woollen quilt. “You’re hurt and sick. Lie down.”
“You gonna sleep on…what? The floor?”
He really thought she would be able to sleep? After everything? “Never mind about me. Get yourself in that bed, now, before I throw you into it.” She resisted the urge to clap a hand to her mouth and backtrack as she realized she had practically shouted at him. “Uh—” Fox was staring at her with a wide-eyed expression she could not read. “I mean…please.”
He laughed. It was weak and riddled with coughs, but it was genuine, and relief swept over her like a warm wind, because…
Because if she’d ever ordered Baden around like that…and threatened him like that…no matter how empty the threat was…
“There should be a meal waiting downstairs,” she said. “I’ll go get it. You can rest, but you must at least drink. If you fall asleep, I’m going to wake you.”
Fox sat heavily on the bed. “You’re the boss, princess.”
By the door, she paused. Princess. The name was silly, and she got the feeling he wasn’t using it to be cruel, but her thoughts on the matter of her name had been boiling over since she gave the innkeeper her false one. The girl closed her eyes, imagining who she would have to be once the light of dawn broke. Someone courageous and clever, someone who faced her fears instead of burying them or running scared. Someone who was bold enough to grasp the life she wanted with both hands.
Hopes and memories flashed in her mind, bringing with them disembodied faces and disjointed pictures—flames, ink, books, blood, and a heavy sunrise filled with promise.
She let her eyes fly open, the answer to the question Who am I? coming to her in a sudden burst.
“You can keep calling me Bree,” she told him, and he raised his eyebrows. “I decided I like it after all. So that’s—that’s my name now. Bree. Bree Scarlett.”
Fox nodded slowly, his eyes on hers, repeating the name to himself, at first under his breath, then a touch louder, as strong as his weak and tattered voice would go. “Bree Scarlett. I…I like it, too.”
Cheeks suddenly blazing hot enough to be unintentionally—and newly—eponymous, Bree Scarlett hurried away, closing the door behind her. As she bounded down the stairs, tempted to take them two at a time like a giddy schoolgirl, she repeated her name to herself, and she found that the very taste of it on her tongue filled her soul with glee.
***
Defying her own prediction, Bree did fall asleep, the siren’s song of slumber suddenly irresistible the moment she let herself rest, and she awoke curled against the wall, which was where she settled after determining that the room’s wooden chair was even less comfortable than the floor. She startled awake with a gasp, trapped for a moment in the dizzying space between the waking and sleeping worlds, wondering where on earth she was and how she had gotten there.
She took one look around, and reality came crashing down: she had run away from her husband, set his prison on fire, and sprung a thief from jail.
Bree waited for the panic to set in, for the bone-breaking terror that, at any moment, Baden would burst through the door and tear her to shreds for her betrayal and her crimes.
It did not come.
Instead, she felt strangely calm, detached from the chaos she had wrought in her pursuit of freedom. Her eyes wandered over the room, with its wood-panelled walls, slightly uneven floors, and inarguably paltry sleeping spaces, trailing her gaze over the door and the window that by some miracle remained silent and unassailed by constables pounding and breaking through. It was a veritable marvel, how unafraid she felt.
As she looked around, her inspection paused upon the boy who called himself Fox.
He was still asleep, lying on his side, looking for all the world serene despite the blood still crusting his skin. Her throat tightened, horror creeping through the short-lived peace she’d just been enjoying as she took in the sorry sight of him again.
How many of those wicked bruises had been dealt by Baden himself?
She forced away the thought. There was little she could do right now about the guilt that stole through her and would not retreat; however, she had a new problem to contend with that she could solve. Fox had fallen asleep so quickly after she brought him water and the inn’s lukewarm broth that he hadn’t even gone under the wool quilt, and now he shivered in the chill of the night air.
Bree searched for something to keep him warm. Ah—there—her jacket, abandoned in a crumpled heap near the door.
How furious, she thought, her fatigue doubling as her husband invaded her thoughts again, Baden would be if he could see how carelessly and messily she’d flung aside her clothes. And how furious he would be if he knew how much she wished she could simply escape the thought of him for even a few minutes.
How furious he would be to see her pausing at the bedside of his foe, gently laying her own clothing over his body and tucking in the sides to keep him warm.
For a moment, it seemed as if her mission to blanket Fox’s shivering form without waking him had been a success, but as she turned away, his fingers curled around her wrist, the unexpected touch sending a jolt through every limb.
“Why?” His voice was rough, thick with sleep and whatever sickness ailed him. But the word was intelligible.
“You’re cold,” she said. “I could see you shivering.”
“No.” When she turned slowly back to him, his eyes were open. Bleary, yes, but he knew her. And he remembered what she had done for him. “Why. Are you. Doing this. Hel… Helping me?”
Good god, what was she supposed to say to that? What explanation was there?
“Because,” she said, failing to banish from her mind the image of him chained and on his knees, horrified at the sight of her for fear that it would bring him more agonizing pain, “you didn’t deserve what he did to you.”
He watched her, still shivering. “I…am. You know.”
“You are, what?”
“A criminal. A thief. In. In…IA.”
The cough that had been so quiet while he slept returned. Bree bit her lip, wondering what to say to quell his anxieties and allow him to rest. “Sleep more,” she said, deciding to ignore what he had mumbled—what he’d told her like she didn’t already know. “I’ll be here.”
“Bree.” He winced, overtaken by some phantom pain whose source she could not discern. “Bree. Don’t…”
He didn’t finish, and for a moment she thought he had fallen asleep mid-sentence. But his eyes were still on her when she looked back down. “I won’t leave.”
“No.” He closed his eyes. “Don’t fuck me over. Please.”
Even now, he feared she would betray him. Bree blinked back tears.
“You won’t, right?”
“I promise I won’t,” she whispered. Gently, she tried to pull her arm away, yet his fingers didn’t let go.
“Thank you,” he mumbled. So quiet, so indistinct, it was difficult to make out. “For saving me.”
Unable to bring herself to speak, and uncertainly unable to give the reply that came to mind, Bree swiped at her face with her free hand, her treacherous tears spilling over despite her efforts to hold them back.
She did not move until his fingers loosened and fell away—until the boy called Fox was asleep once more, perfectly still save for the rise and fall of his bruised, battered chest.
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A mighty good team
(Happy Veterans/Armistice Day, y’all, let’s keep peace in our minds, hearts, and prayers.)
When - immediately following ‘Oh my.’ after you saw that little plus sign on Lori’s pregnancy test. It takes place during the night of S02 Cherokee Rose.
What - that seed of worry about your big brother being a ‘cause for concern’ grows a whole lot bigger when you put two and two together about the new bun in the oven. But it’s okay, Daryl had beers right? You’ll just chug whatever he’s got left so you can get out of your head, right? So long as you don’t topple over on the way to his tent!
Relationships - you and your mangy hick make a mighty good team, just sayin’. As well, you comfort Lori, so three cheers for siblingly/non-romantic love. You also make a cop joke to Rick and Shane.
Genre - i dunno, but there’s plenty of platonic fluff once y’all make your way to Daryl’s tent.
Perspective - You x Him
Pronouns - they/them, feminine implied imo
TWs - language, stress related to the Shane/Lori/Rick baby situation as well as Lori reacting with rejection fueled by fear regarding having another child, and Daryl drank 4 beers
Word count - Quit clucking like a mother hen. Lol, don’t worry, it’s about 3,400, so even shorter than the last one, which was shorter than I tend to do. Do I get a prize in the morning? :D
Refs to other stories - tinnitus following too much ibuprofen, how you and Daryl use the ‘idiot’ and ‘bitch’ to insult one another when squabbling because you hate being called ‘idiot’ and he hates being called ‘bitch.’ Check out ‘Oh my.’ so you know what the little fireside nap dream was.
And there are more references, but thankfully we have a: Link to the Masterlist so you can read up and turn into a bonafide Slowpoke! There’s a Ko-fi link, too, if you can spare something to help me pay toward my tires.
You
“Lori.”
“Y/N—” she stammers, but you’re too busy squeezing her again as all your worries melt away. She’s pregnant! After all this time, she’s finally pregnant again!
You’re smiling ear to ear and even crying a happy tears. “Lori, aw, don’t you make that face, this is wonderful news!” you nearly squeal even as you try to keep your voice quiet. “D-does Rick know yet? I’m so—I’m so happy I could scream! What about Carl, you must be—it must be very early days! Four weeks at most, must be?”
She’s crying too. But you see that those aren’t happy tears.
Oh, Lori. She must be scared out of her mind with worry. Can’t fault her there. “Lore, shh, come here.” You sidle up close to her and brush her hair back from her face. “We found a doctor—well, a vet, but he knows his stuff—and Miss Patricia is a nurse. We found a safe place here. And hey, at this rate, we might will find more survivors who have medical training!” you babble, trying to give comfort but meaning every word. “And Glenn and me, we’ll take a team, go to the nearest library or college, g-get us books on, on childbirth and the um, the VBAC stuff, the blood type incompatibility stuff, all that—”
She keeps crying quietly, barely making a sound. You rub her back and flip off and on from thinking thank you over and over to what can I say to help her?
This is wonderful news. Unexpected, scary, but good.
“This ain’t bad news, Lore. I promise.”
She tries to nod and ends up stammering, “I can’t tell Rick,” as if she’s done something wrong.
Red flag.
“What do you mean?”
She’s even quieter when she whispers, “Shane can’t know.” Her voice sounded frightened when she said that part.
Red flag, red flag.
The seed of dread in your stomach is beginning to bud.
Oh, Shane, what have you done? What does your brother have to do with this?
Red flag, red flag, red flag.
You don’t ask anything else, your brain is working too fast for your mouth to work at the moment. The ringing in your ears gets louder. The wooziness worsens even though you’re seated.
Then the connection meets and the waving red flags come to a halt.
You’re…you’re uncertain if the conclusion you drew will insult her. It’s not your intention.
The buds of dread begin to open as you gently and softly ask, “Would you say you’re four weeks along, or maybe a little further?”
Rick came back about four weeks ago. But…you know Shane and she had gotten close. Maybe ‘close’ meant rather closer than you’d assumed.
Neither Shane nor Lori said anything to you about it. You get why.
And…goddammit, you’re angry at Shane (When will he learn? When?), as much as you wish you weren’t. You can’t deny that; but you can understand how it would have happened.
The world ended. Relationships have been on speed-mode, be it friendship, love, or hatred. And Lori is beautiful, your brother is good-looking, and they’ve known each other for decades.
It even could’ve just been down to wanting a release or comfort, you reckon, just look at what happened with Glenn and Maggie today.
And Lori, she had thought she was a widow. Rick was dead, you’d all thought so! And that was after he’d already been in a coma for a month before the world fell apart.
Her face is buried in her lap. She curls in on herself before confessing it.
“I c-could be up to six weeks.”
Oh my.
The dread blooms.
You breathe in, out.
In. Out.
Resting a hand on her back, you stare unblinking at your backpack. “How long have you been carryin’ this alone, Lori,” you murmur, “before taking that test?”
Her hands are gripping her hair as she sniffs in reply, “Just a week. It, it was after we had the goose that I wanted to find a test, b-but…” Her hands cover her face and she bends her knees to her chest.
Your memories hop back to about a week or so ago, after you and Daryl bagged the Canada goose.
As it was cooking, she wasn’t doing too well with the smell. But even domesticated meat can smell kinda nasty when it’s cooking, so you never considered that it could be something more—and when she couldn’t really stomach the meat, you just chalked it up to it not tasting very edible.
And she’s been tired, but everyone has been to some degree. And it’s possible she really is only four weeks; she knew very early with Carl and one of the ones who didn’t make it. But in the event she’s five or six weeks…well, it’s not like she could consider a late period as a sign right now. Cycles have been going haywire since the outbreaks due to all the stress, dietary and exercise changes, and, and…oh, Lori. What do I say, what do I say?
“Rick won’t hate you or blame you.”
She’s trembling. “I don’t want to hurt him.”
“He loves you.”
“But I can’t do this,” she almost snaps. “Condemn another child to a world like this? How could—I-I can’t, I can’t.”
At that, you feel a chill. That’s not good to hear.
You place your fingers over the spot where you’re stitched up from the same fragments that nearly took your Carl away. “Comfort and safety, even good health couldn’t ever be guaranteed,” you hush. “Even before all this, Lore. And you won’t be doing it alone, you’ll have all of us. Hell or high water.”
“B-but what am I gonna do?”
Shushing delicately, you rest your head on hers and can only think to answer, “Let us help you sleep and eat enough, for a start.”
Her breath catches and she releases a suppressed sob into her lap.
The unspoken problem of your brother is still raising its invisible hand.
Your family wasn’t the type who placed too much focus on blood, how could you?, but the context is different when it comes to fostering and adoption.
This is a somewhat stickier situation. And Shane is…Shane. He’ll get very possessive protective of what he’d think was ‘his,’ at least biologically.
What do I say, what do I say?
“Rick will be so happy that there’s another one in there,” you whisper, smiling. “Carl will be so excited.”
She shakes her head and whispers back, “Shane.”
Inhale. Exhale. Swallow. “Like me, he’ll be overjoyed about our new niece or nephew.”
Pulling away, her eyes meet yours and delve deep as if she’s searching for something. “He has to know it’s Rick’s.”
Holding her gaze and trying not to cry, you nod once. “He will.”
“It’s Rick’s,” she repeats under her breath. “It’s Rick’s…"
You close your eyes and send up more prayers for help as you press your forehead to hers.
Then you recall that strange dream you had by the fire and get another chill when you consider how oddly well it fits.
.........................
Him
He had a fourth beer. Chugged it down once he got back to his tent. All he’s got right now to show for it is that slightly warm feeling in his belly. Still barely even got any spins, must be weak-ass beer.
So long as it gets him sleeping.
...........................
You
Nope, sleep is gonna be impossible. This is way too much thinking before bed and your high pulse is making the ringing louder. You’ve got the mp3 player on but even the lowest setting feels too loud because of the clanging in your ears.
Where’s Daryl?
Daryl had beers. That was an eight-pack you saw back at the campfire, right? Yeah. And if there are none left, well, he’s somehow adept at getting you zen (usually after you squabble, but fuck it).
Thoughts are buzzing around your head like flies around a melted snow cone.
Lori is pregnant, and you’re thrilled to bits about it but…Shane’s possibly the biological father…and, fuck it, Shane is a cause for concern…and Sophia is alone for her fourth night in the woods or wherever she is, if she even ‘is’ anymore…and Carl just had major trauma and surgery…and if Mr. Greene finds out about what Maggie and Glenn did, how will he react?…
Not to mention that today you were in a flood-zone during a rainstorm so kept imagining how Dad got washed away and drowned in one, and this is after you had nightmares all last night reliving finding Mama dead and walking seconds before you killed that man.
Too much thinking, too much thinking, and now you’re regretting eating that oatmeal because your stomach feels queasy. If you didn’t know any better, you’d be convinced the roof of your tent was swirling!
But it’s okay, (it’s okay), it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okayyy. It’s. Okay.
Because Daryl had beers.
You’re gonna go ask for one, right now. Dale’s got scotch, sure, but you don’t know where it is and Dale might could be in bed already. And he turned your request down last night, so you’d have to steal sneak some, and if he catches you, he’ll only want to be all, you know, decent and fatherly and caring and shit, therefore won’t be down for you chugging straight from the bottle because you need to get out of your head!
So screw the idea that you shouldn’t have any alcohol after your painkiller miscalculation, the doc gave you the charcoal, so it’s fine, right?
Oh, that’s right, you don’t give a hoot anymore.
After clicking the music player off and yanking the earbuds out, you grit your teeth in pain as you sit up, then zip down and punch open the flap door to your little camo tent and—oh, people are still awake?
Huh.
…What time is it?
Even Jimmy’s still out. Glenn is still talking about something with him, Patricia and Carol are sitting by each other. Rick is finally outside by the fire, too. And Shane is back as well.
He and Rick aren’t sitting close. That’s been a growing problem and heck if it ain’t about to get bigger.
You grab the raggedy blanket from the corner of your tent and try to ignore how dizzy you feel when you move. You carefully walk to the campfire. Then you take Shane’s hand as you ask, “Rick, what’s the time?”
“Quarter past nine. Hey, um, did Hershel talk to you about his idea for Carl?”
…It’s only 9:15?
Blinking in disbelief that’s it’s not 1a.m., you resume what you were doing and plop your brother down next to Rick before remembering to answer, “He did, but um—too much thinking before bed ain’t advisable, so lemme just tuck you two in, we can chat in the mornin’.”
As you lay the blanket on their legs, Shane stifles a groan, knowing what’s coming. The hard lines in Rick’s forehead smooth out and he smothers a laugh, knowing what’s coming. Andrea’s amused hum clues you in that she’s noticed, and you glance over to see her smirking while finishing what’s in her beer bottle.
You look at your brothers. “Should I say, it or?”
It’s Rick who pushes his nose up with his pointer finger. It’s Shane who loses the try-not-to-smile war and outs with: “Pigs in a blanket, yeah?”
..............................
Him
Come on, sleep. Come on, sleep. Come on, sleep.
He wishes he had an I Spy book or some shit. Ha, he still can’t believe that worked that time, clear knocked him out.
Maybe if he had some weed? But Merle and him used it up the first two weeks of the world fucking ending.
There was some…there was some of the hard stuff left. Saw it in the saddlebag when he remembered the pills for T-Dog. Except blow amps you up, it doesn’t chill you out.
Damn, he’s considering using? Dramatic Darylina, just chug a fifth beer and zen the hell up, little bitch.
He fumbles around for his skinning knife, clicks on his flashlight, picks up the last beer and jimmies the cap off. Except he’s not two gulps down when he hears a quiet, “Oh, he is awake. Daryl?”
Y/N is here? Excitedly zipping the door open, he sees them turn around to face him but suddenly crouch/waver as if they’re about to fall over.
“Howdy. May I take you up on that pragmatic beer now?”
“Why you all crouched like that?” he grunts.
“I’m a tad dizzy.”
“Why?”
“’Cause my ears are ringin’.”
“Still?”
“It’s like Quasimodo is in there or somethin’.” They point with their thumb toward the treeline. “Accidentally took too many painkillers back at the old couple’s house off the trail.”
Shit, do they need their stomach pumped or something? And why is he starting to panic?
“It’s just ibuprofen, Dary-bear, plus the doc already gave me charcoal as a precaution, it’s all good,” they drone. “Might could I please have a beer?”
Aren’t you not supposed to mix painkillers and alcohol? And wait, Y/N knows that stuff, they mentioned it earlier. Plus, there was only one left and he’d—damn, of course he’d opened it.
“This is the last one,” he lamely replies.
“But there were two left…” they trail off. There’s this look on their face he can’t quite place. “Oh Daryl, how many did you have tonight?”
“…Four,” he tells them, feeling weirdly like a kid caught doing something he shouldn’t.
They nod to the bottle in his hand. “Is that your fifth?”
Did they just use a teacher voice with him? And not even an annoyed high school teacher voice, that right there was a kindergarten-teacher-telling-the-students-it’s-nap-time voice.
“What about it?”
He hears them tut and watches them frown before saying, “Hand it over.”
“Quit cluckin’ like a mother hen.”
“Quit screwin’ with your liver.”
“Coming from the idiot who took too many painkillers and wanted to wash it down with beer?”
“That’ll mess with the kidneys and stomach long-term, bitch, not the liv—” snips from their mouth until they realize what they just admitted. At first, they look confused. Then, they chuckle as if something was funny.
“Y’all good down there?” Shane’s voice calls from the campfire. Were the two of them arguing that loud?
“Ugh, fuck me,” Daryl grumbles to himself and takes another swig of his beer.
“Shane don’t swing that way, sorry,” is the furthest thing from what he expected Y/N to respond, and he snarfs up some beer accordingly while Y/N waves to their brother and gives him a thumbs up.
Cracking up, Y/N sighs, then moves from their crouched position onto their butt and sharply inhales when they do because it probably made their stitches ache. “‘Quit clucking like a mother hen’ was really funny, by the way.”
“Mhm, I’m here to entertain,” he grits back, both annoyed that he just snarfed up his beer and yet trying not to laugh too openly.
Their eyes flit to the bottle.
He *grumble* offers it to them. They bite their lip and shake their head. “That weren’t exactly my intention anymore.”
He glances at the bottle and…*grumble* then finds himself twisting his wrist so the beer pours out onto the grass. “Pain in the ass.”
............................
You
Beer now watering (intoxicating?) the grass, Daryl scoots back and reclines in his tent, adjusting his back to get comfortable. To your annoyance and concern, you’re intrigued at how his body moved kinda cat-like and how his arms look rather nice above his head like that.
“So, what’s the big secret?” he slurs just a tad.
The big secret? Did he see you and Lori go into your tent and assume—how would he have—???
“We didn’t talk about anything major, uh, it’s…” you trail off. Oh, he meant how you promised you’d tell him about…the man you shot and killed. You send up another simple prayer of I’m sorry regarding him and inwardly knock your head against a table because you’d promised you’d tell Daryl that little not-so-fun-fact over a beer. What a move, Y/N. “I thought you meant somethin’ else, my bad. Um—”
“—Don’t tell me you got more dirt? Was that whatever you and Glenn talked about? He looked like he coulda used a beer after you two were done.”
A monotone, noncommittal sound leaves your mouth as you stare into space.
Pretty night sky again. You consider the wonderful part of the latest batch of dirt. Lori’s pregnant again! “It’s good dirt. Well, half of it is.” Oh, Shane, what’s gonna happen with you?
“What is it, then?” Daryl huffs.
Oops. “Just some stuff.”
“Quarter.”
Okay, you walked into that one. How many quarters for white lies do you owe so far, two?
Appealing to his…dunno, maybe his sense of loyalty, you remind him, “Snitches get stitches, man.”
To which he cracks, “Y’already got some.”
Scrunching up your face in delight, you clap your hands together as you snort, “You’re on a roll tonight,” while trying not to tighten your core too much because ouchhh, those stitches of yours still hurt when you do so. Glancing over at him, he’s actually smiling.
Within seconds, however, he’s back to his usual standoffish self. He waves his hand in question. “So, why you tryin’ to get hammered this time?”
“Well, I ain’t anymore.” You already feel better. And you’d only wanted a beer or shot or two of liquor, nothing too crazy.
Now he’s doing that squinty thing at you as he grunts, “That your way of saying ya wanna drop it?”
You shrug. “What made you start on your fifth beer?”
“Dunno.”
“Quarter,” you tease.
“Stop.”
“Ha-ha.” You run your hand through your hair and realize your dizziness is ebbing. “So, what time we leavin’ tomorrow, 6, 6:30?”
He shakes his head from where he’s laying. “The group is gonna have a meet-up before we all head out. They’ll wanna wait ’til the sun is bright enough, count on 7:30 or 8.”
“We can’t just go earlier?”
“Today, all them kept running into each other’s grids. We need to make it clear where we’re lookin’ and when.”
“Fair play.” Adjusting your position and fighting the urge to lay down, you make sure, “Think you and me’ll be done searching the road and the ridge by 12 or 1?”
“I guess. Why?”
Don’t get mad. “Mr. Greene asked for my help with a medical procedure for Carl. Early afternoon I said I might would be back by.”
..............................
Him
He can’t get mad about that, no way. And early afternoon is enough time to scope out what they’d planned.
But is he…is he that much of an asshole that even Y/N for some reason thought helping a child who’s just been shot wouldn’t seem like a good enough reason to him?
And what the hell does his opinion matter, anyway? Besides, he can do shit on his own, don’t need nobody.
“You take care of Carl, I’ll find Sophia,” he says simply.
But this twitchy sensation wiggles in his chest when they immediately respond, “Deal,” with a relieved exhale. The nice feeling gets stronger when they then mumble, “We make a mighty good team, just sayin’.”
And Y/N then just flat-out lays down on the grass outside his tent. One hand rests on their belly, the other stretches up over their head.
“Hey Daryl? I was so happy to see the flower in the RV,” his friend next mumbles. “Carol said you told her the story, too.”
He isn’t sure how to respond, so he changes the topic. “Y’look like you’re about to nod off right there.”
“Mm, I feel so relaxed now. You did good, dude.”
What does that mean? Weirdo.
…He feels more relaxed now, too, though. Even if the two of them didn’t get into much conversation, they had a fun little squabble.
Maybe he should…yeah, he’ll dump the coke somewhere tomorrow. He’d heard something about a bloated, dead walker in a well out in one of the pastures, so he’ll prolly toss it in there since no one will be drinking from it.
The crickets aren’t as loud tonight. It’s colder.
Just to check on Y/N, he lifts his head slightly.
Seeing them lounging on the lawn like that first makes him contemplate tossing them his pillow, but it’s nasty so instead he figured an alternate plan would be his poncho so they can be more comfortable.
But, he thinks better on it, and “Go on, get your ass to bed,” is what he settles on.
They whine.
He grumbles. “Do I need to get your big brother over here?”
“Psht.”
A smile starts to form that he keep under wraps. He knows what’ll do the trick. “Gonna get ants and teeny little spiders all up in your hair and clothes.”
Sure enough that gets them going, complete with another whine.
“Goodnight, dude,” they snort.
“Yeah, g’night.”
He isn’t sure what made him lift his head to check on them again, but when he happens to look over, their face is contorting in pain as they attempt to position themselves in a way that’s avoiding using their injured arm/shoulder and their abdominal muscles to sit up so they can stand.
.....................
You
Him helping you up wasn’t expected, since he’d been laying down. But just like that, he’s out of his tent and gripping your forearm on your good side to hoist you upright.
Once you’re on your feet, his hand touches your back for a moment and you cup his upper arm to steady yourself.
“Thanks for the assist, man,” you sigh, brushing off your butt in case any dirt or grass stuck to it.
“Yeah. See ya in the morning.”
So, not to overshare, but that simple touch felt really nice. And his arm is hard as a brick.
Eesh, this whole Glenn/Maggie thing is messing with you.
Whatev, you do know one thing: what you told Hershel about feeling safe around Daryl was accurate and honest. Your That mangy hick, for some reason, simply isn’t threatening in that way.
And dude thank God you’d gone to see Daryl, for real. Y'all make a good team.
Wait, what was it exactly you’d sa — oh Moses, your twang had come back full force with him, hadn’t it? You’d said ‘a mighty good team,’ that’s right.
Ha, you talk like such stereotype sometimes.
“See you in the morning, Rick,” you call softly as you pass him on the way to your tent. “Sleep in a little later with Lori tomorrow, you both could use it.”
.........................
Him
He watches to make sure they don’t topple over on the way back. Thinks about how they did indeed mother-hen him, however, in all honesty, he doesn’t mind (that much, anyway).
He wonders where Sophia is sleeping. If she’s safe. If she ‘is.’
Shit, he flicks that thought off and shoves something better in its place: that tomorrow is only day four. He’d survived nine days at a younger age, she could survive, too.
Then, he’s thinking back on how Y/N looked so relaxed there on the grass a few minutes ago...which is a kinda weird thing to be thinking about.
Next he remembers how when they were talking to the doctor earlier, it was plain as day they’d lessened their accent. It sounded damn wrong to hear their voice like that, barely a twang in it.
He compares it to how comfy (and twangy) they sounded when they sighed “We make a mighty good team, just sayin’.”
That little fluttering warms in his chest again at the same time the corners of his mouth raise. And finally, all at once, his eyelids sink down, limbs grow heavy and he at last falls asleep.
................
teeny tiny taglist :D
@spenciepoo338 @its-freaking-bats @whistlesalot
#the walking dead#twd#the walking dead fanfiction#twd fanfiction#twd fanfic#daryl dixon x reader#daryl dixon x you#reader-insert#reader insert#reader insert fanfiction#slow burn#slow burn fanfiction#canon compliant#daryl dixon#daryl dixon fanfiction#Rick Grimes#Shane Walsh#andrea twd#Lori Grimes#the Slowpoke series
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