#SENDS OUT RADIO SIGNALS

[tommy-h-bff]

st fandom does a double take at the weird girls and weird boys who were canceled because of trauma dumping but the realization that the frequency of truth is in all actuality fucking horrifying should be concerning

in other words, the psychic warfare of silencing a fucking lab child worked and you're not so fucking cool after all because you follow a cult buh dum ts

[stylesispunk]

"What remains of us"

outbreak! Joel miller x f!reader

Summary: Joel doesn't die after the brutal encounter with abby because you saved him on time.

wc: 4k>

warnings: angst,mentions of blood, mentions of murder (reader becomes violent), fluff, mentions of broken bones. english is not my first language so excuse my mistakes. Written in a rush.

a/n: so uhmm. How are we feeling? I personally feel broken by the events from episode 2 so I rewrite the story while i was free in the morning to help me cope with the grief and joel is alive.

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

Something felt wrong in your bones the moment the snowstorm hit harder than anyone had expected. Not just the kind of wrong that came out from the conditions and freezing wind in a cold winter. This was deeper. Ancient. It whispered through the trees like a secret from another world, brushing icy fingers down your spine. In a kind of warning dressed up as bad weather. You felt it in your chest, in the weight behind your ribs, where your breath stayed too long before escaping your lips.

Your skin burned from the cold, your limbs throbbed from the fatigue, but it didn't compare to the way your heart pounded.

There was worry settled deep just over your chest from fear.

“Hey, you alright?” Jesse called ahead, pulling his scarf down just enough to meet your glance.

You nodded too fast, trying to find a source of breathing. “Yeah, but this storm is too cold.”

Ellie was further up the ridge, carving her own path through the deepening snow with over shimmer, unaware of how your whole body shook with more with the low temperature hitting your body. You hadn’t told any of them.

How do you explain to them that your body knew something your mind hadn’t caught up to yet? That every step forward feel like walking into danger?

Your heart was screaming at you, sending you signals through with every beating, in a language older than logic. Since the morning. Since Joel left your side before you could fully wake up.

The sound of his voice still lingered in your memory. It stayed there, like a tattoo he had kissed over your temple.

warm, softly, lingering as you stirred under the covers.

“Get some more sleep, darling.”

He hadn’t kissed your forehead like usual. He hadn’t lingered there. As if he couldn't face saying goodbye. And when you finally did get up, your gut twisted when you saw the empty space in the stable, the horse meeting, and snow falling hard over Jackson.

The truth was, Joel was out there with Dina; you had no idea under what circumstances.

The sky had turned more gray; it seemed angry, furious, waiting to hit someone else.

You shook your head, trying to focus on Jesse’s voice. Tried not to feed the panic unraveling in your chest like a pulled thread. But the cold in your mind spread, and no matter how tightly you gripped the reins, no matter how fast your horse moved, the feeling remained.

Something was definitely wrong; you could feel your heart beating harder.

You finally found a rundown outpost, an old hunting cabin half-buried in snow and swallowed by pine trees. The roof sagged, one of the windows was kind of cracked, and the door barely held on its hinges, but it was a shelter that would serve its purpose. You and Jesse pulled your horses inside the narrow lean-to out back, while Ellie stomped snow off her shoes and kicked the door open with force.

Inside, it was cold and smelled like old weed and damp rot, but you didn’t care; you needed to sit and think.

Inside, there was a radio.

You didn’t hesitate. You took your gloves off before Jesse could even notice. Your fingers moved over the knobs, turning dials, trying to find the frequency Jackson always used for patrol.

A burst of static. Then another, and finally, a signal.

Your breath caught. “Jackson patrol, do you copy?”

Ellie moved closer. Jesse pulled his scarf down, suddenly silent.

“Joel? Dina? Come in.”

Only static.

“Come on,” you muttered, heart hammering, twisting the dial again. “Joel, please, answer.”

There was nothing. This type of silence wasn’t normal or ordinary. You knew silence. This wasn’t a delay. It was an absence.

Your body went rigid, every instinct screaming louder than your racing thoughts. Your limbs moved before you made the decision. You were out the door and into the snow again before Jesse or Ellie could stop you.

He called after you still. But Ellie was already grabbing her rifle.

“Where are you going?” Jesse yelled, chasing behind.

“Something’s wrong!” you snapped, swinging onto your horse. “I just know it!”

Ellie mounted up beside you, voice louder within the storm, “Then we’re not wasting time.”

Jesse hesitated, glancing between you both and the radio inside.

“You don’t even know if that’s where they went—”

“I know,” you growled, already riding. “I feel it.”

Ellie followed you without a word. She trusted you, you were her family, and she would follow you wherever you went.

The snow clawed at your skin like it wanted to peel the truth away. The wind howled as if it knew what was waiting ahead. But you didn’t stop.

Because something had happened to Joel, and Dina was out there.

You and Ellie rode as fast as you could, the snow whipping across your faces like needles piercing your skin, the hooves of your horses lost beneath the storm. You could barely see five feet ahead, but then, in the distance, a glow that you could see anyway.

“Shit,” Ellie hissed beside you, pulling her hood lower.

You followed her gaze. Through the trees, past the slope of the hill, firelight. Orange, flickering, wrong. Was this your bad feeling creeping?

Fire was catching, rising in a bloom, too wild to be controlled. You slowed your horse as your stomach dropped.

“That's Jackson,” you whispered, more to yourself than to Ellie.

It wasn’t the whole town, not yet. But something was burning. And it was enough to send a coil of panic twisting through your gut, feeding that same deep certainty that had been clawing at you all day.

“Come on,” you growled, spurring your horse harder, cutting off the cold fear before it could settle. “We are way too far.”

And it wasn’t long before you saw it, the lodge over the hills.

It sat crooked and hunched near a clearing, like it had been dropped there by accident. Too nice to have survived years into the end of the world. One of the side windows was shattered. Smoke was seeping through cracks in the boarded upper floor. The front door hung ajar, barely moving in the wind.

You pulled hard on the reins. Your horse bucked a little, skidding in the snow. Ellie drew her rifle and slid off hers.

Your eyes locked on two shapes near the side of the lodge.

Horses.

Your heart stopped because those were Joel’s and Dina’s.

Both were tied loosely, hooves pawing nervously at the ground. Alone. No movement near the front entrance. No voices. No sounds but the wind and the creak of the old building groaning under the weight it wasn’t meant to bear.

You slid off your horse.

“Ellie,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, breath clouding in front of you.

She already had her knife out.

“Oh shit.”

You didn’t wait for backup. Couldn’t. There was something wrong.

Because Joel’s horse was here. And he wasn’t.

And whatever was inside that building, you felt it. It was about to break your heart open.

The sound of screams of agony and a body hitting the ground echoed down the hallway like a gunshot.

You knew that sound. It was torture. It was pain.

Your boots thundered down the corridor of the lodge, Ellie at your side, a worry and desperate look in her eyes. She’d followed the path like a wolf hunting its prey, her eyes screaming Please don’t let it be too late.

You didn’t say a word. Your heart was stuck in your throat, and the only thing that moved was your body, in fast motion, furious, drawn to the man who should have never left your side this morning in the first place.

Then you saw it. The door, a form from inside, screaming slipping from the lips you used to kiss every day. Those were Joel’s screams. In agony, in pain.

You didn’t wait. You didn’t breathe. You kicked the door open, and your world shattered.

Joel was on the floor, a mess of blood surrounding him and something worse. His legs bent at sort of unnatural angles. One hand barely raised in instinct. His face, bruised, bleeding, and one eye was swollen shut. His body twitched like it wasn’t sure if it should keep trying to fight life.

And above him, a woman. Blonde, her hair braided. Rage carved into her face like she’d waited for this moment. Her arms raised again, a golf club in her grip, stained in red.

She didn’t see you at first. Her eyes were solely focused on Joel, but you weren’t having that.

You roared, not screamed, roared, and tackled her with all the force you had, all your weight, all your fury into actions. You slammed her into the wall with a force that cracked wood. The golf club dropped from her hand and hit the ground.

“No more," you growled, your hand tightening around her throat.

Her group came fast, like shadows over you. One tackled Ellie to the ground. Another raised a knife at her. But they hadn’t counted on you.

You were already moving, eyes wild, mind gone. Every compassion you could have left in your body left, gone, you fought like someone who had nothing left in this life but him.

You weren’t skilled like Joel. You didn’t need to be. You were desperate. Right now, you were desperate.

Fists cracked bone. You took hits but didn’t stop. Didn’t feel them on you. You were pulling someone off Ellie, dragging them by their collar, throwing them into a chair that splintered on impact. You used what you had, a piece of wood, the same club the woman wore, your fists, and the most important thing, your fury.

And they couldn’t stop you. Because you couldn’t be stopped.

The blonde tried to rise again. You met her halfway and slammed her back to the floor. She spat blood. You didn’t flinch.

“Get away from him!” you shouted.

“Who the fuck—?!” Abby turned, fury and shock colliding on her face.

You dropped the shotgun, drew your blade, and charged.

The first one that tried to reach for you got a knife in his chest. You shoved him off like he was made of paper. The next came at you with a bat, you caught the swing and used his momentum to slam him face-first into the fireplace bricks.

“You don’t get to touch him,” you hissed. “Not him.”

The blonde took the club again, swinging it toward your face. You ducked.

Then you hit her. Right in the gut. The force of it sent her staggering back, wind knocked from her lungs.

“Do you wanna kill him?” you growled. “Try me first, then."

She looked at you like she wanted to, but she hesitated.

And that was her mistake. The moment she let her guard down, you shot her.

"It's over." You said, pointing your gun right between her brows, and the shot echoed in the stillness of the room.

She hit the floor, eyes wide. No final words. No redemption. Just silence.

Ellie flinched.

You stood over Abby’s body, breath hitching, heart pounding in your ears. The room reeked of blood, and then there was silence, except for Joel’s ragged breath.

The ringing in your ears stopped, and your breathing steadied as you took a look at the mess you had made.

Your eyes finally dropped back to Joel. You dropped yourself beside him as your knees had finally given out.

“Hey,” you whispered, your voice cracking into pieces. “Joel, look at me. I’m here. I got you.”

His one good eye fluttered open, dazed, unfocused. There was blood crusted at his brow, dried and fresh, a cruel mask across the face you’d kissed so many times before, now dripping blood.

“Y-you-" he rasped, voice like torn gravel. He had barely made it.

You nodded, cradling his face in your hands, not caring that blood smeared across your palms. “I’m here. You’re safe. Don't you dare to close your eyes now."

His breath stuttered, chest rising too slow, too shallow. His eyes couldn’t stay fixed on you. They wandered, like he weren’t fully in the room anymore. As if he were fighting death and life at the same time.

“I thought I lost you,” you whispered, leaning close. Your forehead rested against his, warm against cold.

Not even the cold of the snowstorm had been so cruel to you.

“Hurts,” he mumbled, eyes slipping closed again.

“No, no,” you said quickly, your hands gently patting his face. “Stay with me. I got you. You’re gonna be okay. Help’s coming, okay? I will make sure of it. Just—just hold on.”

But he didn’t answer. His breathing slowed.

And your heart stammered in panic. “Joel!"

But there was no reaction from him. You pressed your fingers to his pulse, still beating but faintly.

“Don’t you do this,” you choked out. “You fight, dammit. You’ve been through worse, haven’t you? Don’t you leave me now, please.”

You'd already faced your worst nightmare. Now you were living in it, holding it in your arms, seeing the life leave him.

Joel lay limp and broken on the floor, his breath rattled. His face was swollen, almost unrecognizable on one side, purple and black with bruising. One eye was swollen shut. Blood trickled from his nose, his mouth, and the side of his head.

“Hey,” you whispered again, voice hoarse. “Joel. Are you with me?”

A faint groan, barely audible, but it was enough because it meant he was still here.

You pulled off your jacket rapidly, shoving it under his head. Your hands were shaking, but your mind was locked in: every first aid trick you’d learned from scraps of survival guides, emergency manuals, all this time surviving, and anything Joel had ever shown you when he thought you weren’t paying attention. You had paid attention.

You just never thought you’d be using it on him, under these circumstances.

Dina stumbled in, still pale and groggy, her hand gripping the wall. “Ellie?” she rasped. “Wh—what the fuck happened?”

You didn’t look up. “You were drugged. Ellie is moving the bodies. We need the space.”

Dina staggered past, gagging at the sight of blood, but she didn’t hesitate. She knew what had happened.

This was now a war zone. You had blinded yourself, becoming a murderer monster just to save Joel.

You pulled Joel’s shirt open, shredded, stained with red. Purple splotches across his ribs. Swelling. At least two were broken.

Your throat burned, voice cracking. “You’re gonna hate me for this, Joel. But I have to move you.”

“Don’t…” he mumbled, almost unconscious. “Just... leave me—”

“Bullshit" you said, angry at you, at him, at that woman who had left him like this, your tears were splashing onto his collarbone. “Don’t you dare say that. You don’t give up.”

Ellie appeared, face pale, blood on her shirt, Dina behind her with a blanket.

“We cleared the room,” Ellie said, out of breath. “It’s just us now.”

“Good,” you said. “Help me splint his legs. We need to keep him still until we can get him out of here.”

You tore up a curtain and grabbed two broken chair legs. It wasn’t perfect, but nothing about this was. This wasn't something that should have happened.

Ellie held Joel’s leg as steady as she could while you worked the makeshift splint around the worst of the fractures. His left leg, with a shot on his knee.

Joel screamed just as he was being dragged through hell.

You didn’t stop, “I know,” you whispered, pressing your forehead to his as you tied the cloth tight. “I know, I know, I’m sorry. I got you.”

You felt his breath against your skin, shallow and hot, contrasting with the coldness on his hands.

His lips moved. “Why?” he whispered, barely audible.

You leaned back and looked at him. “Because I love you,” you said simply.

His eye fluttered open, just barely. And for one fragile second, the pain slipped away. There was only you and him inside this room. You brushed the hair from Joel’s face. He was burning up. You needed to clean the wounds. Stop the bleeding. Keep him warm and alive.

And somehow, by the grace of whatever broken god still watched over you all, you would.

You pressed a damp cloth to his temple where skin had split open. His blood soaked through instantly. You felt you were about to throw up.

Your hands moved on their own now, it felt monotonous. Wash. Compress. Tie. Splint. Whisper to him and beg him to stay alive.

Ellie and Dina had gone quiet. Standing behind you. Watching. Waiting for an order, a word from you that it wouldn't be a sob.

Then your voice broke through the silence. “Go back to Jackson.”

Ellie flinched, like she hadn’t expected you to speak at all. You didn’t look up. You were holding Joel’s hand, limp and calloused in yours. Trying to send him the strength he needed to survive.

“We need help,” you said, barely audible. Your voice was shot. Just whisper. “Tell Tommy, tell him to send help. We need to get Joel back there.”

You met silence. Just the sound of Joel breathing.

“Please,” you added, and that word cracked. “Please. I can’t carry him by myself. He’s...he’s too heavy. He’s—” You swallowed hard. Your fingers curled tighter around Joel’s hand.

Ellie stepped forward. “We’re not leaving you.”

You finally looked up, eyes glassy and red-rimmed. “You have to. We need more people. Horses. Anything. I can keep him alive for a few more hours. But I can’t move him like this.”

Ellie’s jaw clenched. Her knuckles went white. “I don’t want to leave you with him like this.”

You reached out, brushing Joel’s graying hair from his brow with trembling fingers. “I got him.”

A pause. Then Dina touched Ellie’s arm. “I’ll go,” she said gently. “I’ll ride. I’m faster. You stay.”

Ellie nodded, eyes not leaving yours.

You left a loud sob. “No,” you said quietly, lifting your eyes once more to Ellie’s. “Ellie… you go with Dina. I’ll stay here.”

Ellie’s shoulders stiffened. Her brows pulled together like she was bracing for another blow. “What? No. I’m not leaving you and him.”

You sat back on your knees, your hands bloodied, trembling. Joel’s chest rose and fell in shallow breaths.

“You have to,” you said, your voice breaking. “You have to, Ellie. Dina shouldn’t be riding alone.”

Ellie looked at Joel. Looked at you. And shook her head. “I can’t leave him like this. I can’t.”

You grabbed her hand, and that startled her. It startled you, too. But you held on, grounding her, pulling her attention back to your face. Your voice dropped to a whisper.

“Please,” you said. “Please. Help me save him.”

Ellie’s eyes filled. Not with tears, but with everything she couldn’t say. The guilt of the lost time. The fury of what they had done to Joel. The fear that maybe it was too late.

But you looked at her like there was still something worth fighting for.

She swallowed hard. Nodded once. “I’ll go.”

Your chest caved with relief. Joel let out a faint groan beneath you, and you turned back to him, brushing your thumb against his jaw.

“I’m here, baby,” you whispered. “I’m right here.”

Ellie hesitated at the doorway, stopping to look at you once again, “Will he be okay?” she asked before daring to step a foot outside.

You nodded, but it was instinct, automatic, hopeful, desperate. The truth lodged in your throat like a splinter you couldn’t spit out.

“I don’t know,” you said softly, voice trembling. “I don’t know how much damage they did.” Your eyes flicked over Joel’s body again, breath catching at the way his chest rose unevenly. “But he’s breathing. And that’s something.”

Ellie stepped closer to you. “What do you need me to do?”

You looked up at her then, and for a split second, she looked like a kid again. Afraid and shaken.

“Just go back to Jackson and bring help,” you said, your voice barely more than a breath. "That's all we need now."

Ellie’s eyes burned. She nodded once, jaw clenched. “Okay. Okay. Just hold on, please.”

You gave her one last look. “I’ll keep him breathing.”

She was gone the next second, steps pounding out the door, calling for Dina, and you were left in the broken room, just you and Joel and the slow drip of blood on the floorboards. His blood.

You pressed your hands to the worst of the wounds, breath shaking. “Did you hear that, Joel?” you whispered, pressing your forehead to his. “Help’s coming.”

He didn’t speak. But his fingers twitched again, slowly, and curled around your wrist.

It wasn’t much, but it meant he was still here.

That night felt heavy like wet ash. Everything smelled like blood, and outside, the snowstorm had died to a bitter hiss. The wind still screamed through cracks in the lodge, but inside, everything had gone quiet, except for the sound of Joel’s ragged breath and the low creak of floorboards every time you moved.

You’d done everything you could.

You had boiled snow over a fire in the next room just to clean the worst of the blood from his side. You weren’t a medic. But you were a woman in love. And that made you terrifying.

He faded in and out of consciousness, his lips murmuring your name between groans, sometimes not even sure it was real. You sat beside him, your back against the wall, holding his hand in both of yours.

But then it went still. You hadn’t realized how quiet it had gotten until the sound stopped completely.

“Joel?” you whispered, leaning close. There was no answer.

You shook his shoulder, gently. Then harder. “Joel.”

Nothing. His head lolled to the side. His skin felt clammy beneath your palm.

Your breath caught in your throat. “No, no—please, no. Joel—” You cupped his cheeks. “You stay with me; do you hear me?”

His brow twitched. His lips parted, barely, and a broken whisper slipped out.

"Sarah?”

The name came out like a breath lost in time. You froze. Your heart cracked open. His eyes fluttered beneath closed lids, a flicker of life.

In his mind, it was Austin all over again.

Sarah was laughing, running ahead of him, calling back over her shoulder, “Dad, come on!”

And he was smiling. Genuinely smiling. He could hear her. Feel her hand in his again. It was so warm and real.

He turned, and they were on the couch. Watching a movie. She was leaning against him, head on his shoulder. He’d just said something stupid, making her roll her eyes. He didn’t want to blink, afraid it’d all vanish.

But then came the gunshot. Her warmth was gone.

Now you were there. In the memory. Not Sarah, but you. Covered in blood and crying out his name.

Joel, please. Please.

Your hands were glowing with firelight, trembling as they pressed against his chest.

He tried to reach for you, but he couldn’t move, and the world was slipping through his fingers.

And then, your voice cut through the haze. “Joel, please. Please don’t do this.”

His heart stuttered once. A sharp inhale tore through his chest as if he’d been drowning.

“Joel!”

He coughed, body shaking, and your hands caught him just in time.

You sobbed, half-laughing as you gripped his cheeks again. “You scared the shit out of me—oh my god” you sobbed, tears streaming down your cheeks.

He looked up at you, dazed and confused. Then his eyes cleared, just a little.

“You were crying,” he mumbled, lips cracked.

“Yeah,” you whispered, brushing your thumb beneath his eye. “Yeah, I was.”

He blinked slowly. “Stop...”

“I can't,” you said.

Joel leaned ever so slightly into your palm, the pain pulling at him, but your voice anchoring him.

The night lingered like a wound that wouldn’t close, that wouldn't take time to heal.

And you didn’t sleep. Your body screamed for rest, but you had stayed next to Joel, watching the way his chest rose and fell, praying it wouldn’t stop again. Every time his breath caught or he groaned too hard, your stomach twisted into knots.

The lodge was cold. Blood had dried into the floorboards. The fire in the next room was too far away to warm either of you, and you didn’t dare move him to get closer.

So you pressed your body to his side gently, just enough to share warmth without causing him pain.

“Still with me?” you whispered.

His eyes fluttered open, sluggish as if they weighed “Yeah…” His voice was more gravel than sound.

You breathed out a shaky laugh, your forehead resting lightly against his temple. “You’re stubborn as hell, you know that?”

Joel let out a faint puff of breath, maybe a laugh, maybe a wince. "Learned from you," he muttered.

Your throat clenched. You reached for his hand again, interlocking your fingers with his, so you wouldn’t brush the torn knuckles.

“I thought I lost you,” you whispered.

His eyes moved slowly, searching, until they landed on you again. Then he mumbled something you barely heard.

Silence settled in. You closed your eyes, listening to the wind groaning against the windows. Time stretched, only broken by Joel’s breath stuttering again.

Then, his fingers twitched around yours.

Then you whispered, “Joel?”

He made a sound.

“I love you.”

He didn’t answer right away. His eyes were glassy with pain. But then he barely squeezed your hand, and his voice came soft, barely a breath.

“I love you, too.”

It felt like the first time he had told you those three words, and that had broken you the most.

You buried your face in his shoulder, careful of the bruises, and let yourself cry, not in panic, not in fear. But in overwhelming, soul-shaking relief.

He was alive.

Joel woke to the soft hum of voices and some old machines. The scent of cleaner stung his nose before the light even reached his eyes.

His body was in pain. He tried to move, but something warm and heavy rested on his side.

Your head was there, leaning on his side.

You were slumped in a chair beside him, your cheek pressed gently to his arm. Your fingers were laced with his, your grip loose with sleep but still holding on.

The light in the room was soft, filtering through the curtained window. Outside, life stirred in Jackson. But here, it was quiet. Just the two of you.

Joel blinked slowly, his throat dry, the taste of cotton still on his tongue. His gaze drifted down to you. There was a crease between your brows even at rest. You looked exhausted and pale.

But you were here. He breathed your name, raw and hoarse.

You stirred at the sound, your head lifting slowly as if from the depths of a dream. Your eyes met his, still sleep-warm but wide with shock. Disbelief flickered, then relief so powerful it made your lips tremble.

“Joel,” you whispered, leaving a sob behind.

His smile was small. Barely there. “You didn’t leave.”

Your hand came up to cup his cheek. “Never,” you said. “You scared me so much."

He swallowed hard, his hand tightening weakly around yours. “How long?”

“Three weeks,” you said, voice shaking with the memory. “You were unconscious the first few days back. The fever wouldn’t break. They weren’t sure if you’d make it through the second night”

He looked at you again, really looked. “And you sat here the whole damn time?”

You gave a soft, broken laugh. “Where else would I be?”

His good eye softened. “Didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

You leaned closer, resting your forehead to his. “You promised me once you wouldn’t leave me.”

He nodded faintly, his eyes closing for a moment as your breath mingled.

Your fingers brushed his temple, so gently, as if afraid he’d fade again like some half-formed dream that wouldn't last. Joel’s skin was warm beneath your touch, warmer than it had been in days, and that alone nearly broke you all over again.

“It’s going to take time,” you whispered, your voice barely louder than the hum of the machines. “To heal from this.”

Joel didn’t say anything, but you felt the tremor in his breath.

You threaded your fingers more tightly with his. “But I’m not going anywhere. You hear me?” you said, firmer now, voice catching on the tears in your throat. “I’m not leaving your side. You will get sick of me.”

His lips parted like he wanted to argue, maybe even protest, but then he looked at you again. Really looked. The cut on his brow. The bruising on his cheekbone. The pain behind his eye, and beyond that, the softness that only came when it was just you.

“You shouldn’t have had to—”

“I had to,” you cut in, gently “Because I love you. Because I couldn’t lose you. And I won’t ever lose you.” you paused to take a deep breath before continuing, “You and I will grow old together, and we will die peacefully in a farm, just as you wanted."

Joel blinked. His hand tightened slightly in yours again, like the only strength he had left was meant for that one touch.

You leaned in and kissed his forehead, bruised, stitched, healing. “You’re mine, Joel. And I’m yours."

Silence fell, heavy but not suffocating anymore. The kind of silence where you could finally breathe again. Where you knew he was going to live.

Joel let his head rest back into the pillow, the edge of a tear slipping from the corner of his eye.

“Okay,” he whispered, smiling at you.

You smiled through your tears, the kind that burned hot down your cheeks but carried no pain, only relief.

You shifted in the chair, reaching up to brush a bit of hair back from his forehead, careful not to touch where it was most tender. His skin warmed beneath your fingertips. He was alive, and the reality of that still hadn’t fully settled in.

“I’m gonna be here when you wake up,” you promised, voice like a hush of wind through leaves. “Every morning. And every day if I have to. You focus on getting better.”

Joel's smile trembled, worn and crooked. His good eye drifted shut, but not before his fingers gave yours one more squeeze, like he couldn’t bear to let you go in his sleep.

You watched him as his breathing evened out again, slow like the beat of a song you never thought you would hear again. The soft light of the light, caught a golden hue over the bedsheets.

You rested your head by his side again, your cheek brushing his arm, eyes closing just for a moment. Not to sleep, but to hold the feeling. The warmth. The miracle.

He was still here.

And you would be, too. Always.

[mushroomates]

who i would let borrow my car in lord of the rings:

boromir- would likely take it to a car wash and fill up the tank for me afterwards. no questions asked and the keys are in his hand before he finishes his sentence.

gimli- would change my tires for me. a bit worried about him off roading but he’d take care of it. it’s extremely likely that he also took it through the car wash but not out of politeness but because he got it caked with dirt and mud while driving.

elrond- i’m willing to bet my life on this man being a reliable driver. he could get negative traffic tickets- as in, the cops pull him over just to tell him how good of a three point turn that was. this man is married to the turn signals.

sam- there might be dirt and dog hair left over for weeks but yeah i’d trust him. he probably just needs the trunk space for a dresser he found on the side of the road.

who in lord of the rings i do not trust with my car:

gollum- yeah obviously he’d drive it into the swamp in .2 seconds. this little fucker does not follow road laws or any laws. the second gollum takes my car i know its over.

gandalf- i do not know how one sends an automotive on a quest but im pretty sure my car is in moria rn and i’m never seeing it again

legolas- has the biggest passenger princess energy i’ve ever seen. would total my car immediately after going diagonal across the highway because he saw a cool tree

thranduil- like father like son. passenger princess who has not been behind the wheel for decades. would guilt trip me into giving him a ride before even asking to borrow my car. gets pulled over for having a whole ass wine bottle in the cupholder.

pippin- there would be peanut butter stuck in the console for months and i’d be finding loose snacks and trinkets in my seats years afterwards. also strikes me as the type to be obsessed with the radio to the point of reckless driving

[natsaffection]

Innocence. pt 2 | N.R

Older!Sargent!Natasha × Younger!Soldier!Reader

Warnings: Gore, description of death, dismemberment, injury’s, explosion, blood

Word count: 7,4k

A/N: Penultimate chapter, until we get to the end. All images used are my own (except the Natasha icon)!! So please ask if you want to use them! :)

Part 1

Sleep didn’t come easy.

You lay on your back, staring at the dull ceiling of the container, the small fan above you creaking as it rotated with a lazy, rhythmic whine. Outside, the desert wind whispered against the walls — dry, soft, constant. You’d stripped down to your undershirt, your dog tags resting cool against your collarbone, your hands folded on your stomach like you were already in a coffin.

Your mind wouldn’t shut off. Tomorrow was the day.

Your first real mission. Not a drill. Not a simulation. No instructor with a stopwatch waiting to yell “reset.” This was boots-on-ground, civilians bleeding, enemies possibly lurking in the shadows kind of mission.

You didn’t know if you were scared or excited. Maybe both. Probably both. Rae had passed out hours ago, breathing softly on the other side of the room, still wearing one sock and half-hugging a med bag like a teddy bear. You had smiled at the sight, but now, hours later, you’d stopped smiling.

Every time you closed your eyes, you imagined what you might see. A child missing limbs. A man screaming. A woman with glass embedded in her skin. The unknown made your bones ache. Eventually, exhaustion won.

The alarm hit like a slap. You bolted upright, breathing hard, heart thudding. Your eyes were dry, your mouth dryer. It felt like you’d only closed your eyes five minutes ago. You didn’t speak. Didn’t think. Just moved.

Boots. Vest. Gloves. Radio. Helmet. Sidearm. Canteen. Dog tags tucked. Every motion was mechanical now. Your hands trembled just once, zipping your pack, and then steadied. Rae was already up, tying her hair back. She looked at you, nodded once. You didn’t speak. No one needed to. You both knew what the day was.

You stepped out into the pale early morning light. It was cooler than expected, but the wind carried dust that clung to your lips and lashes. At the rally point, the vehicles were already prepped, dusty, armored trucks fitted with mounted comms and open hatches. Soldiers moved around them in silence. No jokes today. No banter.

This was real.

Natasha stood near the first vehicle, arms crossed, headset slung low on her neck. She gave a quick signal. No speech. No send-off.

Just: “Mount up.”

You climbed into the second vehicle with Rae, Martinez, and two others you hadn’t trained closely with. You slid into your seat, back pressed against the hot metal interior, helmet secure. The hatch slammed shut behind you.

And then, you were moving. The base vanished behind you, replaced by the open sprawl of desert and broken earth. No trees. No grass. Just wind, sand, and the occasional distant shape, twisted wreckage, forgotten fences, lone figures moving slowly with the horizon.

You passed a small cluster of homes, if they could be called that. Shacks built from sheet metal and stone, half-collapsed, windows covered in fabric. Children ran alongside the vehicles, barefoot and thin, laughing like they didn’t notice the rifles pointing past them. One girl waved at you. Just waved. Big smile, missing two front teeth.

You blinked, stunned, and instinctively waved back. Rae elbowed you gently. “First time seeing them?”

“Yeah,” you whispered.

“Some just want to feel safe,” Rae said. “Others want answers. Some don’t even know who we are.”

You watched a woman carrying two plastic buckets stacked with water. Another walked with a child on her hip and two more trailing behind her, eyes wide and sunburned.

Through the vehicle comms, a calm voice filtered through, “Convoy One, approaching high ground. Eyes open. Light movement on the north ridge.”

“Copy. Looks like shepherds.”

“Shepherds don’t carry scopes.”

Your chest tightened. Your grip on your rifle increased but nothing happened. The convoy moved forward. Just tension. Just silence.

After 30 minutes the vehicle slowed. And when the hatch opened, the smell hit you first. Burnt wood. Rot. Blood. Ash. The air was thick with heat and the copper tang of death.

You stepped down from the vehicle, boots crunching into the dirt. What had once been a village was now a battlefield without bullets. Collapsed homes. Charred trees. Rubble scattered like the aftermath of a god’s tantrum.

White medical tents flapped in the wind like ghosts. The red cross barely visible beneath layers of dust and smoke. And then the sounds started.

A man screaming. A child sobbing for someone who wasn’t there. The bark of a medic yelling for supplies. The squelch of blood-soaked bandages being changed.

You stood there, frozen. A body lay just fifteen feet away, partially covered in a sheet. Bare feet, darkened with soot. A hand poked out, fingers curled. A fly buzzed around the exposed skin.

You turned slightly, and saw more. A boy, maybe ten, holding the limp hand of his younger sister while a medic worked on a burn across her face. Another man had a gaping wound across his thigh, shrapnel still visible. His leg was blackened with dead tissue.

Some just sat. Still. Staring at nothing. One woman, blood on her arms, cradled a bundle wrapped in white cloth and didn’t look up as the soldiers passed. You didn’t want to know what was inside. But your gut already did.

Over comms, Natasha’s voice came through:

“Echo 9, this is command. Secure perimeter and begin patrol grid. Keep your distance from civ medical tents unless requested. Watch for movement past the east road. We’ve had reports of looters.”

You looked up and saw her. Natasha stood arms crossed, headset tilted, watching everything like it was a chessboard. She didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just watched.

You were supposed to be watching the eastern trail. But your eyes kept drifting back to the field. It wasn’t the smoke, or the tents, or the scorched buildings that held you there.

It was the people.

This was your first time seeing real pain. Not a training scenario. Not a documentary. Not blurry footage edited for public consumption. This was raw, loud, undeniable.

You had seen pain before, bruised ribs in hand-to-hand, blood on the sim floor, a dislocated shoulder during drills. But it had always come with the safety of structure. A start. A stop. A reset.

This had none of that. This was endless. Then, the sound of engines. You turned in time to see another convoy pulling in, three trucks, armored, each marked with the red insignia of a partnered med relief group. They rolled into the center field, tires kicking up dirt.

The back of the lead truck opened with a groan, and a stretcher was pulled out, fast, desperate. Two medics barking words you didn’t understand over each other. Blood soaked the sheet. It trailed behind them, painting the dirt with a thick, dark smear.

The man on the stretcher wasn’t moving. One leg was gone from the knee down. His eyes were open. But he wasn’t seeing.

You turned your head, you stomach tightening. You stared at the horizon instead. Squinting against the sun. This is real, you thought. This is what it looks like when someone’s body gives out before their soul knows how to leave.

You felt something shift inside you. A quiet part of yourself shrinking. And time passed like syrup.

You hadn’t moved much, only rotated position once, now stationed at a higher vantage where you could see the slope leading out of the village. Your comms buzzed faintly, distant voices, check-ins, status updates.

“Report from Bravo-3: local dispute broke out west sector, perimeter holding. One potential hostile removed.”

“Copy that. Civilians reacting erratic, no threat yet.”

“Randals started west of the crater site, looters maybe.”

Your posture stiffened. Your back went straight, your stance shifting slightly, fingers tightening on the grip of your rifle.

Randals. Looters. Opportunists. Or worse.

Your eyes scanned faster now, no more blank stares. Just tight, mechanical sweeps across the road, the rooftops, the edges of the ruins. You saw movement, just a man at first, standing near a torn wall where a roof used to be. Alone. Not near the med tents. Not walking. Just standing.

He was watching you. Your eyes met. Even with the distance between you, something about his stare sent cold sliding down your back. His face didn’t shift. No scowl. No grin. Just locked, unreadable stillness.

Your fingers curled tighter around your rifle. You didn’t lift it. Not yet. But you didn’t look away either. Your pulse tapped faster at your throat. You heard the crunch of boots behind you.

“Easy.” came a voice. You didn’t need to turn to know who it was. She came up beside you, arms crossed, gaze fixed on the same man. Her presence was like armor.

“He’s not moving.” Natasha added. “Not armed. Not stupid.”

Still, she looked at you now, a glance, sharp and assessing. “How are you holding up?”

Her tone wasn’t soft. It never was. But it wasn’t ice either. You hesitated, then answered. “Still standing.”

Natasha gave a single nod. Like that was the only acceptable answer. Then she reached into her vest and held out a plastic bottle of water. You took it without a word and unscrewed the top, drinking half in a few quick gulps. You hadn’t realized how dry your throat was. How dry everything was.

“You’re processing.” Natasha said after a moment. “That’s normal.”

Your jaw clenched. “I didn’t freeze.”

“No. You didn’t.”

“But I looked away.”

“Only once.” Natasha replied. “And then you kept watch.”

You looked at her, not quite challenging, but asking something you couldn’t put into words. Natasha didn’t flinch.

“You’re not here to be desensitized. You’re here to act. There’s a difference.”

A pause. The wind carried a scream from somewhere back at the tents. A child crying.

“First missions don’t leave you.” Natasha added, her voice quieter now. “They shape you. That’s the point. Let it hurt. Just don’t let it stop you.”

You blinked, and nodded. Then Natasha turned, her radio already clicking to life again as she walked back toward the main road, her voice low and command-clear. You looked back to the man by the wall.

He was gone.

10 hours later

You stirred awake to the gentle shake of a hand on your shoulder.

“Your shift.” Rae murmured. You blinked, disoriented for half a second. The tent canvas above you rustled with the wind, shadows flickering from the med lights in the distance. Your body ached, but there was no sharp pain, just the dull, heavy kind that came from a long day of watching people bleed.

You rolled out of your cot, boots already halfway on from when you collapsed into sleep earlier.

“Thanks.” you muttered.

Rae just nodded and lay down. You geared up in silence. Vest, helmet, comm clipped to your collar, rifle slung across your back. The routine movements steadied you, anchoring you in something normal.

You stepped outside. And froze.

Out here, far from cities and light pollution, the stars were alive. Not just visible, blazing. Endless pinpricks scattered across the sky like shattered glass. The Milky Way hung thick across the dark like a brushstroke. You tilted your head back, mouth parted slightly, breath caught in your throat.

You’d never seen it like this. Not even on base. The desert was silent. Just the low hum of equipment. The occasional distant cough or rustle. No gunfire. No screaming.

Just… stillness.

You reached your watch point, a small hill with sandbags and a rusted bench set up behind a camo net. From here, you could see the edge of the village. The lights were still on in the med tents. People moved like shadows, dim shapes working through the night.

The pain doesn’t sleep, you thought. You didn’t sit at first. Just stood. Watching. Breathing.

Then, a presence. No footsteps. No noise. But suddenly, someone was there. You turned slightly. Natasha sat down on the low bench beside you like she’d been conjured from the air. No helmet, just her standard fatigues, her braid falling over one shoulder, her face unreadable in the low light.

You tensed. Not because you were scared. Because this was the first time you’d been alone with her. Really alone. No training. No shouting. No commands. Just… a desert, a shared silence, and stars.

Natasha didn’t speak right away. She looked out over the same view, elbows resting on her knees, fingers loosely laced.

“First time overseas?”

Her voice was quiet. Not cold. Not soft, either. Neutral. You took a beat too long to answer. “No. It’s my third.”

That made Natasha turn her head. Just slightly. You didn’t look at her. Kept your eyes forward.

“Third?” she echoed. A note of surprise beneath the calm.

You nodded.

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-one.”

A pause. Natasha blinked slowly. “You enlisted young.”

“Nineteen. Straight out of school.”

“You volunteered for this deployment?”

You looked down at your gloves. Then, after a beat, “No.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “No?”

“I wanted another unit. Echo-One.” A faint, humorless smile pulled at your lips. “Didn’t make the cut.”

There was no judgment in Natasha’s face. Just quiet understanding. “Why them?”

“They were the best..” you said simply. “At least… that’s what I thought. It felt like the fast track. Like everything I worked for led there.”

“And when you didn’t get it?”

“I was crushed.” you admitted. “Then they handed me your file. Said echo 9 wanted me. I didn’t know if it was a pity assignment, or a joke.”

Natasha actually huffed, a very soft laugh under her breath. “Believe me..” she said, “I don’t do pity.”

You glanced at her. Natasha’s gaze was fixed ahead, but her mouth turned ever so slightly upward. “You’re doing good.” she added. “Better than you think.”

Your chest tightened. It wasn’t praise shouted across a drill yard. It wasn’t encouragement forced from a superior. It was just truth, said in the calm of night.

“…Thank you.” you said quietly.

The silence after was comfortable. For the first time, it didn’t feel like command sitting beside you. It felt like Natasha. You hesitated. Then bit your lip. Then, because the quiet gave you courage:

“Can I ask you something?”

Natasha turned to look at you. Not hard. Just direct. “You can ask.”

You flushed a little. “It’s kind of personal.”

Natasha didn’t move.

“Was yours like this?”

Natasha turned to you again. “What do you mean?”

“Your first time outside. Was it like… this?”

A beat. Then Natasha smiled, just barely. “No. Mine was worse.”

You blinked.

“It wasn’t a humanitarian op..” she continued. “We weren’t guarding medics. We were the medics. Improvised evac from a collapsed tunnel system. No command. No backup. I was the youngest.“

You studied her. There was no brag in her tone. No drama. Just.. fact.

“We’re you scared?”

“Of course.” Natasha said, almost gently. “I still am. That’s the job. You just learn how to breathe through it.”

You had imagined her as cold steel. Untouchable. Sharp edges and closed doors. But now…you could feel the history in her voice. Not brokenness, but survival.

“Do you ever…wish you’d done something else?” you asked.

Natasha’s eyes flicked back down. And then..softly, she smiled.

“Every day.” she said. “And none of them.”

Then, without a word, she reached into her vest pocket and pulled out a slim, scratched phone. The kind soldiers carried overseas. Secure. Tough and personal.

You watched in stunned silence as Natasha unlocked it and pulled up a photo. She turned it slightly, offering it to you.

A girl. Maybe eleven. Dark hair, same sharp eyes. Laughing in a backyard with a dog chasing her.

“My niece.” Natasha said. “She lives with my sister.”

“She’s beautiful.” you whispered. “She looks like she laughs a lot.”

“She does.”

You smiled a little. Then swallowed thickly. Your fingers twitched at your thigh, the photo was still being held toward you, but what made you freeze wasn’t the picture.

It was the way Natasha was watching you. Not casually. Not with suspicion. With…confirmation. Her gaze was fixed on you, steady and analytical. Like she was adding another bullet point to a mental file she kept locked behind her eyes.

“You get soft when you see kids.” Natasha said, not accusing. Just…naming it. You tensed slightly, the smile slipping from your face. “Is that bad?”

“It’s human.” Natasha replied. “But out here… softness gets turned into leverage.”

She turned the phone screen off, not like she was hiding it, but like the moment was over. Then she leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on her knees again, voice shifting lower, not sharp, but serious.

“You need to be aware of what this place can do.”

You nodded slowly. Natasha didn’t flinch. “You know what children are used for in places like this?”

You blinked, the answer cold on your tongue. “Yes.”

“Tell me.”

You swallowed. “Cover. Distraction. Suicide ops if they’re trained.”

Natasha gave a single, sharp nod. “Or they don't know. You can’t forget that. Doesn’t mean you stop feeling, it means you never let the feeling override your judgment.”

You didn’t look away. “I understand.”

Romanoff studied you for a moment longer, then her posture softened just slightly. She pulled her phone back. With a few taps, she flicked through a few more pictures and showed you a new one.

Same niece, maybe a year younger. Sitting on Romanoff’s lap in a living room cluttered with pillows, a birthday cake half-cut on the table.

“She thinks I’m boring.” Natasha said.

You laughed. Quietly. “You? Boring?”

“I don’t talk about superheroes or animals enough.”

“I mean…valid critique.”

Natasha smirked..barely. Then she said something that surprised you both.

“She reminds me of you.”

You blinked. “Me?”

Natasha didn’t backpedal. Just shrugged, eyes back on the screen.

“You both have that same thing. That softness under all the armor. Most people out here…they build walls. You came here with doors still open.”

Your breath hitched. Not from flattery. From truth. Because it was you. And no one had ever said it like that.

“You sound like you think that’s bad.”

“I think it’s dangerous.” Natasha said softly. “But powerful. If you survive it.”

You looked back out at the desert, letting the words settle.

“I don’t want to lose it.” you admitted. “The softness, I mean.”

“Then don’t.” Natasha replied. “Just protect it better.”

Another silence, but this one felt different. Like something had clicked. You kept talking after that, not about tactics or protocol or pain. Just…life.

Natasha showed you a few more pictures, a snowy street in St. Petersburg, a blurry photo of her sister holding a wine bottle triumphantly, a candid of Romanoff in civilian clothes, smiling like she wasn’t aware the camera was on her.

You couldn’t believe you were seeing any of it. And Natasha watched you see it, like she was testing how much she could give before it felt like too much. You talked about music. About food you missed. About things you’d do after this deployment, even if neither of you believed in the word after.

“You’ll make it through this.” she said. “Just keep that door guarded.”

Silence stretched again, but this time, it wasn’t awkward.

Then Natasha stood. The spell didn’t break. It shifted. Stretched. She looked down at you, “You’re doing fine, Y/l/n.” she said. “Don’t overthink. Just watch. Breathe. Stay present.”

You nodded, mouth dry. Then Natasha reached into her vest and pulled out another bottle of water. She placed it beside you without a word.

And left.

The mission had ended hours after. But the mission inside your head hadn’t. You were pacing. Still half-geared, your helmet tossed onto your cot, your comm still clipped to your collar. You ran a hand through your hair and stopped at the small table in the center of the container.

Rae sat on her bunk, unwrapping a ration bar, watching you with an amused expression that bordered on knowing.

“…and she said it just like that..” you were saying. “Not soft, not cold, just there. Like she meant it. Like she could see straight through me and still…I don’t know. Trusted me?”

Rae smirked, took a bite of her bar, and spoke through the chew. “You’re quoting Romanoff now?”

You blinked, startled. “What?”

“You just said it again. That line. About the door.”

You flushed a little and looked down at your hands.

“She said…” your voice dropped, quieter now. “‘You’ll make it through this. Just keep that door guarded.’”

There it was again. The echo of Natasha’s voice. Burned into your memory like it had been spoken under your skin, not just into your ears.

Rae raised a brow. “Damn. That’s kind of poetic, honestly.”

You sat down on the edge of your bunk and unlaced one boot. “It stuck with me.”

“It tattooed itself onto your soul, you mean.”

You threw the boot at her. Lightly. She caught it midair and dropped it with a thud, grinning.

“I’m just saying…” Rae leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “You’ve never talked about anyone like this. Ever. You’re doing the whole starry-eyed, quiet-smile, soft-voice routine.”

You snorted. “I am not.”

“You are, and it’s adorable.”

You tried to hide your grin, but it crept up anyway. Rae tilted her head. “So. Are we thinking it’s admiration? Respect? Or, and hear me out..!” she wagged her bar like a pointer, “..a possibly hopeless crush on the unit’s most terrifying woman?”

You opened your mouth. Then closed it. Then buried your face in your hands with a groan. “Oh my God.”

“That’s a yes.”

“It’s not.”

“It so is.”

You sat up and threw a small towel at her this time. “She’s my commanding officer!”

“Mmhm.”

“She’s literally trained to kill people with a spoon!”

Rae nodded, chewing. “Hot.”

“Rae!”

“What?! I get it! She’s intense. Brilliant. Completely unreadable. Gives you the kind of attention that makes your skin feel electric.”

You froze. “…okay, how do you know that?”

Rae just grinned wider. “Because you’ve been acting different ever since she talked to you. And you’re not the only one who notices. Martinez saw her hand you water and practically wrote a fanfiction about it.”

You laughed, loud and sudden, falling back onto your cot. A pause. Then you added, quieter, more honest: “She even showed me pictures of her niece..”

That made Rae blink. “Seriously?”

“Yeah.” You turned your head, staring at the ceiling. “And then she told me to be careful about getting too soft out here. That kids get used for weapons. That…I needed to be more aware.”

Rae nodded slowly. “Classic Romanoff. Emotional intimacy, followed by a lesson in emotional survival.”

“I guess.” You exhaled. “It felt like… like she was trying to prepare me. Not scare me. Like she’s letting me in, but still making sure I know the cost.”

Rae didn’t tease now. She just looked at you, softer. “She’s watching you.” Rae said. “Not like a boss. Like someone who’s already chosen whether you’re worth something.”

Your chest tightened. “I don’t know what to do with that.”

“You don’t have to do anything.” Rae said. “Just… keep showing up. Keep earning it.”

You sat in the silence for a moment. Just the creak of the wind against the container walls. The hum of a generator in the distance.

Then Rae grinned again. “But if you two do run off into the sunset together, just know I’m totally raiding your locker for snacks.”

“RAE—”

Five Weeks In

You sat inside one of the lead vehicles, knees drawn up slightly, rifle rested across your lap. The sun filtered through the slits in the armor plating, casting long lines of light across the cabin.

Rae sat to your right, gear rattling softly. Across from you, two others from the unit: Martinez and Gage, looked half-awake, the kind of tired that lives in your bones after five straight weeks in the heat.

And next to the comms, facing you all with one boot braced against the bench, was her. Sleeves rolled up. Vest spotless. Gun strapped over her shoulder. She leaned forward, pointing at the map pinned to the wall behind her.

“We reach the collapsed checkpoint, set perimeter, and assist in clearing wreckage. Eyes open, if they hit it once, they could do it again.”

You watched her speak, and something inside you warmed. The tone. The calm precision. The way Natasha’s voice cut through dust and static like it was sharp enough to split tension in half. You found yourself liking it. Not just the words, but the sound of her. The way she took up space without shouting. You didn’t even realize you were staring, not really, until the next moment shattered everything.

A blast. No warning. No time.

The vehicle lifted. A guttural roar of metal shrieked through the cabin as the truck tipped, hard, thrown to its side like a kicked toy. Your shoulder slammed into Rae. Equipment flew. Dust and sand poured through the cracks. The world became a storm of sound and pain. The vehicle hit the ground again with a metallic scream.

Your ears rang. Your helmet had tilted sideways. Your ribs screamed. Someone was coughing. The radio hissed, voices cutting in and out.

“…Echo 9, come in—copy, copy—what’s your—”

“—Vehicle down, IED—no follow-up fire—stand by—stand by—”

Natasha’s voice sliced through the chaos, harsh and controlled. “Status check! Everyone sound off!”

Rae groaned, “I’m good, I’m..fuck, bleeding, but it’s surface!”

Martinez coughed. “Here. Damn, I hit my head..”

“Y/l/n?” Natasha called.

You blinked again, pushing yourself upright. Your side screamed at you. “I’m okay!”

Natasha twisted toward the radio again, tone crisp. “Command, Echo 9. We’ve hit a device. No secondary detonation. No hostile contact visible. Requesting drone recon for eyes on. Holding position.”

A long beat. Then she turned back toward the others. “Everyone out. Stay low until the drone confirms we’re clear.”

You moved with the others. Rae kicked the door, and it slid open with a groan. Heat and dust poured in. You crawled out, coughing, brushing dirt off gear, checking your weapon. Your legs were shaky, boots slipping in the loose gravel. Every step sent pain lancing through your side. You bit down hard, jaw clenched, blinking spots from your eyes.

You planted your feet outside the vehicle, stood up straight, and Natasha’s eyes locked on you. Not a second of hesitation. Not a flicker..She knew.

“Y/l/n.” Natasha barked, stepping closer, her boots crunching into the dust. “You’re holding yourself wrong.”

“I’m fine.” you said automatically, sucking in breath through your teeth.

“No, you’re not.”

You didn’t respond. Natasha’s eyes narrowed, then flicked to the others. “Rae, Gage, gear a 360. Martinez, eyes on that ridge. Move.”

They obeyed instantly. Then it was just you and Natasha, standing there in the heat, the wrecked vehicle beside you and silence pressing in from every direction.

“Where.” Natasha said, not asking, stating.

You swallowed. “Ribs..”

She stepped in, close. “You breathe tight. You’re protecting your side.”

“I said I’m okay.”

Her expression didn’t shift, but her voice dropped half a tone. “You don’t get to lie to me about injuries.”

You flinched. Not from the voice, from what it meant. Natasha’s eyes flicked down.

“Give me your rifle.”

“What?”

“Your weapon, Y/l/n.” she repeated, sharp. “Now.”

You stared at her. “I-I’m not supposed to handing over my gun-”

She stepped back just enough to unsling her own rifle, lowering it carefully to the ground. Then her sidearm. Her vest still on. She looked up.

“Now give me yours.”

The unspoken message was clear: This is not about trust in weapons. It’s about trust in me. You slowly unslung your rifle. Handed it over. She set it gently next to hers in the dirt. Then stepped in again.

“Arms up.”

You hesitated. Then lifted your arms. Natasha’s fingers went to the vest clasps. Quick. Efficient. Tactical. She unhooked the buckles, sliding the gear off your chest with practiced care, and as she did, you let out a breath that sounded too much like pain.

Then she touched your shirt. You flinched. “Easy.” she said. Not gently, but low..She lifted the edge of your shirt, just enough.

And there they were. Bruises. Deep purple shadows already blooming across your ribs, like a storm trapped under skin. Not broken, not life-threatening, but they’d ache like hell. Every breath. Every turn.

She stared at them. Then exhaled through her nose. “Damn lucky.” she muttered. “If that blast was two feet closer, we’d be dragging you out in pieces.”

Your mouth opened. Then closed. For a moment, there was no sound but wind and the soft buzz of radio static from the wreck.

Then, “Why didn’t you say anything?” she asked. Still low. Still unreadable.

“I didn’t want to be a problem.” you answered honestly. “I wanted to keep moving.”

Her eyes flicked up to yours. “You’re not a problem.” she said. Then, quieter: “But you’re not immortal either.”

She stepped back, letting your shirt fall back into place. She reached down, handed you your rifle. Picked up her own.

“You’re off combat rotation for the rest of the day. Command it as injury management if anyone asks.” You opened your mouth to protest. Natasha just stared and you closed it. And for the first time in weeks, you didn’t feel reprimanded.

The sound of boots crunching through gravel snapped you out of the haze of pain. The others had returned from securing the area, rifles still slung, dust smeared across every inch of gear. No more movement. No threats. Just the ghost of a blast and the burn of adrenaline slowly draining.

Natasha stood near the overturned vehicle, already speaking into her comm. “Echo 9, requesting ground evac. We’ve got wounded, non-critical. Vehicle disabled. No hostiles in the area. Copy?”

The answer crackled through within seconds: “Copy, Echo 9. Evac in fifteen. Sit tight.”

You stood stiffly, arms hugged around your midsection without realizing it, pressure holding the ache in place. Natasha walked past you, crouched beside the wreck, and started unstrapping gear, one pack, then another, and yours.

She didn’t say anything. Just clipped it over her shoulder with her own like it was nothing.

You took a step forward. “Sargent, I can carry it-”

“No.” she cut in, not sharply, but with finality.

“I’m fine. I can-”

“You’re not fine.” she said, standing now, boots planted in the dirt, her voice quiet but unshakable. “And this isn’t about proving anything. You’re not a burden. You’re a soldier who just walked away from a detonation. Let me carry it.”

Something in your chest cracked, just a little, not from pain. From the care tucked inside the command.

“…Yes, Sargent.” you said softly.

Fifteen minutes felt longer when the world had gone sideways. Rae checked your pulse just in case. Martinez kept rubbing the back of his head. No one really spoke. It wasn’t needed.

When the evac truck pulled up, loud, armored, dust blooming behind it, Natasha helped load gear and guided everyone in without a word. You moved slowly, one hand pressed against your ribs. Natasha walked behind you like a shadow.

Once inside, the door slammed shut, and the world became metal and vibration. She sat across from you, arms crossed, eyes scanning. Always working. Always watching. You hated how it made you feel: weak. Exposed. Like you were wasting everyone’s time.

You shifted your weight, and of course, she noticed.

“You’re not deadweight.” she said suddenly, voice low so only you could hear.

You blinked. “I didn’t say any-”

“You didn’t have to.”

Your eyes met. And in that moment, you saw something different. Not softness. Not warmth.

Just…truth. That she meant it. And somehow, that meant more than sympathy ever could. The gates opened, and the vehicle rolled to a halt near the med tent. The second the doors opened, the heat surged in again, and with it, movement.

Medics were waiting, already briefed. Rae climbed out first, joking with the first responder about “light trauma and one badass bruise.” Martinez waved off help but got pulled anyway. Gage limped a little, grunting, but fine.

You hesitated. Your hand hovered over the wall of the truck before you pushed yourself upright and stepped down. Natasha, already waiting at the foot of the ramp, holding both your packs.

She handed off her own to a supply officer without looking. Then, she looked at the medic. “Possible rib trauma. Checked for internal signs. Minimal distress response.”

The medic nodded, gesturing you toward the tent. You didn’t move right away and Natasha stepped closer. “Go. Get checked. I’ll hold your gear.”

“…Sargent-”

“It’s an order.”

You sighed, and finally moved, ducking into the med tent, your heart pounding harder than it had during the blast. And behind you, you didn’t have to look to know..She was still watching.

You sat on the field cot, back straight, hands clenched in your lap. Sweat clung to your lower back despite the chilled air blowing through the tent. The sounds around you were all soft: a pair of boots pacing on the canvas floor, the rustle of a clipboard, the distant hum of a generator.

“Name?” the medic asked, a pen poised over your file.

“Y/l/n.” you answered hoarsely.

“Last four?”

You rattled them off. The medic nodded, jotting.

“Pain scale?”

“…Five.”

The medic gave you a glance that said: You’re full of shit. You exhaled. “Seven. Maybe.”

He crouched in front of you, pulled up your shirt with permission, and pressed gently at the bruises on your right side. Your jaw locked. His fingers were clinical, impersonal and fast, but the second he hit the impact point, your whole body flinched.

“No fracture.” he murmured. “Just deep bruising. Pulmonary signs are clear, no coughing blood, no fluid. You lucked out.”

He stood, marked something down. “I’m clearing you for limited movement only. No drills, no fieldwork, no gear for four days. Compression wrap, painkillers if you want them, rest. Understood?”

You nodded. “Yes, sir.”

The medic handed you a printed sheet, already signed. “Dismissed.”

You didn’t ask questions. You just grabbed your jacket and left the tent. Inside your container, you leaned against the door for a long moment. The silence was suffocating. Your gear was still off. Your skin was sticky with sand and dried sweat. Your ribs ached.

You paced. Sat. Stood. Sat again. Your hands wouldn’t stop fidgeting, twitching against your thighs. You kept hearing the boom. Kept feeling the side of the vehicle lifting, the brief, weightless moment before impact.

What if it was closer?

What if it wasn’t just bruises?

What if-?

Your breath hitched when someone knocked at your door. You swallowed, stood quickly. “Rae?” you called, half-expecting the familiar teasing voice.

But it wasn’t. When you opened the door, your stomach dropped.

Natasha.

Still in uniform. Hair tied back, boots dusty, jaw tense. She held your gear in one hand, the pack, the vest, your weapon, cleaned and locked.

“I figured you’d want your stuff.” she said quietly.

You blinked. “I-I was gonna grab it later-”

“You didn’t,” she said. “So I did.”

You stepped back, unsure of yourself. “Right. Thanks.”

She entered. Her presence filled the room without effort. She set the gear down at the foot of your cot, then looked around briefly, checking, scanning. Habit.

“How’re the ribs?”

“Bruised. Four days off.”

She nodded once. “Could’ve been worse.”

You let out a quiet laugh that didn’t sound right. “Yeah, I figured.” Your jaw tensed. “I keep thinking…what if it was worse?”

Silence.

“I mean-” you shook your head. “If the blast was stronger, if I wasn’t sitting how I was, if I didn’t grab the frame in time?”

Your chest rose sharply. “I keep picturing it. Over and over. My body crushed. Legs gone. Bleeding out. Rae screaming.”

You pressed your hand against your sternum. The panic was rising now, hot and fast. “I can’t stop it. It just keeps looping. And I know it’s over, but it doesn’t feel over, and-“

Natasha crossed the space between you before you could finish. “If it was worse.” she said flatly, “you’d be zipped into a body bag right now.”

You froze. Breath stopped. She didn’t blink. “You’d be cold. On a gurney. Covered head to toe. With someone else writing your death report while they washed blood off the walls of a truck.”

The words were brutal, but her voice softened.

“But you’re not.”

Your hands were shaking. “You’re breathing. You’re sore. But you’re here. And that means you get the choice to recover.”

She didn’t touch you. But she didn’t leave, either. Your body trembled again, and your knees nearly gave out. You braced yourself on the edge of the cot, tears welling, not from pain, not exactly. From shock. From survival.

“I’m sorry..” you whispered.

“No.” she said sharply. “Don’t apologize. You’re reacting like a human. That’s allowed.”

You pressed your fist to your mouth. She crouched then, not to her knees, but just enough to be eye-level.

“You’re not weak.” she said. “You’re processing. That’s what happens when you realize how close you were.”

“I feel stupid.”

“You shouldn’t.”

Your eyes were glassy. Then, slowly, she reached to her own side. Pulled her vest away. Unclipped the top buttons of her uniform, just slightly.

And there, beneath the collarbone, was a jagged, faded scar. Long, pale, old.

“I got this in Fallujah.” she said, voice even. “Close quarters. My partner went down. I hesitated.”

She paused.

“I watched someone die because I wasn’t fast enough. And I almost joined them.”

You stared.

“I have twelve scars like that. Some you can see. Some you can’t.”

Silence, then, “Why are you telling me this?”

Her eyes didn’t leave yours. “Because I don’t want you to think fear makes you less of a soldier.”

Your lip trembled. You looked down at the floor, arms wrapped tightly around yourself.

She didn’t say anything. She just sat beside you on the cot. The quiet sat heavy between you. You hadn’t spoken for a few minutes. Not since the scar. Not since the cot shifted slightly under your weight and your ribs throbbed, reminding you you were alive, and maybe that was the worst part.

You weren’t sure what pulled your eyes to Natasha’s hands, still resting against her knees, knuckles scuffed, veins taut under pale skin, but you stared. Until your gaze climbed up again. Until your eyes met.

And stayed. Your voice broke the silence. “You weren’t supposed to stay.”

Natasha’s brow twitched. “What?”

“with all due respect..You weren’t supposed to check in. Bring my gear. Sit here. Talk like this.” Your throat tightened. “You’re not here for me. You’re not supposed to be.”

Natasha’s face didn’t move. But something behind her eyes flickered. “You want me to leave?”

The silence between you curled tight. Natasha didn’t stand. Didn’t move an inch. Just stared at you with a kind of weight you could feel pressing against your skin.

“No.” you said finally, breath catching.

Natasha’s shoulders eased, barely. Her voice dropped, low and even. “Then don’t ask me to.”

The air between you shifted. Hot and thick. Your ribs ached, but you barely noticed. You were still sitting so close. Shoulders brushing. Legs almost touching. And your eyes..Didn’t move.

Your heart thudded. Your breath shook. Your mind screamed don’t, but something else, something deep in your chest..whispered do it.

And you leaned in. Not fast or dramatic. Just drawn. Like gravity pulling you into a space you didn’t fully understand. Your lips parted. You could feel Natasha’s breath. Your foreheads almost touched. Your fingers twitched against the cot.

The container door burst open. “Y/N, YOU HAve-”

You and Natasha jumped apart like you’d been struck by lightning. Rae stopped dead in the doorway, half-crouched like she expected to see an ambush or a rat. Her eyes scanned the room-

And landed squarely on Natasha. “…oh shit.” Rae blurted, going rigid. Her hand shot up into a textbook salute. “Sargent-!”

Natasha stood, fast. Smooth. Like nothing had happened. Her face locked down so fast it was like flipping a switch. “At ease.”

Rae dropped her hand, but her eyes were massive.

“Sorry, I didn’t.. I thought- I was just-“

“It’s fine.” Natasha said coolly. “I was just leaving.”

She looked at you one more time, just a flicker. Something unreadable in her eyes. Then she was out the door before either of you could speak.

The door clicked shut behind her. Silence. You sat there, stunned.

“Oh my god..!” Rae hissed.

You turned slowly. “Don’t.”

“No. No, no, no- do not tell me I just walked in on you about to kiss the actual, living, breathing, deadly Natasha Romanoff.”

You groaned. “Rae-”

Rae pointed dramatically. “YOU. And HER. Two seconds closer and I would’ve walked in on a war crime.”

“We didn’t even-”

“Oh please, you were inhaled.”

You threw a pillow at her. Rae caught it mid-air like a grenade.

“I need answers.” she said, flopping down beside you. “I want timelines. Did she smell good? Did your knees go weak? Did you black out?!”

You buried your face in your hands. “She brought my gear and I was having a moment..”

“Oh honey, she was the moment.”

You groaned again. And Rae just grinned, vibrating with uncontainable delight. “God, I love this deployment.”

The evening air was cooler now, desert heat giving way to a quiet stillness that only came at night. The stars were just beginning to claim the sky. Someone had dragged a crate and a few foldable chairs into a loose circle, cards already being shuffled by Martinez while Johnson argued with Rae over something dumb.

You sat a little stiffly, one arm curled around your ribs, the dull ache still lingering, manageable now. Rae had all but dragged you out of the container after your Natasha-escape scene with a look that said you’re not hiding from this.

And maybe Rae was right. You needed normal. So now you sat, legs stretched, an energy drink in your hand, trying to laugh at Martinez’s awful bluff and ignore the way your heart still hadn’t calmed.

“You in or what?” Gage asked, grinning.

You blinked. “Yeah. Deal me.”

Cards slapped the crate. Talk flowed. Rae kept giving you that I know what you almost did smirk every time your eyes met. You elbowed her once. Not that it helped.

And then, Boot-steps and low voices. Two shadows joined the edge of the circle. Natasha and Maria Hill - Sergeant of Unit 3.

Hill had her sleeves rolled, casual but sharp-eyed, a cigarette tucked behind her ear. Natasha looked the same as always: unreadable. Confident. Steady. Her gaze flicked across the group once before settling, briefly..on you. You felt it like a pin pushed into skin.

Hill smirked. “What, no invite?”

Johnson scrambled. “Always room at the table, ma’am.”

The group shifted, made space. Hill pulled up a chair. Natasha took one beside her.

Rae nearly vibrated next to you, nudging you under the crate with her boot. You gave her the look of death and pretended you weren’t aware of anything except the five of hearts in your hand.

The game went on.

Talk drifted between units. Some mission banter. Some teasing. Gage bragging about a shot he definitely didn’t make. Hill cursing about someone in command. Natasha barely said anything, just played her hand cleanly, collecting wins without reaction.

You tried to be normal. Tried to breathe. You even cracked a joke about Johnson’s poker face, which earned a real laugh from Maria. But Natasha… Natasha didn’t laugh. She just watched you for a second too long.

One by one, people started heading out. Hill was first, clapping Natasha’s shoulder. “I’m gonna grab rounds with the command team. You staying?”

Natasha just nodded. Rae followed not long after, mouthing good luck to you like this was a goddamn battlefield. And then, it was just the two of you.

You and Natasha. The cards. The stars. The low hum of distant base activity. And a silence that grew thick.

You played in it. Two more hands. Quiet shuffles. Hands folded. Cards drawn-

“I made you uncomfortable.”

You looked up. Natasha wasn’t looking at you. She was adjusting her cards.

Your chest tightened. “What?”

“Earlier. In the container.”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Natasha glanced at you, quick, sharp. But not cold.

“You don’t have to explain. But I saw it.”

You looked down at your hand. Queen, seven, ace. Crap..

“I wasn’t uncomfortable.” you said. And Natasha didn’t speak.

“I was…” You exhaled. “Caught off guard. And you’re..” Your voice dropped. “You’re you.”

Natasha set down her hand slowly. King, ten. Beat you easily. “I’m not used to getting that close with anyone out here..” you added.

Natasha tilted her head slightly. “That makes two of us.”

The words landed like a stone dropped in water. You sat with it. Then she picked up the deck, started shuffling again. Not looking at you. Hands steady.

“I don’t let people in easily.” she said, quiet now. “Especially not soldiers I’m responsible for. It complicates things.”

You swallowed. “So…earlier was a mistake?”

A long pause. Natasha looked up. Eyes steady. Locked on yours.

“No.”

Your breath caught. “But it’s not something we can rush. Or take lightly.”

You nodded. You understood that. All of it. The chain of command. The danger. The risk.

Still.. “I didn’t want you to leave.”

Natasha’s mouth twitched. Almost a smile. “Good.”

You played one more round in silence. And when Natasha finally stood, gathering her cards, she paused. Looked down at you.

“Get some rest.” she said softly. And then added, just for you, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

And you? You couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at your lips.

-

-

-

-

(Original picture of the vehicle who drove on a deterniation)

[demonic0angel]

Celestial Bodies AU (maybe part 1/?)

(Part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7.)

Superman flew through space, eying the new galaxy that he and Batman had discovered the night before.

“So? What does it look like?” Batman asked him through the communications.

“Well…” Superman looked around. “It’s definitely weird. It has an enormous cluster of stars, but I’m not feeling stronger…”

“What? Are you saying that the radiation isn't working?"

"The stars here are all white stars or above, but they don't make me feel stronger. Actually... I think I'm feeling weaker too. Something is definitely wrong here."

Batman was quiet for only a moment before he asked, "Are you in any current danger? Can you defend yourself?"

"No, I'm fine. I don't sense any living beings around me. I can defend myself." Superman understood what Batman was trying to say. "Are you asking me to stay and continue observing?"

"If you can."

"Of course. I'll stay and continue investigating."

"Thank you," Batman said softly and Superman smiled at that.

"Don't sweat it! Let me get the receiver."

Superman pulled out the device that allowed him to connect to radio signals from space, and began turning it on. However, the moment it turned to life, the radio began to malfunction, short circuiting and turning into static as it shook itself. Superman nearly tossed it away before suddenly, it was normal again.

And then, the signal began to pick up.

And it began to sing.

Superman stared wide eyed as a symphony of music and singing came through the radio. It was a little choir of humming and barely audible voices, sounding as though they were underwater. Still, it was undeniably beautiful, like something heard from heaven.

"Batman," Superman said, hushed, "are you hearing this?"

"... yes."

"It's amazing! Are these stars making these sounds?" Superman continued flying, observing the blue and yellow stars, each radiating a heat that could not power him. He continued flying, listening to the ethereal song that called for listeners.

He hadn't been paying attention when he felt an ever sensed blistering heat and a force beginning to drag him forward. He turned his head and his eyes widened again before he cursed and flew a little distance away.

"Superman? What is it?"

"Batman, turn on your visuals," he said as he turned on the camera.

There was silence before Superman heard the barely audible click and then a buzz of a camera. The camera was attached to Superman and it would send the views back to Batman, allowing him to see just what Superman was freaking out over. When it turned on, Batman was silent for a moment, clearly as confused as Superman was feeling.

"... tell me what I'm seeing."

"A quasar, a protostar that is possibly becoming a blue star, a neutron star, and a black hole all coexisting right next to each other. As well as several planets all circling them like stars."

Superman watched the scene with a sense of both interest, awe, and horrified confusion.

The scene in front of him just wasn't possible. Not only would a black hole consume everything around it, there was already a quasar nearby doing the same thing with an even stronger force. However, the protostar and neutron star were fine even though they were so close, along with the few planets. The planetary nebula around the neutron star circled around each celestial object in an assembly line, flowing from the neutron star to the black hole to the quasar and then to the protostar. If the nebula wasn't taken by one celestial object, it was passed onto another.

Most of the nebula seemed to be absorbed by the quasar and protostar, but the two of them seemed to coexist in peace. The neutron star continued to spin and the black hole surrendered most of the nebula to its neighbors. The planets also spun peacefully, a few even had rings that were not taken by the quasar or black hole.

It was like only foreign objects, like Superman himself, would be absorbed.

It was fascinating. Like they were alive and knew how to live with one another.

Superman explained it to Batman in detail. Batman was silent before he said, "This shouldn't be possible. How could this occur? Unless there was some sort of external force that is keeping each astronomical object to themselves and prevents them from destroying each other, there's no way this could be a natural occurrence."

"Are you suggesting that this is man-made?"

"How could it be anything but? Aren't you listening to singing right now?"

Superman raised the receiver and the singing on the other side continued without pause, a constant symphony of voices.

"... you could be right. Do you want to try and make contact?"

"Yes. Send back a signal."

Superman pressed a few buttons on the receiver to send a radio message back and in an instant, the singing died down, leaving only a faint crackling and a water-like noise.

Biting the bullet, Superman then spoke into the receiver.

"Hello. My name is Superman, and I come from the Milky Way galaxy. I am a kryptonian from the planet Earth. I wish to peacefully connect with you, whoever you are."

More crackling.

Batman cursed softly in his ear and Superman winced, already feeling that he was too impulsive. However, just as he was about to backtrack and escape from this particular galaxy, there was a whispered, shuddery, "Hello."

Superman blinked and then called out, "H-Hello!"

There was silence again, only that underwater staticky noise coming through.

"Can I take this as you accepting my peace offering?"

"... yes."

The sound that came from the receiver seemed to come from many, all joining together into one.

There was a hitched gasp and then Batman hissed, "Keep talking! Ask them questions! Ask them if they want to make contact with us or if we can form an alliance!"

Superman nodded to himself and spoke into the receiver, "Can you see me?"

"We see you."

Superman paused and then continued in stride, "I'm sorry, but I can't see you. Can you show yourself?"

"In front of you."

There was nothing but the strange collection of celestial objects. Unless there was someone inside? It could be possible, but Superman hadn't detected anyone living around him for awhile now.

"Uh, I'm sorry, but—"

"In front of you."

Batman then said through the communicator, "Superman, the neutron star!"

The neutron star in front of him then began to spin faster and faster, before lighting up into a pulsar in the very next second.

Superman was stunned at the sight, as the radiation emitting from the neutron star passed over him over and over and over, radiating with a cold burn that resonated through his bones and made his limbs weak. The impossibly quick change from a regular neutron star into a pulsar only made him even more frightened as the radio signals made the receiver scream.

"We are here." The crackling voices said again, all as one.

Superman flew backwards, his breath caught in his throat.

"Superman?! Why did you go backwards?" Batman demanded.

Superman flinched and then he said softly, "Sorry. Instinct."

It was true. The fear that had entered his body had made him instinctively retreat. It was even worse than looking death in the eye. It was like the feeling of knowing the End of All, of knowing that your existence would be wiped out, of knowing that resistance would be futile and that your death wouldn't even be enough to save the ones you loved.

His heart pounded as he flew a little closer, enough to feel the heat from the quasar again and almost reluctantly said into the receiver, "Are you the neutron star?"

"We are all what you see in front of you."

"'We'? Are all of you speaking to me?"

The neutron star pulsed again, spinning just a little faster like before.

"I am the King. And these are my family."

The voice than switched out, a barely noticeable change in the difference because it was all the same voices speaking as one. However, now a different voice was leading.

"Ask your questions, Son of Jor-El. What do you seek?"

Superman's eyes widened. Then after a moment of silence, he said, "I am here to explore the universe and find protection for the planet I live on. Could you help us?"

"We are but objects in the sky. We will only answer questions."

Batman interrupted. "Ask them if they can see the future and if anything will happen to Earth."

Superman explained to the collection of celestial bodies, "This is my colleague and partner, Batman. We work together for Earth's safety."

"We know. He is the best of you."

There was silence from both Superman and Batman. Superman was stunned, but he also couldn't help but smile. "Yes, that is true. Can you see the future? Can you tell us if any dangers will be coming to earth."

Another voice came to life, taking the lead in speaking. "We can. Whatever comes, you and your Justice League can handle it."

Superman could hear Batman breathe a sigh of relief. Superman felt the same and he placed a hand on his heart as he gave a sigh of relief as well. "Thank goodness." Before Batman said anything, Superman asked, "Could you tell us more about yourself? How do you have a consciousness?"

The radio crackled and popped for a little while before the first voice, the one who called themself 'King' spoke up.

"We were like you once. But then I became a legend."

"Like me?" Superman asked.

Batman then said, "Ask them if they were human."

"Were you human?"

More silence.

And then—

"Yes."

Superman's eyes widened and he couldn't help but gasp in shock, a hand flying to his mouth as he stared at the celestial bodies in front of him, all of which used to be human. These enormous objects that used to be human, now forced to succumb to emptiness and spin in space without pause.

"Are... are you okay? We have magic users in our team, maybe we can offer you help?" Superman asked.

Batman hissed in the comms, "Superman! We don't even know them!"

The receiver crackled some more and the voice changed again. The sound of them being underwater seemed louder than ever.

"We are fine, Son of Jor-El. We are happy."

The person speaking switched to someone new.

"Ask your questions and then leave." The receiver quieted again. And then they spoke, "My little sister needs her rest for her rebirth."

Superman's eyes flicked over to the protostar, which was still absorbing most of the nebula. The only thing that could have possibly been 'reborn' was the protostar, as it needed to heat itself to start the transition to become a main sequence star. Was that one the little sister?

"Just two more questions, if that's alright." He could hear Batman's deep, frustrated sigh. He probably had more questions but was frustrated by Superman's curtesy and his lack of scientific curiosity. Superman knew he was annoyed but he felt an odd camaraderie with the celestial objects. He didn't want to anger them if necessary.

"Speak."

"How old are you? And will you help us again in the future?"

The receiver crackled.

The voice changed once more. "We are all far, far, far older than you imagine. Time does not work for us like other stars."

The speaker switched again. "But in human years, we have not reached our adult ages yet."

The honest confession made Superman's eyes widen, especially as he realized what they meant.

A bunch of children had turned into stars and black holes before they were even adults?

Superman was suddenly starkly reminded of Robin, Batman's sidekick, one of the very few children that he knew in their line of business. By Batman's silence, he was probably thinking along the same lines.

"Speak your last question and leave."

"Can the Justice League depend on you for further help and assistance in the future? I would like to come back if I can."

"Our King was once a hero too. Come if you need it."

That was when the quasar sent out a flare, the gases and planetary nebula around it rubbing against each other hard enough to send sparks Superman's way. It was clearly a warning, especially as the neutron star began spinning rapidly again, radiation beginning to light the air around him in a devastating chill.

"Leave," They all chorused.

Superman immediately turned away without hesitation. "Thank you very much! I will come again!"

The receiver did not speak again. Instead, the songs restarted and the voices continued to sing a song that he could not recognize. It was ethereal, if not haunting.

Superman was smiling as he left. Batman was silent in his ear and Superman finally asked, "So? What do you think?"

"... I think we need more information."

"You're just feeling soft because they said they were heroes and were also children," Superman teased.

"How do you know they weren't lying?" Batman sounded angry.

However, Superman wasn't concerned and only laughed. "Lying? For what? They could definitely rip me apart if they wanted. They even had a baby star with them."

"Hnn." The old softie definitely suddenly had a moment of heartache from remembering the baby star.

Superman glanced behind himself, where the fascinating cluster of stars, planets, and black holes all existed in harmony together. The quasar and neutron star lit the way alongside the other stars and the tiny galaxy grew smaller and smaller as Superman flew away.

Whatever this galaxy actually was, Superman would be glad if they could find the help they needed and helped the Justice League in turn.

".... let's come back in a month," Batman said, sounding like it was pulled out from his teeth.

It was good that Batman felt the same way.

Perhaps the next time Superman came, he could chat some more with this little galaxy?

|||||||||||||||||||||||

I did so much research for this, it's crazy 😭

Dan is the black hole and Danny is the neutron star. The reason is that both of them are technically star corpses (a large or high-mass collapsed or dead star can either result in nothing, a black hole, or a neutron star) and while Dan consumes everything around him, Danny is a remnant of a star before him. The planetary nebula that came from Danny going supernova is consumed by his siblings, mostly Jazz or Dani. Dan and Danny don't fight over it bc they love their sisters.

Dani is a protostar, which is also a baby star. I hc that she used to be a star before, but she's just restarting her rebirth until she becomes a black hole or a neutron star like her siblings :3

Jazz is a quasar, which is a different type of black hole, (inspired by this post I made). She and Danny light the way for their little galaxy.

Tucker and Sam are also there, as planets! They used to be stars but they're reborn as planets this time. Tucker is a desert planet with several Saturn-like rings of metals and sand. Sam is a terrestrial planet and is capable of life. All that's on her is plants and animals tho (they haven't gotten enough time to evolve yet). The rest of the crew (Valerie, Wes, etc) are also there and are planets. They never really reach the level of stars tho.

[irisintheafterglow]

angst/fluff. minor injuries and swearing

there you are. c'mon, baby. claw your way out.

war is tearing across katsuki's mind, his head telling him that you were an adversary while the rest of him says he needs to get you out of danger. all according to plan, just as his friends predicted.

"i thought he was supposed to be undercover, radio silent until he reported back to the office." your eyelid is sore from twitching in pure irritation; one, that this was happening in the first place, and two, that you were brought to katsuki's work at some unholy hour of the morning. "how the hell did you guys lose someone that loud?"

"that's your boyfriend we're talking about," kaminari points out and you give him an impatient frown.

"i know," you say slowly. "he's also received more noise complaints than property damage reports. you're telling me you lost track of the noisiest pro since present mic retired?"

"we didn't lose track of him," kirishima corrects carefully. "some villain's quirk messed with his head, and now we're not getting any responses for check-ins. he should have been back a week ago, but attempts to send in exfil have been encountering...obstacles." you can tell he's trying to be delicate with you, but if there was one thing you and katsuki had in common, it was a low tolerance for beating around the bush.

"i just don't understand what i'm doing here, eiji," you admit tiredly. of all the people in this room, mostly katsuki's classmates from back in high school, it was hard to direct your anger at your boyfriend's redheaded best friend. kirishima was practically your brother in law considering how many times he'd crashed at your house after a night out with katsuki. "what am i supposed to do except be the worried-sick partner?"

"about that," begins sero, another one of kats' friends from UA. he's the last pro that was sent in to attempt to grab katsuki, and remnants of that battle are still littered across his taped-up limbs. "we want you to test a hunch."

"a hunch," you echo in disbelief. "i'm here at three in the morning on a hunch?"

"from what we've gathered about the villain who captured bakugo, their quirk rewrites brain signals to name everyone but the 'boss' as an enemy, and whoever's in charge has to specify which people they don't want to be annihilated." kirishima's confidence wavers for the first time since you'd met him. "we think that...maybe you can get through to him."

"a villain kidnapped my boyfriend and you want me to bait him out of its spell?"

"basically, yeah," kaminari shrugs a little too nonchalantly and mina elbows him in the sternum.

"i'm sorry, where the hell are you getting this information from?"

"the man himself," kaminari replies with his palms up and you settle back into your seat, not realizing that you'd stood from your swivel chair in your outburst. "there are brief moments when the exfil agents seemed to get through to him, and all he'd talk about is you and how the only thing he remembers is you."

"look, we know this is scary." mina is still in her nightgown, having been summoned at the same time as you, yet she kneels down next to your chair anyways. "we wouldn't be asking you to go in if we had any other choices."

"it's not only us who need you," sero states. "he needs you to get him out, too."

right, and that's how you ended up in a rundown castle in the middle of the mountains with a henchman's knife pressing against your throat.

following the plan, you allowed yourself to be caught by the perimeter guards under the pretense of demanding a meeting with 'the puppet king,' the villain who could subject anyone to become his bodyguard if he touched their body. once captured, you would first be taken to the new second-in-command, your mind-controlled boyfriend.

when you first arrived to the wing of the castle where katsuki was stationed, you knew you needed to grab his attention. before he could address you, you forced the sharp end of the guard's blade to rest precariously against your jugular. his reaction was instinctive, like his body was moving faster than his brain. katsuki threw his arm up fired off a single blast that, at the last moment, curved to the right of the guard's head, leaving your captor paralyzed in fear with his weapon still against your skin. he was in there, but he was still under some kind of mind-control.

because the attack wouldn't have missed otherwise.

"that's it, kats. fight back," you murmur and the henchman's grip on you tightens.

"quiet, you. what are you doing to him?" you make a noise somewhere between a groan and a wince, and katsuki notices. "move again, and i swear i'll--"

"i wouldn't do that if i were you," you warn quietly at the same moment katsuki fixes the guard with a withering glare. his mind may be distant, but his body remembers exactly what it needs to do. "this isn't between us and him right now. it's between him and himself, and i'm going to make sure he wins."

"make him stop or i'll kill you right now," the guard hisses in your ear.

"i'd love to see you try," you counter without taking your eyes off of him. his hands clutch the stone bricks of the castle walls while his neck twists from side to side, desperately trying to choose what unheard voice of reason to listen to. "i know you're in there. come and get me."

"oi, dynamight. you know what to do. take care of them," your captor orders. "shut them up for good."

"you gonna let him talk to me like that, katsuki?" any further encouragement is cut short by the hitch in your throat, feeling the sharp edge ever so slightly start to sink into your flesh. you gasp as a single warm drop trickles down your neck and onto your collarbone.

"open your mouth one more time and i'll make sure you never do it again--fuck!" before he can finish his threat, the guard is abruptly knocked backward by one precise shot to his shoulder. freed, you kick his torso into the bricks behind you and he slumps to the ground, unconscious.

"eiji, i've got him," you announce with your pointer finger to the transmitter in your ear. "go ahead and move to phase two."

in less than a blink, katsuki's expression of concern is all you can see after he tears off his gloves to cautiously take your face in his hands. his gaze blinks rapidly all over your face, scanning and absorbing and assessing whatever it was he missed while he wasn't himself.

"baby," he breathes, practically in shambles when he sees the cut on your neck. "baby, what are you--why are--what are you doing here?"

"i'm getting you out," you whisper back. he swallows thickly, his face more broken than you'd ever seen him. "now we've gotta go before you somehow get put back under. eiji and your friends are taking care of the villain. for now, we've just gotta get out of here."

"did i--did i do this?" his face is pale and he can't stop staring at your neck. "did i hurt you?"

"no, no, no. never," you insist. "i know you wouldn't. you made sure that this wasn't any worse." you tilt his chin so he can meet your eyes. "i wouldn't be here if i didn't trust you entirely, katsuki."

"you're here." you can't tell if he's grounding you or himself. maybe it's both.

"mhmm. i'm right here." explosions shake the foundation of the castle in what you can only assume to be the beginnings of the infiltration. katsuki snarls and tightens his grip around your waist.

"i'm going to kill them for sending you in here in the first place," he declares, a familiar scowl finally making its way back onto his handsome face. "what the fuck were they thinking, sending my damn partner in to save me? those shitwipes and their stupid ideas." there he is.

"ask them that yourself," you reply with a small smile, feeling a little lighter than you had been in a week. "for now, please get me out of here. i never wanna be on one of your missions ever again."

"that makes two of us."

according to the press, there was hell to pay back at the agency when dynamight finally got a hold of cellophane, red riot, and chargebolt, the pros who led the team to extract him. rumors of your involvement never became widespread, but katsuki made sure to keep a picture of you in his toolbelt in the event that he was taken from you again.

[vipetas]

hide and seek

Heart racing, you gently eased the closet door shut, nestling yourself deeper inside of it. With a hand pressed over your mouth to stifle your breaths, you strained to hear any approaching footsteps.

Silence enveloped the room, and you allowed yourself to breathe a soft sigh of relief. This was a good hiding spot, you thought to yourself. Surely, he’ll never find–

“Oh, darling! Where are you?”

Your hand instinctively shot back to cover your mouth. Shit, how did he know to look for you in this room?

You held your breath, listening intently. Before long, you heard it: the slow, deliberate approach of footsteps. Each one seemed to echo the pounding of your heart as you braced yourself for the closet doors to be flung open.

Yet, it never happened. Instead, three soft knocks on the closet's doors signaled his presence on the other side. You pressed farther back into the closet, trying desperately to remain unnoticed, but it was too late.

“There you are!” Alastor's voice rang out as he swung open both doors. As light flooded into the cramped space, you met his gaze, a mix of annoyance and amusement crossing your features

“Alastor!” you scolded in a hushed tone, careful not to attract further attention. “You cheater, how did you find me?”

With a chuckle, the Radio Demon grinned wider as he leaned against the door frame.

“Why, darling, I simply followed the sound of your beating heart. It led me right to you. Quite the delightful melody, if I do say so myself.”

You couldn't help but roll your eyes at him, though the smile tugging at your lips betrayed any irritation you might've felt. “Alright, Romeo, fair enough,” you quipped as you stood up, brushing off your clothes.

Alastor responded with a playful wink, extending his hand towards you as an offer to help you out of the closet. You accepted, feeling a subtle thrill course through you as your fingers intertwined. It was a sensation that had become familiar, one that never failed to stir something within you. Just as you were about to comment on it, the moment was abruptly cut short by the sound of approaching footsteps.

In an instant, Alastor swiftly pushed you back into the closet, joining you inside before you could even react.

The confined space of the closet felt even smaller with both of you squeezed inside, pressed close together to accommodate for the lack of room. In the dim light, your gaze met Alastor's, and he placed a finger to his lips, motioning for you to remain quiet. You nodded, your heart fluttering ever so slightly not just from the fear of being discovered but also from his proximity.

Still, you waited, holding your breath. Each second seemed to stretch into eternity, but after a moment, you heard someone gingerly enter the room. It wasn't unexpected, but what caught you off guard was the sudden voice that shattered the stillness.

“Hello? Is anyone in here?” Charlie called out, her tone carrying a playful curiosity.

Alastor, ever perceptive, sensed the gasp rising in your throat. With a swift movement, his hands slid to your sides, pulling you even closer to him. His lips hovered just inches away from yours, barely brushing against them as he whispered, “Stay calm, my dear.”

For a moment, you forgot about the game, about the risk of being caught. As Charlie's voice lingered in the air, Alastor's grip on you tightened subtly, sending a delightful cascade of shivers down your spine. The way he held your gaze was both unnerving and intoxicating, and you felt yourself melting as his fingers began tracing the curve of your sides, leaving a tingling warmth in their wake.

In turn, your own hands sought solace in the fabric of his suit, fingers curling around the material. As you leaned into his embrace, you purposefully brushed your lips against his again in an almost kiss, and a low, deep hum rumbled from within Alastor’s chest.

You could feel his frustration, palpable even with the scant distance separating you. It was a gap neither of you could ensure for a moment longer.

But reality came crashing back down as Charlie’s voice pierced through the silence again.

“Hello! I know somebody’s in here!” She said, her presence looming larger as she continued to search the room. Her movements became increasingly frantic as she searched behind curtains and under the bed, leaving you with the unsettling certainty that the closet would be her next target.

Glancing back at Alastor, you were somewhat surprised to find his gaze still fixed solely on you, seemingly unconcerned with Charlie's search outside. His hands suddenly left your sides, and you found yourself missing his touch. But before you could dwell on the absence for long, they found a new resting place, cradling the back of your head with a possessiveness that both startled and thrilled you.

Without warning, he closed the gap between you, his lips crashing against yours in a kiss that bordered on primal. It was a stark departure from his usual gentleness, leaving you momentarily bewildered by the sudden intensity. Yet as the kiss deepened, any thoughts of protest were quickly swept away by the overwhelming heat rising between you.

Eagerly, you opened your mouth for him, craving the sensation of his claim, and claim you he did. Pulling your hair back as if he couldn’t get close enough, his tongue brushed against yours, sending waves of pleasure that shot through your veins, setting every nerve ablaze with desire. Lost in the dizzying sensation, your body acted on its own accord as it arched into his touch, your bodies melding together seamlessly. Each curve and contour fit together perfectly, as if they were two halves of the same whole.

As the moment's intensity threatened to peak, you suddenly heard the soft creak of the outside door opening. Your heart lurched in your chest, and you instinctively pulled away from Alastor, eyes wide as you fixated on the crack of the closet door, where a sliver of light seeped through.

Alastor, however, remained unperturbed. His lips trailed kisses across your jaw, his hands returning to your sides with a firm grip that pooled your insides with warmth. Despite the interruption, you found yourself melting into his touch, your arms wrapping around his neck as you surrendered to his desires, even as a part of your mind remained on high alert.

“Hey, did you find anyone?” Vaggie’s voice rang out.

The sound of her footsteps drew closer, accompanied by Charlie's response. “No luck yet, Vaggie. But I'm sure they're hiding somewhere around here.”

“Did you check the closet?”

The innocent question sliced through the air like a blade, catching you off guard. Every fiber of your being urged you to break away from Alastor, to regain control of the situation before it spiraled further out of hand. But as you struggled to gather your thoughts, Alastor's lips crashed against yours once more, effectively drowning out your protests.

“Alastor,” you whispered urgently against his mouth, your attempts to push him away met with stubborn resistance. Despite your efforts, he remained as sturdy as a brick wall, his fervent kiss consuming you with an intensity that left you powerless to resist.

“I didn’t!” Charlie gasped, and in the next instant, the unmistakable sound of their approach shattered any remaining pleasure you felt. Desperation flooded through you as you attempted to push Alastor away once more, but he only seemed to draw impossibly nearer, enveloping you in an almost suffocating embrace as his tongue boldly invited itself into your mouth.

This is it, you thought. You’d never hear the end of being caught in such an embarrassing situation. You could already feel heat rushing to your cheeks as you struggled between surrendering to Alastor’s intoxicating taste and preserving your dignity.

Bracing yourself for the inevitable, you tightly shut your eyes.

However, embarrassment never came. Instead, you felt a sudden shift, like being caught in a whirlwind of energy. Colors blurred and twisted around you, and for a fleeting moment, it felt as if your very essence was being pulled apart at the seams. Then, just as suddenly as it began, the sensation ceased, and you found yourself standing in Alastor’s radio tower, his hands still resting upon you.

“You're such a cheater!” You playfully scolded, giving his shoulder a gentle nudge with your hand.

“Cheater? Me?” Alastor replied with mock innocence, his grin widening as he shrugged nonchalantly. “I merely... bent the rules to my advantage.”

With a shake of your head, you chuckled softly, finding it impossible to stay upset with him for too long. “Well, you certainly have a knack for bending them,” you commented with a smile.

“Would you prefer that I bend you?”

Alastor's remark sent your heart racing, your cheeks warming at the implication. Emboldened by the rush of adrenaline, you closed the distance between you, your fingertips lightly grazing his cheeks as you brought your lips tantalizingly close to his.

“Maybe I would,” you replied, the words barely a whisper. Alastor chuckled softly, his breath warm against your skin as his hand slipped to the small of your back.

“Well then, my dear,” he murmured, his voice a low, seductive whisper. “Let's see just how much you can handle.”

[divadepreshawn]

𝑨𝒍𝒊𝒆𝒏 𝑺𝒖𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓

Aaron Hotchner × fem!reader ×popstar

part three Reader's nickname can be everything that involves honey, if you have a suggestion to stay fixed I will be happy to receive :) WC: 1 606

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If Aaron said he didn’t Google your name when he got home, it would be a lie.

He didn’t just do a cursory search, he dove into your chaotic universe of interviews, albums, music videos, awards shows, and conspiracy theories—which he concluded people just need therapy for.

He’d heard some of your songs in passing before, some on the radio on his way to work, some in commercials when he watched TV with Jack, he just didn’t know it was, well, you.

There was good, great, excellent, and then… you.

Aaron can’t remember ever seeing anything that came close to you. You sang and danced without missing a beat, your stage presence, the way you moved, no one would guess you were performing to a packed stadium—were you really human?

He feels like a moth being drawn to a light, unable to resist. Absorbing each performance and interview like a sponge.

The clock was two in the morning, he wasn't sleepy. Aaron never cared about celebrities, at most he sympathized with some, he was never the type to research their lives on the internet or in magazines.

His world was made up of reports, investigations and horrendous crimes, always keeping the focus on what was real, on what needed to be solved. The idea of ​​following the pop universe and celebrities in general seemed distant – even superfluous.

He liked movies, he could appreciate paintings, but music? It wasn't something he cared about, music was like background noise that fulfilled its purpose, filling the environment creating a pleasant atmosphere without standing out completely.

But watching your creative process in your documentary,– he wasn't joking, he almost called Garcia to get more information – he wished he could get inside your mind and see music the way you do. Renowned and new artists citing you as a reference.

It was fascinating.

You are fascinating.

He took the card with your number out of his pocket. And for a moment, he actually considered sending a message.

He knew that if he took this step, there would be no going back. The weight of real life was falling on his shoulders again, the pressure of his profession was like a bee buzzing in his ear, a reminder that things weren't so easy.

You on stage, in the spotlight, were an easy target.

The thought paralyzed him.

Someone like you should never get involved with someone like him.

It's better to live with the thought of what could have been than to live with the guilt of having brought danger into your life. He can deal with it, maybe in a few years he'll tell Jack that he met a famous singer.

He can deal with it.

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What he didn’t know was that you were extremely stubborn.

You waited patiently for a week for any sign. A text, a call – even a smoke signal would do, but you received nothing.

Great, if he wasn’t going to look for you then you would find a way to find him. All you had was your first name and a dream.

But you like a challenge.

Your first thought was to type his name into Google, but there are too many Aaron’s in the area, that wouldn’t work. You sighed, without a last name the search would be useless – Aaron was a very common name.

But you have something in your favor – influence.

“Hey, I need a favor.”

“This smells like trouble.” Chris – your security guard – stopped near the door, crossing his arms. “What is it?”

You smiled, this poor guy really deserved a raise.

“I met a guy and I wanted to find him, but all I have is his first name, Aaron.” You paused, trying to remember the details. “He was tall, had black hair, wore a nice suit, his posture was firm and he had a serious look, he probably has a position of authority, a lawyer perhaps?”

He looked at you as if he were seeing a unicorn, the crease between his eyebrows deepened as his mouth opened in disbelief.

“Let me get this straight, you want me to find someone you saw once in your life, and you don’t even know their damn last name?”

“Well, that’s basically it.”

“How am I supposed to do that?”

“I don’t know either.”

He sighed, running his hands through his hair in a clear sign of frustration.

“I should be immortalized as a saint.” He rolled his eyes and picked up his phone to make a call. You watched as he muttered something under his breath to someone on the other end, his expression hardened, he sighed and hung up right after.

“This will take a while but maybe we can get something done”

You smiled, he always found a way.

“Thanks, you’re awesome.”

“I know, next time maybe you can remember that when you decide to go out alone”

“I already apologized, it was stupid, I know”

“What did you want? If you intended to die, couldn’t you kill yourself like a normal artist? Drugs, alcoholism or something?”

You snorted in amusement.

“Shut up.”

He just rolled his eyes, returning to his attentive posture.

While Chris dealt with the impossible mission of finding Aaron, you focused on work, with the tour approaching there were many details to be worked on. You spent the entire afternoon making adjustments to the sequence of songs, the position of the dancers, the light show. The worst part of being a perfectionist was this: everything had to go through you.

At the end of the day, when you were finishing up with the team, your cell phone vibrated on the table. Picking up the phone, you answered quickly when you saw it was Chris.

“Peaceful house, who’s disturbing you?”

“Ha ha, funny girl, are you done? I’m waiting in the parking lot.”

“I’m going, did you get anything?” Holding your phone with your shoulder, you said goodbye to some people who were still in the warehouse before heading towards the parking lot.

“You’re going to sing at my wedding, for free.” He expected a protest, but you just nodded in agreement, so he continued. “Your mystery man’s name is Aaron Hotchner, he’s been the leader of the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit for the past 5 years. He used to be a lawyer – congratulations, you guessed right, maybe you should ask him for a job. I’ll send you his office number.”

You walked into the house in silence, absorbing the new information. Now you had a full name and a profession.

Aaron Hotchner, FBI agent.

You chuckled to yourself, you had just stalked an FBI agent – ​​that didn’t get you arrested, did it? The idea of ​​looking for him again – this time in a more direct way – seemed like a crime you were willing to pay for.

But how? You couldn’t just show up at his work – that would be too weird. It was time to plan calmly, you didn’t want to scare him.

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Aaron Hotchner was a man of routine.

He liked predictability when he had the chance to experience it, which was why he tried to keep his mornings calm; any unexpected element was viewed with suspicion.

So when he walked into his office that morning and found a huge bouquet of flowers on his desk, he stopped. His brow furrowed automatically, studying the bouquet as if it were a crime scene.

Flowers. For him.

He began to run through all the holidays quickly in his head; it wasn't his birthday or Father's Day. What was this?

Silently, he closed the door and approached the desk, finally noticing the card carefully placed among the flowers. He picked up the card and opened it calmly – almost as if he were defusing a bomb.

“Aaron

I appreciate the way you tried to inspire me artistically by not texting me and breaking my heart – it was innovative, to say the least. I would almost say poetic – but sad songs are not my thing, I prefer romantic ones.

Before you think it's weird that I know where you work, let me clarify two things:

First, I'm not dangerous – unless you consider smash as a threat.

Second, this is your fault.

If you had texted me like a normal person would, I wouldn't have to do this.

I'm joking (or not).

Anyway, when you receive these flowers, take it as a thank you for saving my skin that day.

Note: I loved your last name, did you know that you can't spell Hotchner without Hot?

With love, Q Honey.”

He finished reading and couldn't help but smile, you're definitely crazy, he thought. He didn't know exactly what he expected when he opened the card, but it certainly wasn't this.

Before he could decide what to do with the flowers, the door opened without warning.

“Hotch, could you reconsider a new chair, the leg of mine is wobbly and I almost fell again today. Just letting you know that what kills old people is a fall-” Rossi stopped talking as soon as he saw the flowers on the table.

“Is there something you want to share?” he asked, his tone full of amusement. “Wait, is that a card in your hand? Did you get that?”

He could have ignored it and gone back to work until he had a good enough excuse, but the shock prevented him from thinking straight, how the hell did you find out his name?

“I..um, I guess so..?” His voice came out more like a question than a statement.

“Who’s the secret admirer?”

“Someone with a lot of determination.”

Rossi laughed, clearly interested in his friend’s reaction.

“That’s one of mine, whoever it is I think you should give her a chance since she’s so determined.”

Yeah, maybe he should.

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English is not my first language, sorry for any mistakes

If you have any ideas to contribute to the sequel, I'll be happy to hear them :)

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@midnghtprentiss, @jazzimac1967

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Down Home 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as non/dubcon, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: The world's most famous heroes walk into a small town diner and change your life.

Characters: Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers

Note: Because of this.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3

Love you all to Jupiter and back. Take care. 💖

It’s a slow day. Every day is slow out in Tumble Down. The township’s name tells the whole story. Everything there is in decline. It’s hard to imagine there was ever a time when the people weren’t tiny and forgotten in the hubbub of the bigger world. Since the mines closed and the canning factory was outsourced, it feels even smaller. 

Smaller isn’t so bad. It’s simpler. You all know each other’s names and faces. You say hi and how are you and do what needs to be done. Simple is, simple as. 

You here there isn’t much to do in most small towns. Not for fun or for work. You’re one of the lucky ones. You got a job down at the diner in your sophomore year. It helped pay for your daddy’s new engine and since then, it keeps you all afloat in the rising waters of disparity as they close in on Tumble Down. 

You hum to the old radio that sits on the shelf you make sure to dust. The speakers crackle from time to time and the signal gets wonky in storm season, but the music’s never bad. It’s the classic stuff that always played in your mother’s kitchen. 

You wipe down another table. Not because it needs it, just because it’s something to do. The day has been long and listless. Even the breakfast rush was lower than usual. 

Darnell, the cook, whistles along from the back. Everyone knows he isn’t as mean as he looks. He just likes his space. 

As you go back to the counter and lean on it, staring at the ticking clock, a roar cuts through the distance. You blink and look up, narrowing your eyes at the dusty country road outside. Wind rustles through the tall wheat in the field opposite and the noise rumbles closer and closer. 

A man pulls in a motorbike. He’s going so fast that he has to circle the gravel lot before he can slow down. It’s not Lenny and his prized Harley but another man on a more modern-looking mount. Not far behind, another motorcycle zips through and the riders straddle their bikes as the survey the restaurant. 

You narrow your eyes. You probably need glasses but you make do. The last time you got your eyes checked, you didn’t have enough for the frames. 

The one man wears blue and red, an odd helmet on his head. Not a helmet at all but a sort of mask. The other man has dark hair to his chin and a beard to match. He’s all in black but his left arm shines with gold ripples. Not a sleeve, an arm, made of metal. 

“Oh my lord,” you murmur in shock, “Darnell!” You holler over your shoulder, “you’re not gonna believe this.” You turn to the window as he pokes his head around, “not sure I do myself. Tell me my eyes aren’t lyin’.” 

He looks above your head, an easy task for the mammoth cook. He hums and swirls around his spatula. “Thems those boys on the news. The one that was in the old war. Grandad’s battle.” 

“I’m not going crazy with boredom?” You bubble. 

He snorts. It’s as close to a laugh as you get from him. You spin back and hurry around the counter to grab a pair of menus. Still, you don’t want to seem too eager. You put down the menus and fiddle with a napkin holder instead. 

The bell over the door jingles and swipe up the menus and turn. You really can’t believe it’s them. Yet, as Captain America removes his cowl, you’re certain. They look just like they do on the TV. Even with your sight, you can tell. 

“Hello, fellas, how are you doin’ today?” 

The dark-haired one, the Winter Soldier, glances at the other, his cheek dimpling, “well... we’re... uh...” 

“We’re doing great,” Steve Rogers answers brightly. “Starving. You guys serve bacon? My buddy’s dying for some.” 

“Um, yes, sirs, yes. Can I sit ya down?” You ask, hugging the menus closer. 

“Please,” the Captain accepts as the other man stays silent and pensive, his eyes wandering down to the coffee stain on your apron. 

“Just here,” you sweep away and wave them on with you. You stop beside the nicest booth and lay down a menu on each side, “have a seat.” 

They do just as you bid. The blond puts his cowl on the table and unhooks the shield from his back to lay on the far end of the seat. He smooths back the sweaty strands of hair as his companion stretches his metal fingers. You sway nervously by the table, twitching as you remind yourself how to do your job. 

“Well, can I get ya started with coffee? You look beat from the road.” You beam with the smile Mr. Welk says could outshine the sun. 

“Not just the road,” the dark-haired one mutters as he rolls his shoulder. The one that connects to his real arm. “I’ll take one, please.” 

“Can I get an orange juice, please,” the Captain asks. 

“Course ya can. I’ll be right back. You have a look at the specials and give it a think,” you bounce and spin around. 

You go to pour the orange juice and a cup of black coffee. Darnell lingers by the window. He only ever really appears to put a plate up but he watches the new arrivals. 

You bring their drinks and step back, clasping your hands behind you. 

“Did ya need cream or sugar for your coffee, sir?” You ask. 

“Black’s fine,” he assures. 

“No need for the sirs. Steve, Bucky,” Captain America insists, “we’re off duty.” 

“Right, sorry about that, ssss...Steve,” you correct yourself. “You need some more time?” 

“Think I’m decided,” Bucky intones, “what about you?” 

“Set,” Steve confirms, “I’ll have the sunny side up with toast and sausage. Can I get some fruit on the side as well, please?” 

He hands over the menu and you take it as you hold your smile. Your cheeks ache. Not because you have to force it but because you can’t stop. This is the most exciting thing to happen in Tumble Down ever. If Darnell wasn’t there, no one would believe you. 

“Overeasy, bacon, extra bacon too, and some french toast, and uh... home fries.” Bucky offers up the second menu, “please and thank you.” 

“Alrighty,” you preen, “I’ll put your order in.” 

“Got it,” Darnell growls over the empty diner. 

“He’s got good hearing,” you giggle nervously as you look between the men. “Ummmm, sorry, I’ll leave ya be.” 

“You’re not bothering,” Steve assures. “I can see you’re dying to ask.” 

He gives a gentle smile. 

“Nah, oh, gosh. I’m sure ya get it all the time. I don’t wanna be one of those,” you put your hands up. “Really, you all look like you could use the peace and quiet.” 

“Well, actually, I’ve been stuck with this meathead for days,” Bucky scoffs, “so please, I’d love to hear someone else’s voice.” 

You laugh again. They’re funnier than you expect. They always look so serious on the TV. 

“What... what are y’all doing here in Tumble Down? It’s a bit far from... anywhere.” You ask sheepishly. 

“Tumble Down? Is that what it’s called?” Steve scratches his neck above his stained collar. “Well, we couldn’t get a signal so we’ve just been riding through. Saw the sign down the way and figured we’d get a bite.” 

“He’s lying. He was falling asleep on his bike,” Bucky teases. 

“Sure,” Steve shakes his head. “Only ‘cause I’m tired of you.” 

You giggle again, “I thought y’all were friends.” 

“Friends, partners, cursed with each other, have your pick,” Bucky snorts. 

“He’s playing,” Steve says. “Look, we’re boring. Despite what you think. We’re a couple of old men bickering with each other. What about you? What about Tumble Down?” 

“Ah, nothing really, sir. Steve,” you squeeze the menus tight at the edges. “Nothing going on since the coal law and that. Everyone’s all but run out. All but us.” 

“Just you? Your family?” Steve wonders. 

“Jesus, Steve, nosy much?” Bucky says over the brim of his mug. 

“Sorry. He’s right. Like I said. Crotchety old man. I talk to the pigeons.” 

You laugh again, “oh my, you are a hoot!” You slap your thigh emphatically, “I’m still my ma and pa. It’s just the three of us. They need help with the animals and that.” 

“Animals?” Steve wonders, his posture shifting towards you. 

“Chickens, cows. They got a farm. Was my grandpa’s. And his ma kept it going after he didn’t come home from... well, you’d know more about that time than me, I think.” You give a forlorn look to the floor. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry about your grandfather. Great grandfather,” he corrects himself. 

“Lotta good men gone,” Bucky mulls grimly. 

“Yeah, my great granny said as much. I wouldn’t know though, but I heard the stories,” you dare to look at them again. “Sorry to bring up the bad memories.” 

“Nah,” Bucky waves you off casually. “I got this nifty arm outta it.” 

“And I got a shield so, you know, not all losses,” Steve chuckles. 

“I s’pose,” you agree. “I’m gonna check on that food for ya. You good with your coffee?” 

Bucky raises the mug, “delicious.” 

You nod and turn with a swish of your skirt. You go up to the window and look over the ledge. “How’s it going, Darnell?” 

“Going. I’m happy it ain’t Raylene here. She’s got a mouth on her, don’t she? Them sort don’t deserve that trouble,” he tisks. 

“They’re nice. And Raylene is too. She’s just... Raylene,” you say, “can I help with anything?” 

“I don’t wanna be rude but I’m tired of tellin’ ya to stay outta my kitchen. You know the grill likes to spit,” he shakes his head. “You go, I’ll let ya know when it’s ready.” 

“Alright,” you back away and turn back. 

Steve and Bucky lean over the table, their voices low as they chat. As you move around behind the counter, they both sit up and the former clears his throat. You smile as you take the cloth from your apron pocket and wipe the already clean counter. 

As the radio buzzes, you hum without thinking. Stevie Ray Vaughan’s smoky voice mingles with the emotion plucked through electric strings. Your dad’s a big fan. He has old tapes with concerts on them and even went to one himself. 

The bell rings and you nearly jump out of your shoes. You turn and scoop up the plates as you thank Darnell. He grumbles that he’s going out to have a smoke; his code for having a Tootsie Pop by the backdoor. 

You bring the meals over to the table and set them down before the men. Their gazes make you sweat. It’s all a little more intense with no one else there. 

“Thank you,” Steve says and Bucky echoes him. 

“Not at all. Anything else? Water? Ketchup?” 

“It all looks great as is,” Steve says, “you got a nice voice.” 

“Oh, really? Ha, I was just humming out of tune. Sorry if I was too loud.” 

“Not at all,” Bucky picks up his fork as he leans forward. He tilts his head. “You know this one?” 

“Sure do. It’s Fleetwood Mac,” you answer. “One my all times.” 

He grins and nods as he looks at Steve. Steve watches you with a smile of his own. 

“Do you sing?” He asks. 

“Me? Only in my shower or to the chickens. They usually hide in the henhouse then.” You tinkle with laughter. 

“Ah,” Steve nods. 

“But if... if ya really wanna suffer, I could try it,” you smile, “but uh, you know, Stevie Nicks, she’s one of a kind.” 

“I’ve had worse,” Steve says. 

You look between him and Bucky. You chew your lip and think. You follow the song as you try to recognise which verse it is. You squint and perk up as you catch your place. 

“You just let me know when you’ve had enough,” you say before you start. Not only can you tell your pa that you met the super soldiers, you can tell him you sang for them. It’ll be a nice bit of excitement for the dinner table. 

[jyoongim]

So I tried to mush all three of these request into ONE since i felt they all had a similar theme. Umm I might have missed a few points but I hope you like it regardless <3

Themes: 18+, nsfw,fem!reader, bratty!reader, soft!dom!Alastor, established relationship,  brat-taming, pet play, orgasm denial, masturbation, rough sex/passionate sex, breeding kink, possession, degradation kink, slight bondage, humiliation, alastor uses microphone, creampie, multiple orgasms, punishment, slight choking, praise kink, overstimulation, much needed aftercare

You were usually so well behaved.

Radiating confidence and elegance through your quiet demeanor.

A pretty doe who followed her master’s orders without question.

That’s why Alastor liked you so much.

But every so often, you needed to be reminded that his adornment for you shouldn’t be taken for granted.

You were out doing you own thing away from the hotel.

You had found a cute cafe with a library and was enjoying a few books. It felt so nice to have some time to yourself. You enjoyed the company of those who occupied the hotel, but sometimes it felt a little stuffy. You had already did everything Alastor wanted you to do so why not relax a bit before being summoned back to his side?

Alastor. 

He brought a smile to your face. It wasn’t everyday you met another deer demon and the two of you hit it off real nice.

You were a pretty soul in his collection and truth be told, you didn’t know why he needed you around. But you didn’t mind doing small things for the demon.

You were his ever faithful assistant, but there was so much more to your relationship with the Radio Demon than any knew.

You felt your necklace vibrate and pouted summoning. You ignored it, resuming with your reading. You’ll just leave when you were finished….

Alastor cocked his head, his smile tense did you just ignore him? Alastor gave you a lot of leeway. But now was not the time to ignore him. He could feel the telltale signs of his rut coming and merely just wanted you in his presence. You had a soothing effect on the red demon and he wanted to bask in your scent.

He tried again, sending out a signal along with it Darling, be a dear and come home. Nothing. he knew you had left the hotel but you usually came running when he summoned you.

His ear twitched in annoyance. Seemed his little Doe needed to be taught a lesson in obedience.

You hummed a little tune as you entered the hotel. You were gone a bit longer than you thought, having indulged yourself in several books, you even picked up his favorite meat as an apology.

Your nose wrinkled as pheromones hit your nose. Your ears picked up on a low humming, like white noise. You felt your necklace give a tug.

come to me

You made your way to Alastor’s radio tower.

You knocked softly and peeked your head inside, entering with your ears pinned back.

”You know that I am my own person right?, I was coming back eventually” you said sarcastically with a smile on your face as you approached him at his radio station. You meant for the comment to be silly, thinking whatever he wanted could wait.

He did not find it funny.

He twirled around in his chair, his smile tight “I thought i told you to come home my dear”his tone was rough, head tilted.

You shrugged “I was out enjoying myself. I dont always have to answer to your every beck and call”

Green chains appeared around your neck, yanking you to the floor.

You blinked and mindlessly tugged at the chain, frowning.

You looked up to him, with a questioning expression on your face, which quickly dropped to one of anxiety when you saw his face.

Alastor was pissed.

With a yank, he tugged you towards you, slowly reeling you across the floor. Your skittish nature kicked in and you tried to fight against it “Al?”

His eyes were black, glowing red as he tugged your chain harder.

”A-Al s-stop it”

He cocked his head ”since when do you talk back to me pet?” He chuckled, he tugged the chain until you were between his legs.

He grabbed your chin “Did you forget who owns you? When i call for you , you come… that was our arrangement no?”

You nervously gulped, nodding. He ran a claw through your hair, almost lovingly, before yanking your face til your nose was buried in his crotch. 

“It seems I’ve been too soft with you,” You got a good whiff of his scent and nearly purred at the heavy pheromones.

Alastor relaxed in his chair as you ran your nose along his clothed cock. If it was one thing you always craved it was Alastor.

He watched as you tugged at his belt, adjusting his hips to let you tug at his pants until his semi-hard cock sprung free from into confines.

He let you have your fun.

Because he sure was going to have his and you weren’t going to like his version of fun.

You took hold of his cock and licked a long strip up on the underside of  his cock, suckling at his tip.

You sucked at his tip, tongue swirling at his slit before taking him into your mouth whole. You slowly inched him into your throat until your nose brushed the patch of red hair at his base.

Hands anchored on his thighs for leverage, you began to bob your head up and down, making sure to coat him in your saliva.

The sounds of you happily slurping away filled the room as you suckled his cock.

You relaxed your jaw and wrapped your tongue around his shaft, softly squeezing his cock like your hand would as you bobbed your head.

You gagged as he pressed your head down unexpectedly. Your eyes looked up at him, to find him lazily resting his head in his palm. He didn’t make a move as you moaned gurgling around him, the vibrations making him twitch in your mouth.

What a clever minx you were, thinking that if you sucked him off he would forgive you…silly girl.

Your tongue jerked him off slowly, urging him to spill his cum down your throat.

Alastor let out a soft grunt as you fondled his balls.  The sensation of your warm mouth and tongue squeezing him was so good.

”You want my cum dear?’ He petted your head, hand swiping your hair out of your face. You moaned, nodding as you picked up your pace.

”Then don’t waste a single drop” his cock twitched and with a hard tug of your tongue he coated your throat, spilling his cream down your throat.

You sighed as you tugged at his cock, welcoming every drop that shot down your throat. You pulled off him with a pop and showed him your full mouth, before swallowing.

You leaned back onto your knees, a knowing smile on your face, thinking that he had let you off the hook.

but oh how wrong you were…

”Oh don’t think you can suck my cock and ill just forgive you dear, you refused to obey a summoning so now you’re going to have be punished” he said as he tucked his cock away into his pants.

You blinked surprised. Punishment?

He patted his lap, his brow quirked at you.

You gulped as you slowly crawled into his lap. His hands ran along your spine before palming your ass. You nuzzled into his shoulder, a silent plea.

He pulled your tight skirt over your ass, toying with the lacy panties you wore.

”Let’s see how many lashes do you deserve? Hmmm you ignored my initial summoning, thats 10, then you had the nerve to talk back, being a little brat thats 10 more…” His hands were kneading your ass harshly. You whimpered. “Then you thought you could get out of punishment by voluntarily sucking my cock…that makes 30 darlin’ ” You tensed. He was gonna spank you 30 times?

”You’ll count and then you’ll take the rest of your punishment accordingly. Am I clear?” he pressed a kiss to your shoulder.

”Y-Yes Alastor” A hard smack sounded and your body seized.

He tsked at you,  smoothing the stinging cheek “I taught you better than that”

”Y-Yes sir” You whined, your hands digging into the chair cushion.

”Good girl now start”

He smacked your other asscheek.

”o-one”

five.

ten.

15.

20.

25.

You were a quivering mess, clenching your teeth as tears ran down your face. Each smack harder than the last.

Your ass was on fire. Your cunt was tingling. You were sure you had soaked your panties. You prayed he didn’t noticed. He smoothed the hot flesh, giving you a little comfort as you shook in his lap.

”You’re almost done c’mon”

SLAP SLAP SLAP!

”2-28”

SLAP SLAP!

”30! It hurts please” you all but sobbed in his shoulder. Alastor kneaded your ass softly, your skin was hot, probably red with his handprints.

”Ooh you did so well but…” his fingers dipped down the crack of your ass, feeling how wet you were through your panties

”You seemed to enjoy your punishment. What a naughty girl.”

He ripped your panties, throwing them somewhere, bringing his fingers back to your weeping cunt.

You let out a soft moan as he dipped his fingers inside you. pushing your hips down to feel him deep.

He scissored his fingers, stretching you, toying with your insides as you tried to ride his fingers.

He slipped his fingers out of you, bringing them to his lips and licking your slick off.

He leaned your body back, removing your face from his shoulder, taking in your flushed face and watery eyes.

”At my feet” he said.

You slide off him, legs shaking, taking your place at his feet. Your lip quivered as you sat there, ass stinging and cunt dripping.

He grabbed his microphone and tapped your thighs til you spreaded them. The cool head of his cane tapped your clit, making you jump.

”You want to cum, then you do it yourself pet.” His microphone head started to vibrate, you jerked away slightly. The sensation making you clench around nothing.

Alastor said nothing as he stared at you. A condescending smile on his face.

You slowly moved your hips along the head, biting your lips as  you maintained eye contact with him.

With how wet you were, you coated his microphone in your slick.

A low whine tore from your throat as your clit bumped against the vibrations just right.

”please” you moaned as your hips moved faster. Your orgasm approaching, you leaned back, hands on your ankles as you humped the cane like  a dog. Trying desperately to reach your orgasm. 

But you couldn’t.

It wasn’t enough.

It wasn’t him. 

It wasn’t his cock making you cum.

”I-I can’t ah! Alastor p-please please ” you begged.

But Alastor wasn’t going to grant you your sweet wish. He grinned down at you, moving his mic to focus on the sensitive bud. You flinched “Ooooh what’s the matter my dear? Isn’t this what you wanted?” 

You clenched your eyes shut as you groaned in frustration. Alastor pulled the vibrating mic away from you, putting it aside as he stood. Your thighs clenched together as he pulled his leather gloves from his claws. You watched as he pulled his coat off, leaving him in the nicely pressed dress shirt that showed off his broad shoulders and tapered waist. 

You wanted your legs on those shoulders and waist.

The thought made a soft purr escape your throat, causing you to blush and look away from him.

Alastor smirked. How cute you were. Trying to hide your desire in fear of the consequences. 

“How about a switch in tactics dear? ”he said crouching down to your pitiful form. He hooked a finger under your chin for your eyes to meet his gaze. “I’m going to fuck you until I am satisfied. if you don’t cum Ill forgive you how does that sound?” He smiled.

You sucked on your bottom lip. This was a gamble. You were used to Alastor’s rut. He was rough, fucking until you didn’t have a single thought in your head.

But…if he was willing to forgive you, you’ll take anything.

Because one thing you couldn’t take was Alastor’s passive aggression he could easily dish out.

You nodded, sealing your fate.

”Lovely”

You were pushed onto your back, Alastor quickly settling between your thighs. You gasped feeling his cock slid against your slit, before he thrusted into you. He set a rough pace, growling as you arched up into him.

”Oh Fuck!” You moaned.

Alastor's hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing. He sneered “Look at you. Taking my cock like a good little whore. Nothing but a brat who needs to learn her place”

Your back ached at the force he was pounding into you. The sound of his balls slapping against your ass was all you could focus on.

”When I call you, you come. There shouldn’t be any ifs or buts. You come! This pretty necklace is my leash and when I tug you answer.” He bunched your thighs to your chest, pressing them as you panted out. 

You slick was sticky, covering your ass and sticking to both of you. His hips plowed into yours, sinking his cock so deep to the hilt. He rocked his hips, enjoying the squelch your cunt made around him. You whimpered as his cock bumped against your g-spot.

“You never disobey me. You’re always my good girl. I’m always good to you aren’t I?” A harsh thrust pulled a strained gasp through your lips “Mine to do whatever I please with. I protect and provide and what do you give me in return?” Your claws dug into the floor, small dents appearing at the brutality  of his thrusts.

You felt your orgasm coming back, your cunt tightening around him. Alastor tilted his head at you “ah ah ah” he hissed as he  pulled his cock from you, creamy slick covering his cock.

Your cunt clenched around nothing and you cried as he nipped at your neck. He nosed your ear, cooing teasingly “No cumming remember?”

He fed your weeping cunt his cock, sinking til his balls rested snug against your ass. He stayed there as you wiggled around, hips shifting to try to get just a little bit of friction.

Alastor’s hips snapped into yours. High-pitched moans and soft gasps spilled from your lips as he basically plowed you into the floor. His breathe was hot as he growled in your ear “You better not cum” you whined.

easier said than done.

You could practically taste your orgasm. It was like a scale. Every rut of his hips had his cock hitting that soft sponge inside you pulled you closer and closer to knocking the scales over.

You were flipped onto your hands and knees and before you could stabilize yourself, Alastor had your cheek pressing against the cold floor and he thrusted back into you.

”Oooohh fuuucck!!” You screamed. 

“Take it Take it thats a good girl. Taking my cock so well” he groaned, hips pistoling into yours.

You felt his cock twitch and automatically sunk your hips to take his cum, he chuckled “So you haven’t lost all your manners I see”pushing your back into a low arc, hand trailing your spine to wrap your hair around his claws.

”You gonna take my cum baby? Hmmm? You gonna be a good girl and take my cum” You nodded, your cunt was fluttering.

You were gonna cum.

“dont” his cock twitched as his started to stutter, with a low growl he thrusted deep into you as he cummed inside you.

That was the tipping point.

You moaned softly as you cummed around his cock, pushing your hips back to ride it out.

Tears rolled down your cheeks as your body shook.

Sharp claws kneaded the fat of your hips as Alastor pulled out of you.

”and here i thought you would be good hmmm” he sucked his teeth in disappointment.

He gathered you into his arms, wiping at your tears

”Oh what to do with you my dear” One of his hands parted your thighs, thumb rolling your puffy clit. You whimpered closing your thighs around his hand, which made him pinch your clit in warning. Soft kisses laced your neck and shoulder as he rubbed att you over sensitive clit.

”since you disobeyed me darlin, you’re gonna cum. Over and over. You’ll cum so much you wont even be able to cum after I’m done with you” he darkly promised.

And cum you did.

over and over.

You cried as your hips jerked, trying to get his now wet fingers away from your poor clit. Your body went slack in his hold as you cummed again.

“P-please” 

Too sensitive

“Hmm darlin?” He patted your clit, grinning as you squirmed.

”no more please A-Alastor” you cried as he circled your clit again.

He kissed your quivering lip.

”hmmm since you beg so prettily” he worked your clit quickly and you winced as a quick orgasm shot through you, squealing as your hips quaked as a soft stream squirted out of you.

Alastor laughed as your body shook, head lolling against his shoulder as you panted.

”That’s a good slut”he whispered as your eyes closed.

@markster666 @okay-babe @alastor-simp @alastorsaries @alastwhore666 @thewinchestah @alastorsdear @strawberrypimp666 @polytheatrix @danveration @coleisyn @rradio-static @choaticallygoofy @yourworstgf @snowandnina @yoitsnetto @tpks @siiv3r @alastorss @pooplyface1423 @chewbrry @queenariesofnarnia @simphornies @v0xsw1fe @peachedtvs @wisteria-seal @altruisticalastor @stawberrypimpsimp @horrorartsworld @dennsfz @yunimimii @dievia3 @jellibean2018 @alastorsdarlingdoe @t0byisher3 @twismare @diamond-almond @lunaramune @scaramoochiie @kiralaufeyson84 @purplecatsandhearts @lbcreations-blog @alishii @yourdoorisunlocked @dasimp777 @bri22222 @fizzled-phoenix @fruityteacup @prosciuttosblog @alstorloml @ioniiaa

[seijorhi]

Gorge

Monster Geto Suguru x female reader

tw: blood and gore, hard vore (not reader), implied non con, mentions of breeding, yandere-ish as always

Fairy & Rhi’s Big Bad Valentines Event ~ Here there be monsters

Days of silence, waiting, calling fruitlessly into the vast nothing that surrounds you, and the sudden crackle on the other end of the radio sends your heart leaping to your throat. 

“Mayday, mayday, this is the S.S. Sarugami, requesting emergency assistance. I repeat, this is S.S. Sarugami, requesting emergency assistance, we’ve taken heavy damage with multiple fatalities, requesting emergency assistance, do you read me?”

Please.

You don’t so much as breathe, fingers poised over the transponder as you wait. They might not pick up the signal, they might not care enough to stop and help. It could be pirates, unfriendlies. Scavengers or reavers. You’d close your eyes and pray if it hadn’t been made perfectly clear that any higher power turned their back to your plight a long, long time ago. 

“Don’t you feel the teeniest bit of guilt?” a smooth purr snakes through your head.

You don’t bother hiding the shiver that trickles down your spine like ice. “No,” you snip. It’s somewhere between a truth and a lie. You don’t relish what you’ll be unleashing on them if they arrive to offer the aid you begged for, but if it gets you out of here, away from him–

Self preservation will always win out.

You’re not a bad person for this. They wouldn’t come if they knew. They wouldn’t help you.

“No?” Amused. Always fucking amused. You bite your tongue so hard you taste blood. The near soundless shudder, breathy and excited, that reverberates through the cabin wrenches at you like a knife. 

Seconds crawl past, and then–

“Copy, Sarugami, this is the Admiral Fleet, I.C. Justice Prime. Report.” A flare of panic sparks at the identification, the brash, no-nonsense tone at the other end of the transponder. The Admiral Fleet isn’t your first choice here, they’re assholes of the highest order, bound by the code and, some might say, a little too eager to sniff out violations and injustices they can throw the book at. 

If one of them escapes, if they report you–

“You think I’d leave one alive? My, such little faith in me, I thought we’d dispelled such notions.”

Ignoring It, you say to Justice Prime, “We were attacked by reavers four days past with heavy casualties. The Captain and his command are dead. The med-team is dead. Our core was disabled and stripped and our life support systems are running low. Requesting emergency assistance, please.”

More lies, sprinkled in truth. Reavers would’ve left by now. Reavers aren’t nearly as dangerous as the threat you’re luring them to. Your hands tremble, heart trilling like a hummingbird and sweat beads at your temple. From the corner of your eye, you spy a flash of dark hair and pale skin, an all too familiar aroma of thick, smoky incense washing over you.

Lie, lie, lie. 

You squeeze your eyes close and breathe deep, fighting the urge not to flinch when something too cold, too soft, too formless to pass for human pets at your cheek. Like you’re a pet. A pretty doll. “I think I like this side of you. Vicious, bloodthirsty little mate,” It croons.

“… Copy, Sarugami. We’ll send a boarding party to assess the situation and advise next steps.”

No promises of help, but you suppose that’s too much to expect from the likes of the Admiral Fleet. It doesn’t matter. Once the airlock opens, none of that will matter. “Copy.”

The moment your finger leaves the transponder, you swing into action. You shoulder the blaster (almost drained) and the backpack (stuffed with as many rations and water packs as you could carry) and bolt from the control board out onto the main deck. There’s no telltale hiss of slithering behind you, no artificial footfalls sounding at your heels. It’s following you, though. Even if you weren’t trying to escape, It never strays far, firm in the belief of Its possession. 

Navigating through the ship isn’t as easy as you imagined, your pace unwieldy and slow with the extra weight on your back, but you can’t afford to stop or be seen. They’ll be suspicious when you aren’t there to greet them, but so long as they venture in – and don’t catch you slipping past behind them – it’ll be okay.

You just have to get past them before It starts eating or– 

Well, that’s the only option. Get on the Prime and convince them to shut the airlock and leave. 

“Such a lovely little mate, bringing me feast after feast. When you fail, will you finally accept that this is inevitable?”

The visage in the corner of your eyes flickers, pulsing, warping, too much of a substance in a container too small, and the tiny hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. You push forward, ducking out of sight, the back routes, the underbelly of the ship. Your breath comes in and ragged pants and your legs shake, more from the growing sense of dread twisting you up in knots than exertion.

“I’ll take the I.C Justice Prime,” It whispers in your head, far too sure of itself. “I’ll make a nest there to breed you in, keep you full and content. Such a good mate. Such a perfect, perfect monkey for me.”

Self-righteous assholes though the Admiral Fleet may be, you’re condemning them. Part of you knows it, even as It slips away from behind you, spilling from the tall, dark haired facade it adopts to soothe your nerves. Growing, black and slick, tendrils writhing, it slips through the grate like oil and forms itself on the other side.

“There’s other humans,” you hiss under your breath. “You can find another pet, I’m getting out of here.”

“None like you.”

The screams start before you resurface on deck. Your timing is off. There’s yelling and burst after burst of blaster fire, the sickening wrenching of limbs being ripped from bodies. Justice Prime sent seven soldiers and a single medic, and they’re being torn apart. Consumed in bloody chunks, still alive. Still screaming. 

Run, you think, skittering to your feet when they slip through a puddle, warm blood coating your hands, up your wrists and forearms, your knees. It’s everywhere, horrible trails of it leaking across the floor. Run. Run. Run, and for fuck’s sake don’t look back. 

“I shall have to reward you for this. Both my appetites sated, how you spoil me.”

Tears well in your eyes, shoulders shaking, heaving with the force of the sobs you choke back. The airlock is mere feet away – you’ve come too far to turn back. You cannot just submit to this, to It. 

There’s a difference, though, between the crew of the S.S. Sarugami and the I.C. Justice Prime. Your crew were explorers, scientists. Your best friend was a botanist studying alien flora, her wife a cartographer. They were taken unawares. The Prime are soldiers, first and foremost. Comms suddenly cut out on a suspicious mayday call, and they don’t wait to see if it’s a jammed frequency or miscommunication.

When you stumble through the airlock, the muzzles of six blasters greets you.

“We have to go!” you cry out, throwing your blood slicked hands up in front of you to show you’re not a threat, begging them to just listen. “Please, we have to go now!”

You feel It before you see It, the cold chill at your back. 

In one cruel sweep, It rips the blasters from their grips, sending them clattering uselessly to the wall. “I’m sorry,” you gasp, though it’s more a plea for forgiveness as you watch their eyes widen in terror, taking in the monstrous creature behind you. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t watch, sweet mate. I know how this sort of thing upsets you.”

But closing your eyes doesn’t stop the screams, or the warm, wet spray of blood that drips down through your hair from the toothy maw above.

[witherby]

Hello! I was just wondering if we could get some more Punchline + Joker Junior content? I absolutely loved the first fic you did about them. Take all the time you need, don't rush 💓

I loooove these two and I'm happy to write for them some more! Hope you enjoy!

Punchline: Bonded Pair

3900+ words

⚠️ mention of unsafe living conditions, lack of self preservation instincts, parentification, technically kidnapping?, and threats of death/injury ⚠️

Masterlist is Here!

Popsy's been gone for more than two days, which means Batsy hauled him off to the loony bin again.

You and your brother have to fend for yourselves until he comes back, which is fine. It's a monthly occurrence. You know you have to lie low and not cause trouble when Popsy's away because that's Popsy's job. The best little kiddos are the ones that are neither seen nor heard unless otherwise ordered, he always says, and you're the best of the best!

So, instead of prepping explosives and building elaborate traps, you walk soundlessly across the hideaway to go find your most favoritest person in the whole world.

The concrete of the warehouse is cold under your bare feet and you can hear sirens in the distance. You dance around barrels of firearms and explosive materials, dodge the scurrying rats and roaches littering the floor, and climb up walls and broken ladders with ease to reach the upper floors where your brother is hiding.

Getting up onto the rafters, you spread your arms for balance and toe along the beams. You spot your target hunched over a small pile of scraps and tech across the way and approach him with a grin. You hold in a snicker as you make to leap on top of him, but at the last second he turns and grabs you around the waist with a grin.

"Gotcha!" He cheers. You squirm in his hold, laughing.

"No fair! No fair! How'd ya know I was coming!?"

"Felt the bar wobbling." JJ sets you down and taps the rafter. You feel the subtle vibrations under your hands when you touch the metal and click your tongue, disappointed. You'd get him next time. "What's up? Besides us, ha!"

"Bored!" You scurry past him and grab up what he was working on, holding it up to the moonlight trickling between the busted roof panels. "Whatcha makin' today? Can I help? Can I, can I?"

JJ chuckles and beckons for the device. You comply, handing it over and sitting down right next to him. He holds it in such a way that you can see everything he's doing, always happy to share with you and always happy to explain. That's one of the reasons you adore him so much.

"This is a signal jammer," he explains, flipping the little gadget over to show you the wiring on the back. "This panel here is programmed to send out a frequency that makes technology go all wiley! Radios can't broadcast, cameras can't record, cellphones can't call, yadda yadda."

"But how's the jammer know not to jam itself?" You ask, leaning down to examine the paneling more closely, as if it'll help you understand it any better. It's practically gibberish to you no matter how you think about it.

JJ giggles. "D'ya want me to tell you all the boring specifics, or do you wanna go play tag again?"

You hide your grin behind your hand and kick your feet, giddy. Your big brother always knows you prefer to be more active when you're left to your own devices. He's so smart! JJ can read and write and work on tech and strategize with Popsy — he's the coolest clown in town!

"You're It!" You cry, pinching his arm, then leap off the rafters.

Or, at least you try. A hand clutches your wrist, quick as lightning, which stops your momentum. You tip your head back to find JJ holding you up and staring at you with wide, blue eyes. His smile is thin and wobbly and his breathing is sharp.

"Punchline!!" He cries. "We're eighty feet in the air!"

You snort, hanging limp in his grasp, and make no move to help him lift you back up.

"I can't get hurt, remember?" You swing your legs back and forth, rocking your body. His grip gets tighter on your hand, registering the change of pressure without the pain, which just proves your point. "You're silly! This doesn't count, you have to let me get a headstart when you're It!"

JJ leans back and pulls on you with all his might, groaning from the effort. His voice echoes throughout the warehouse and you can see his arms straining under his shirt sleeves. Slowly but surely, he's able to get you high enough to pull you back onto the beam, and wraps his arms around your waist.

"Let's play on the ground," he says like it's a suggestion, but you know by the tone of his voice that it's not. It's his "no more nonsense" tone, the one he uses when Popsy's in a bad mood or when you have to be quiet when relocating to a new secret base. You've learned to obey that tone very well. That tone keeps you safe.

When he stands, he hauls you over his shoulder like a rag doll. You huff and whine and complain without actually putting up a struggle, but his arms lock around you like a vise anyway, so you just pick at a loose thread on the back of his collar as he makes the journey back down the rafters.

"No fun," you grumble, "no fun, no fun."

"Just because you can't feel when a bone breaks means you should break it," Junior says. He adjusts his grip on you as he starts to climb down some old scaffolding, shimmying carefully to the ground. "Harder to play when you can't walk."

"I guess..." You concede. You can walk on broken legs just fine. You've done it before, but it was admittedly much easier when they weren't broken.

"Glad we agree!"

Despite your protests, you giggle. When your brother's feet touch the floor, he puts you down and forces you to put your shoes on, citing that glass and rusty nails in your feet is still a nuisance even if it doesn't hurt. Once the laces are fastened you immediately take off in a sprint, starting the game.

JJ's always taken great care of you even though you don't really need it anymore. It's been his job since you were born. Popsy doesn't do babies. They're a lot of effort and time he doesn't have, especially when he's busy building the next great game for the Bat and his Birds to play. While Popsy plays with them, you and JJ entertain each other! It's always been that way, and it's lots of fun coming up with new games during the downtime.

"Ten..." JJ calls, smirking as he watches you go. "Nine...eight...sevensixfive —"

"Cheater!" You squeal, hearing his footsteps kick up behind you, and run faster. "Play fair!"

"Fourthreetwoone!" He laughs, sprinting for you. "IIII'm comiiiing, P!!"

You hop over a crate of weaponry and shriek with laughter when your brother follows suit a few seconds later, vaulting and jumping and running after you through the warehouse with only moonlight to guide your way. His past as a Bird makes him exceptionally fast and agile, but he's taught you enough tricks that you can generally keep him at bay for a bit.

You weave between two barrels that he flips over. You dart past a pallet propped against the wall and flip it down behind you, forcing him to duck under it. You squeeze into a dusty air vent he's just a hair too big to fit, his arm reaching uselessly for your hunched figure.

"Cheater," he pants, winded from the chase. His grin is softer. Authentic. You feel yours shift to match. The genuine mirth buzzes around in your chest like a moth around light.

"Takes one to know one," you sing-song, wiggling your fingers just out of his reach. He makes a strong attempt at grabbing you, but you draw back and giggle. "Truce?"

"Yeah," he quickly agrees. "You're It next?"

You nod. When he moves out of the way, you crawl out of the vent and sit on the floor beside him, shoulders touching, and catch your breath together. You tip your head in his direction since he's sitting on your right, in case he has something to say. He notices and props his chin on top of your head.

"Ready?" He asks after a few minutes. You nod, and together you climb to your feet. "Alright. Tag!"

He gently touches your shoulder then takes off across the warehouse. A few mice scatter on his approach and he's careful not to trample any.

"Ten, nine, eight," you call, rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet. Unlike your silly older brother, you're going to play fair and square so you can rub your victory in his face.

"Seven, six, five..."

You lose sight of JJ, but that's fine. The game's more fun when it turns into Hide and Tag.

"Four, three, two, one! HERE I COME, JJ!"

You run in the direction you saw him last, moonlight your only guide, and keep your eyes peeled for any motion in your periphery. So far it's just wood and metal all around you, nothing but your shoes clicking against the floor as you go.

"I'm gonna geeeet youuuu~" you coo, perking up when a shadow shifts a few yards ahead. You rush toward the motion and swerve to avoid crashing into the stacked bottles of acid your Popsy had you collect the other day. "A-ha!"

A Bird stares at you, wide-eyed and dead silent as he white-knuckles a small cluster of papers in his hands. You recognize them as Popsy and JJ's blueprints for some future trap designs. His jaw is practically on the floor, as though believing his garish colors and obvious movement in your living space weren't going to get him noticed. Granted, you thought you'd noticed your brother, but that's a moot point.

Neither of you moves for a few seconds, just staring at each other with incredulity. You've never met another person that wasn't Popsy, JJ, or one of Popsy's henchmen before. You don't know what to do.

"J-Junior," you stammer, grin crooked and heart thundering in your ear. You take a step back, and the Bird seems to come back to himself at that. "Junior!!"

"I won't hurt you," the Bird says, quickly tucking the papers into a pocket. He reaches a hand out to you and steps forward. You turn and bolt, running for your mallet. "Wait!"

"Beat it, Birdy!!" You shout, grabbing the handle of your weapon and swinging wide. The intruder just barely avoids getting his skull caved in. He takes a combative stance, hands balled into fists as he finally gets the hint and puts some distance between you.

"This is not the move to make," he says, scowling now. You sneer at him and twirl the mallet between your hands, glancing left and right for any signs of your brother. "I didn't come here to fight. We can discuss this peacefully."

"Are you deaf?" You taunt, running towards him. You kick a discarded pipe at his face, forcing him to block it, then while he's distracted use a crate as your launch pad to jump at him with your weapon poised to swing down with as much momentum as possible. "I said BEAT IT!!"

The Bird flips backwards to avoid collision. Your mallet hits the concrete with thunderous impact, leaving cracks behind.

You take the offensive, stalking after the Bird and steering him towards the exit. You won't kill him — Popsy's drilled (sometimes literally) into you enough times that if a Bat is gonna die, it's gonna be by his hand — but the sooner he leaves, the sooner you and JJ can round up whatever you can carry and rush to the next hideaway.

"Nightwing, where are you?" The Bird says, pressing two fingers to his ear as you continue to swing at him. "There's a child on the premises with the Joker's motif all over her. I could use someone with your annoying people skills."

He dodges another swipe of your hammer and you see his eyebrows shoot up towards his hairline, stiffening like a board.

"Timothy?" He blurts. Your already frantic heartbeat kicks up even faster.

It makes sense now why JJ wouldn't answer your call — that Nightwing guy must have found him. These stupid Birds have invaded your home and accosted your big brother, and now they're deadnaming him like they've got the right to reclaim your family! Like they've got the right to take him from you! Like they've got the right to intrude on your business!

"His name," you hiss, more snarling than smiling as you kick your leg out and bring the Bird to his knees in surprise, "is JJ!!"

You swing again, hitting him in the stomach, and send the Birdy flying across the warehouse. He hits the ground several yards away and rolls, groaning in pain. You stalk after him with furrowed brows and bared teeth.

"What'd ya do with my big bro!?" You demand. "Tell me quickly before I break Popsy's rule and turn your face into mashed potatoes!!"

The intruder pushes himself up by his hands with a grunt, glaring up at you through the lenses of his domino mask. You lift your mallet in warning.

"Where is he!? I'll give ya to the count of three!"

You bring your mallet down right next to the bird's head, making him flinch back.

"One!"

You do it again, this time just barely missing his knee as he tries to get to his feet. He stumbles back and lands on his ass, hurriedly crab-walking away from you.

"Two!"

"Three."

Something pricks your neck, the sensation startling. You flinch and drop the mallet, lifting your hand to touch the needle stuck in your skin. The room starts spinning and swirling, becoming a shadowy merry-go-round in the darkness of the warehouse. You stumble to the side and run into the big, bad Bat himself, who materializes out of nowhere to wrap his arms around you and frown at your slumping body.

Whoops. Probably should've double-checked your surroundings a little better. JJ's situational awareness was always stronger than yours. You'll tell him that when you break out of Arkham with Popsy.

"OhHHhh," you mumble, consciousness fading fast. "BaTSy's here...no...nO fuN...go 'way and...and gimME BAck my...broOotherrrrr..."

Your eyes roll back, your bones turn to jelly, and you're gone.

--

You do not wake up in Arkham. You groggily peel your eyes open to find a plain, beige cell all around you. To your left is a bed, on the back wall is a curtain hiding a toilet and a showerhead, and there's a sink in the right corner. On the ceiling, you lock eyes with a security camera, and when you push yourself into an upright position, you look through the clear, cell door to see a dark corridor clearly carved into a cave.

You're in a cell in the Batcave. How curious.

You push yourself to your feet, shaky from the leftover effects of the sedative, and press your hands against the door, pushing against it with a quiet grunt. It doesn't yield and, based off the panels you've worked with when Popsy's building a new trap, feels bulletproof.

With that avenue of escape gone, you wander to the center of the room and sink to your knees, wrapping your arms around yourself and sighing wistfully as your head gently rests against the wall.

You aren't used to being alone. Is JJ also in the cave, or did the Bats put him somewhere else? Maybe he escaped and he's on his way to Arkham to go get Popsy before they swing back around for you. No, they probably put him somewhere else; they called JJ by his old name, so they must want him for something. You don't know what for, and the lack of anything you can do in here is making your skin buzz. You just want to go back to the warehouse and play Hide and Tag with your family.

You must have dozed off again, because the next thing you know you're jolted awake by animalistic screaming down the hall and several, panicked voices are shouting at someone to calm down. You hear something shatter and a batarang goes flying past your door, which startles you.

"Get the fucking sedative out!!"

"I'M WORKIN' ON IT, ASSHOLE, JUST KEEP HIM STILL!"

You watch Batman rush past your door without sparing you a glance, jaw clenched and hands formed into fists. The shrieking gets even louder and the sounds of struggle more intense.

"WHERE IS SHE!?"

Oh, that shrieking is JJ. A wave of discomfort rolls down your spine and makes your fingers and toes numb. Is he upset because you haven't broken out of your cell yet? You're normally pretty fast at escaping bonds and cages, you've had lots of practice, but the sedative had made you so sleepy! That's not your fault!

"Tim, please calm —"

"DON'T CALL ME THAT!" Your brother shouts. There's another hard thump and sounds of a struggle. A syringe rolls down the hallway and stops in front of your door. "WHERE IS SHE!? WHERE'S MY SISTER!!"

It's worry, you realize. JJ is worried for you. He takes his role as your big brother very seriously, so much so that this is the longest you've ever spent apart, and you're still just in the same building. You don't want him to be worried.

"JJ!" You call, pressing your hands to the glass. "I'm here!"

Everything quiets for a moment. You don't move. You don't breathe. You hold your good ear to the glass to listen.

"Punchline?" He calls.

"I'm in here, JJ!" You respond.

"C'mere," your brother immediately says, in his no-nonsense tone. You glance at the door and the keypad you have no hopes of hacking. The complicated, techy stuff is beyond you. You're the muscle and he's the brains, a dynamic you've been very comfortable with until now.

"I can't," you admit. "I can't get out!"

"...Tim, don't —"

More scuffling. Someone groans in pain. It's not JJ; you know what his pain sounds like, and that's not it.

"Let her go."

"One of you please go grab the goddamn sedative!"

"Give my sister back to me, right now."

"There's no need for violence. Get the knife away from your brother's throat —"

"I DON'T HAVE ANY BROTHERS!" JJ shouts. "GIVE MY LITTLE SISTER BACK TO ME NOW!"

You're so absorbed in the conversation down the corridor that you completely miss the man in the suit in front of your cell. He presses a few buttons on the keypad and you step back from him when the door slides open.

It's a geezer. What little hair is left on his head is snow white and he's dressed up in a fancy schmancy tuxedo. His gaze is piercing, but non-threatening as he looks at you.

"Terribly sorry to disturb you, madam," he says, voice gentle as he offers you a hand, palm up. "My name is Alfred Pennyworth. Might I request your aid? Your brother seems to be in quite the fright, and I think we've made a grievous error in separating such a bonded pair. Please, allow me to correct that at once."

"...what?" You blurt, smile thin. "You wanna give me AIDS?"

Alfred's expression gets a little tight. He takes a deep breath and starts talking again.

"Apologies for the confusion. I'd like to bring you to your brother. May I?"

Oh! Finally, somebody talking sense! You grin and take his hand, stepping out of the cell and turning your head towards the commotion.

JJ is standing tall and has a Bird on his knees in front of him, one hand fisted in his hair and the other holding a blade to his throat. You're pretty sure it's the one called Nightwing, but you wouldn't bet on it. The shorter Bird you fought in the warehouse is standing next to Batman and holding his dislocated shoulder while a thin line of blood runs down his temple. A big guy, like beefy as shit, in a red helmet is aiming a gun at your brother's head. And Batman is standing with his hands up in placation, trying and failing to take the pacifist route.

"JJ!" You exclaim, happy he's okay. Five heads turn to face you, and you let go of Alfred's hand to run to his side.

JJ lets go of the hand in the Bird's hair to hug you tight, then ushers you to stand behind him. The other hand keeps the knife in place.

"You hurt?"

"Silly question," you mumble, but indulge him anyway. "I'm right as rain, now that you're here!"

He nods, ice blue eyes roaming across all the birdies in the hall with you. Everyone else stares right back, tense and motionless.

"We're bottlenecked, P," he murmurs eventually. "Might haveta enjoy a little vacation in one of these cells 'till Popsy breaks out again."

You shrug, threading your fingers with his free hand. "Together?"

"Together," he says firmly. The fancy butler nods easily, waving his arm.

"You won't be separated again," Alfred promises. "Please, let's cease the violent altercations and all take a rest. Let me move you to a bigger room you two can share."

JJ gives you his full attention. You read the silent question in his gaze.

It's up to you to decide. You can fight your way to freedom or let them herd you into another box for the time being.

You quirk your lips, considering, then shake your head. The warehouse was getting a little boring anyway, and a fight could get your brother hurt.

"Lead the way, Penny Wenny!"

The knife is discarded and Nightwing quickly moves to the side, rubbing his neck and shooting your brother a weird look. The beefy guy lowers his gun. You keep your hands linked and follow the fancy butler to a larger cell with a bigger bed, which JJ tugs you to, and you curl up in his lap while he watches the door with a pensive quirk of his lips. Alfred bows and then leaves, the only sounds now being hushed conversation down the hall.

"You're not hurt?" JJ asks again. You shake your head. "Okay."

"Sorry, JJ," you sigh. "I tried t'get the baby bird to tell me where ya were, but then they pricked me and I woke up here. I wasn't payin' good enough attention..."

JJ gives you a gentle squeeze, resting his chin on the top of your head.

"Not your fault. These guys ain't no joke, P. I would know. I won't let them separate us again."

You hum, knocking your feet together as you come to terms with your new, temporary living space. You can adapt anywhere as long as your brother is around.

Click. Click. Click.

[systlin]

you know, as you are the resident Tumblr expert on the gor books, I for one would love it if you were to write a summary/essay/rant for some of the books so the rest of us can know what's going on without actually having to read it. I'm morbidly curious but not subjecting myself to that. I'm certain that you would to a wonderful entirely objective not at all opinionated job. So if you ever feel like bashing the books publicly some more, please do

oh, god

I should actually. I should. But god damn there's so many and every one of them has new heinous shit

For now, I'll drop this knowledge; in the most recent, published only last year, the protag is Agnes, an astrophysicist working at a small radio observatory.

This is important because she notes some weird shit in the orbit of Jupiter. As in, radio signals that are clearly of intelligent origin. She does the thing you would do, which is check to see if there are any probes there. There are not.

So she pokes her nose in further, and finds the Kurii planetoid ships. Thinking 'this can't be right' she sends. She sends the data. She sends the data to fucking. Colleagues to verify it.

Colleagues working at the VLA with SETI

The Kurii then 'vanish' her to gor, where the regular 'oh I love being a slave actually' shit plays out. She's told that this will be shut down on earth by one (1) senior scientist in Kurii pay saying it's nonsense no shut up don't look there again.

Me; dude. DUDE. IF SHE SENT THAT DATA TO SETI THEY ARE COUNTING HULL RIVETS ON THOSE THINGS WITH THE VLA AND EVERY ASTROPHYCISIST ON THE PLANET KNOWS NOW. IT'S GAME OVER BRO. CAT OUT OF BAG AND YOU WROTE IT YOURSELF.

THE ASTROPHYSICISTS SMELL UNLIMITED GRANT FUNDING DUDE. THEY ARE SEEING THEIR NAME IN TEXTBOOKS. IT'S OVER MAN.

EARTH IS GONNA BE LANDING SHIPS WITHIN A YEAR, DUDE

[nerdygirlramblings]

Off to See the Wizard (10)

previous | next

Giving an update on the mission is both easier and harder than you anticipated when you told the team you were willing to try being theirs. Before last night, you knew these were life or death situations they were getting into, but now, you can't bring yourself to meet John's eyes as you detail how dangerous the landscape they'll be dropped into in three days is.

"So until someone is able to find and take down whatever is cloaking the satellite signal, I have to send you in blind and-" Kyle reaches to where you have a hand braced on the table to steady your nerves. His warm hand on yours draws your attention.

"Doll, we've done this blind before. You were on the other end then and got us all out safe. We know you'll do it again," he says gently. Across the table, Simon grunts his assent.

You take a deep breath and look at the your men. Each one meets your eyes. No one shows fear. No one looks worried. Meanwhile, beads of sweat keep rolling down your back. "I just...I mean, how..." The air rushes out in a huff. "Is it always like this? This fear?"

John's chuckle rumbles in his chest. "The fear never goes away, dove. It's a little easier when we're all tapped because we know we're together, no matter what happens. But when Laswell sends one of us on a solo mission, it's hard." His smile softens as he looks at you. "And even though we're all together now, knowing we're leaving you behind it's going to make this hard. But it also gives us every reason to come back home. To be with you the way we want to. The way you deserve."

After lunch is another call with Laswell, this time to solidify decisions for dropping the boys into their mission. She carefully pokes at the information you shared the day before, but you don't give her any ground. While you don't normally shy away from sharing your love life with her, there's something different about this. You know that this mission and its outcome will change things. You're not sure how you feel about all of that just yet.

What you do speak with her about however is another way to keep track of the boys while they're radio silent. You know her team has been coming up with some new tech, and you prod her about the ability of one thing in particular. As you start digging, she understands exactly what you intend.

"I can have four in your hands in twenty-four hours, but you've got to be the one to convince the boys to use them."

Normally, you'd worry more about how to do that, as hard-headed as your men are. But you are absolutely not above a little emotional manipulation, and if this tech can do what you think, it's another way you can help keep them safe.

The barracks feel as tense as they did the night you found out all the boys were together. It's nothing to do with a secret this time, just the impending op. You still need to get them to agree to Laswell's tech, so you suggest an outing off base.

"I'm sure none of you are thrilled with the idea of nothing but MREs for the foreseeable future, and while the mess is great, I like a little variety too. Let's say we head into town and you show me some of your favorite spots?" You hold your breath and watch the silent conversation between your boys. "You could consider it our first real date," you say coyly, "something for all of us to keep close while you're on the mission." You know you're manipulating them but silently pray they agree.

Soap frowns slightly, there's small furrow between Simon's brows, and Kyle sits stiffly. It's clear they're not thrilled with the idea of going off base, and you remember how protective they were at the pub, but your ask was so innocent, you know they're going to struggle saying no. John clears his throat, looking between you, plea clear in your eyes, and the rest of his men. He's their captain, so it'll be up to him in the end.

When he huffs out a breath, you know you've won. Simon cuts his eyes to you and you smile sweetly, keeping any vindication from it. You really are excited about the idea of spending some quality time with these men now that you are all on the same page about what you want. You don't let yourself think about how this might be one of the only times it happens.

You spend the drive to town again wedged in the middle of the back seat between the two sergeants, but because of last night's decision, tonight each man has a heavy hand on one of your knees. The difference in their personalities is clear in the way Kyle rubs gentle circles into the side of your knee with his thumb while Soap slowly slides his hand as far up your inner thigh as you let him. Before his wandering digits get too far, the car stops and the engine cuts off.

Kyle slides out and John leans in and offers you a hand. He tucks your hand into the crook of his elbow as he takes off down the main street he'd pointed out last time. He steers you past the pub with the leering barman and to the open storefront of a little restaurant off a side street. Had he not brought you over, you'd never notice the place. The walls are cream and images of deserts and mountains in white frames line the walls. There's Arabic script painted on the wall below 'Kashmiri Sindabaat,' which seems to be the name of the place.

There doesn't seem to be an employee about, and there's no one at any of the tables. You pause for a moment on the threshold despite the shop's entire front being open and spilling onto the sidewalk. John gently tugs your arm, and you trail after him, looking over to see Simon at a table in the back left, facing out at the road. There's no corner booth here, and the boys didn't take the table against the wall, so Simon's facing any incoming threat, and the open seat next to him is probably for John. Soap and Kyle are already seated across from him. You watch the silent conversation they have about where to put your chair, eventually putting it next to the other empty seat on Simon's side.

Once everyone's finally seated, an employee materializes out of the door behind you, genuine smile on her face. She's an older woman, threads of silver winding through the dark expanse of the braid that drapes over her shoulder.

"My boys! You're back!" she cries. Clearly they're regulars here just like the pub. John smiles back and Soap winks. Simon tips his head with a, "Hullo, Miz Miriam."

Kyle looks up at her and introduces you. "Oz, this is Miss Miriam. She and 'er daughter run this place. Best Pakistani food outside of Kashmir, right, Miss Miriam?"

The woman blushes and motions at him to stop. She reaches her hand down, saying, "Pleasure to meet you, Oss."

John picks up where Kyle left off, telling the woman, "Oz's just transferred to base. We've been showing 'er where to go if she needs anything, an' when she said she was tired of the mess, we couldn't think a' a better place to bring here than here."

You let the others order for you and the table, and when Miriam ducks into the back, you sit for a moment, letting the warmth of the boys' conversation flow over you. When you feel a bump from your left, you look over at Simon. "Look like yer a million miles away," he says. Glancing around, it's clear the others have noticed your distraction too.

A breath to steady your nerves helps you start. "I spoke to Laswell this afternoon. I was, am, worried about you dropping in blind and having no way to reach you until you're able to find and disable whatever is preventing satellite signals and GPS."

"We told ya, doll, we've done it before," Kyle says, smiling.

You wave his comment away. "I know, I know, but being here instead of in D.C., being with you, makes it feel more dangerous than before," you tell them. "And I hate that." Your lips twist in a frown you try to smooth out quickly. "So I spoke to Laswell and had an idea."

The look John cuts at you feels knowing. His fingers start gently tapping the table. "And what is this idea you had to butter us up to tell us?"

You feel the blood rush to your cheeks at being caught. There was no use beating around the bush now. "Her team has developed wearable RFID trackers, and she's overnighting a set."

"Wot?" Simon asked, and Soap jumped in with, "Like a dog, lass? Ye think so highly of us." His crossed arms and sharp tone conveyed his frustration.

Kyle looks confused, and John has stilled beside you. "Wearable?" Kyle asks. "How so?"

Whether he intended it as an opening for you or not, you seize it. "It's sort of like what Soap said. A little. You can microchip a pet in case it gets lost, but you it only works if the pet is scanned by a chip reader. You can't open an app and find Fido if he's roaming the neighborhood."

"But ya can with an Air Tag," Kyle says leaning forward.

"Yes, exactly," you respond. "But those are bulky." You lean forward and drop your voice. You don't need someone overhearing this, even though it isn't actually classified. "Somehow, Laswell's team got Air Tag tech into something less than a millimeter thick. It goes on a pulse point - your body acts as its power source - and can be hidden under prosthetic skin."

Soap's put his elbows on the table as you talk, and there's excitement in his eyes when he asks, "Like special effects stuff in films?"

You can't help but smile. "Exactly like that," you tell him. "It'd go on before you leave and so long as there are any radio towers in the vicinity, which even black sites have, your location would report to me."

When you lean back, you feel a strong arm behind you. You know it's John because the hand on your shoulder canters you towards him. He brushes a quick kiss against your temple and murmurs, "Clever girl."

Miriam appears a moment later with a woman who looks to be a younger copy of her. Both women are carrying several dishes, which they put in the center of the table. John looks at you and says, "We'll continue talking about this when we get back to base, yeah?"

It's not a ringing endorsement, but he's not shooting the idea down either. You dig into your meal with hope your idea can keep them safe. So long as they agree to it.

series masterlist | main masterlist

~~

Taglist: @blackhawkfanatic @starriestarlight @grayskel @mxtokko @imjustheretofightforlove @miss-vanta-likes-to-write @thriving-n-jiving @madsothree @silly-starfish @danielle143 @beelzebee @nova-willow-541 @alchemyfreak321 @lilynotdilly @eternallyelvish @viylikescats @erintaro @hidden-treasures21 @lil-writer-523 @mordacioust @echo9821 @yunho-leeknow @aria-writer @chaosundcoffee @boogeysmoth @capswife @fruitymoonbeams-blog

[pathologicalreid]

Spencer x fem!reader fic based on “Work Song” by Hozier?? Whatever storyline or category you want!!

work song | S.R.

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: general cm violence, near death experience, blood, gunshot wound, hospitals. word count: 1.77k a/n: hozier song request makes my brain go brr. i hope the people of tumblr enjoy this bc i most definitely enjoyed writing it.

boys, when my baby found me

Your hair whipped your face as you spun around through the labyrinth of a warehouse that your team had found themselves in. It seemed like an impossible task, trying to navigate this space, but you had already cleared over half of the space.

A small noise, like a shoe squeaking, caught your attention, causing your ears to rise like an animal hunting for prey. Turning a corner, you had your flashlight and firearm raised, coming face to face with Morgan. The both of you relaxed ever so slightly, no longer ready to pounce.

Ricocheting throughout the warehouse, you heard a deafening gunshot. The sound bounced off of the metal walls of the building, making it almost impossible for you to determine where the sound originated from. Meeting Morgan’s eyes, he nodded his head to the left, signaling for you to go that way while he went right.

You affirmed his tactics, turning slowly and making your way to the left. The rusted building was now so eerily quiet that goosebumps were sprouting across your body, even under your bureau jacket.

Continuing your way down the narrow passageway, you saw movement inside of a room. Sliding your back along the wall, you peeked into the room, seeing two bodies on the ground. You whispered almost imperceptibly into your radio, calling for medical. One of them was the local officer that the BAU had been working the case with.

The other one was Spencer.

You pivoted so that you were entirely in the doorway, facing the UnSub, he raised his gun at you, but you were already pulling the trigger, hitting him square in the forehead. Breathing heavily, you lowered your firearm before scrambling over to Spencer.

I didn’t care much how long I lived, but I swear I thought I dreamed her

In your ear, you could hear Morgan shouting, “Y/N, Reid, sound off, dammit!”

Something needed to happen. You needed to do something, but you had such severe tunnel vision that the only thing you could think about was Spencer.

He was gasping for air on the metal ground of the warehouse, lying in a pool of his own blood. You observed in horror as the red puddle spread with each passing moment.

Launching into action, you tugged your jacket off, stuffing the fabric onto Spencer’s side in an attempt to staunch the bleeding. Even Kevlar vests had an Achilles heel, and the UnSub had managed to strike him precisely where there was a gap in the material. All the while, you were muttering the words, “Stay awake.” Just those two words, over and over again, like a prayer.

You hummed, using one hand to apply pressure to his wound and lifting the other so that you could smooth his hair back. His skin was alarmingly clammy, and you knew that, even with your attempts, he was losing too much blood. “Y/N,” he muttered, sounding like he was using all of his strength to say your name.

Gently, you hushed him, “It’s okay, Spence. Don’t talk, you’re gonna be just fine,” you insisted as his blood soaked through the knees of your jeans. You weren’t sure who you were trying to console at that moment.

“It makes sense-“ he said, being cut off by a cough, sending blood spurting out of his mouth. If his lung was collapsing, there was nothing you’d be able to do. You tried to shush him again, but he had more to say – he almost always did. “That I’d see you while I’m dying.”

Choking on tears, you leaned your face onto your shoulder so that you could wipe them away without moving your hands. “I’m here, I’m really here,” you urged, he wasn’t hallucinating, and he wasn’t dying. Not on your watch. “It’s me, Spence. I’m right here,” you told him carefully.

He opened his mouth again to speak, and you wanted to tell him to save his strength. You also didn’t want to deprive him of his words. “You…” his voice trailed off as he searched for the words, “You’ve always been my favorite dream.”

Sniffling, you shake your head, “I’m not a dream, I’m right here.” You told him, watching carefully as his eyelids grew seemingly heavier, “baby, open your eyes.”

in the low lamplight I was free

His skin was pallid. Even in the dim, orange light of the warehouse, you could see a sickly sheen forming on his skin. His body temperature was dropping, and it was all you could do to not cover his body with yours as you tried to keep him warm. “Spencer, please,” you rasped, urging him to open his eyes.

Your only solace was that his chest was still rising and falling. His breathing was rickety, but he was still breathing, and that had to count for something. “Spencer,” you cried, watching as blood sept through your jacket, flooding between your fingers as you tried to keep him in one piece.

“Love, open your eyes,” you begged, your eyes flooding with tears until everything was just a blur of red.

His heart was beating, you could feel it beneath your hands. A weak, unsteady beat under your trembling hands. “Baby, please, oh my god,” you pleaded, verging toward incoherent babbling.

You were second-guessing if he was still breathing. If his heart was still beating. With that realization, you screamed.

when my time comes around, lay me gently in the cold, dark earth

At first, you were just screaming, letting the vibrations of your vocal cords portray your emotions, and then you screamed for your team. You had never felt more alone, kneeling in a puddle of Spencer’s blood, and no one was coming to help you.

This couldn’t be how it ended. You refused to acknowledge it, even as you felt the life leave his body.

Leaning your head to the side, you spoke into your radio, “I need medical. I’m in the upper west wing of the building. The suspect is dead, I have an officer and an agent down.” Tears continued to stream down your face.

You heard footsteps behind you as people piled into the room, but you didn’t dare take your eyes off Spencer. Not when there was a chance that it would be the last time you looked at him while you were both still breathing. “Agent,” someone said, but it didn’t register. They kept repeating themselves until two strong arms wrapped around you, dragging you away from Spencer.

Now sat on the floor, you clocked the paramedics that were now frantically working on Spencer, packing his wound, and cutting off the Kevlar vest.

Breathing heavily, you watched out of the corner of your eye as Rossi approached the local officer, checking his pulse. Emily was hovered over the UnSub, collecting his weapon from his corpse.

You were still being firmly held back, trying to pry the tattooed arms of Derek Morgan off of your torso. “Stop, let me get to him. I need to get to him,” you struggled against his grip, but any attempts at freedom were futile. The medics were saying awful things about a weak and thready pulse and pneumothorax.

Clinging to any semblance of hope that you could find, you listened to them talk about Spencer’s pulse, knowing that a pulse meant he was alive.

Your breathing quickened as you looked up at Morgan, Hotch was hovering behind the two of you, “I should’ve called for medical sooner.” Your voice was miserable, you had sat there with your jacket to his side for far too long. He could’ve gotten help from professionals.

“You radioed almost five minutes ago for medical,” Morgan informed you. “The EMTs just couldn’t find you in this damn maze.”

While you had no recollection of calling for help when you first found Spencer, you also knew that Morgan would get no pleasure out of lying to you.

You heard one of the paramedics say there was no pulse, and you didn’t remember anything that followed.

no grave can hold my body down

Crumpled in a ball, you picked at the crusted blood in your fingernails as you focused on the steady beeping of Spencer’s heart monitor.

According to Emily, who had been there when you woke up in the hospital, you had passed out around the time that the medics lost Spencer’s pulse. The doctor said it was just a result of stress. Thanks to some IV fluids and hydroxyzine, you were able to be discharged.

Spencer had been out of surgery for several hours now. The doctors had been careful to use the term “if he wakes up”, while you had made sure to say “when he wakes up.” You were playing the most horrendous waiting game, and there’s nothing worse than playing a game you have no interest in.

You were now donning a pair of black sweatpants and an old Academy t-shirt. Being the only team member permitted to see Spencer while he was still sleeping – girlfriend privileges, as Morgan phrased it – you waited with only the noises of his monitor to keep you company in the ICU.

Nurses came in and out, trying to manage his pain without the use of narcotics, making sure his blood transfusions were helping, and every once in a while, they’d check on you.

At this point, you had been nursing the same cup of ice water for hours, remembering the last thing Spencer had said to you: You’ve always been my favorite dream.

There was something so peculiar about being with someone who read so much, especially when he said such eloquent things while bleeding to death. You sighed, slumping back in the chair, you looked back at Spencer, only to be surprised that he was looking right back at you.

You jumped slightly in the chair, leaning over so that you could look at him, “Hey,” you whispered, maintaining the reverent tones of the Intensive Care Unit. “How do you feel?”

He’d lie to you and tell you he was fine, but you could tell by the way his heart rate increased that it was a lie. His eyebrows furrowed as he clocked the white patient ID bracelet on your wrist and your bloodshot eyes, “You’ve been crying,” he observed.

Despite yourself, you smiled softly, “I thought you were dead.” Your voices were each raspy, yours from screaming and his from being intubated.

Slowly, he unfolded his arm so that his hand was extended to you. Without a second thought, you placed your hand in his. He hummed softly, “And leave you? Never.”

I’ll crawl home to her

[urdeaddixon]

G O O D L I F E

d.dixon

word count: 5000

-wrestling, kinky!smut, alcohol-

(not proof read, may contain errors)

your fingers gently skimmed through the plethora of cd's that you had in your home in alexandria, a glass of whiskey held loosely in your free hand. it was a night after a harsh run and all you've been wanting to do was relax, wind down, drink, and listen to good music. and that's exactly what you did as soon as your fingers stopped on a three days grace cd. you had listened to them long before the outbreak, something your parents used to listen to while they drank and played pool with family friends.

you popped the disk in the cd player that had been in your home since you've claimed it, the guitar sending euphoric signals to your brain as you sipped lightly on the liquor. the familiarity of the rhythm brought you back to your roots, brought you back to the times you spent with your parents before the world had gone to shit. it was a happy feeling, despite the grief and sorrow you had felt deep down. but that didn't matter as you turned up the music and began to drink faster until you were no longer tipsy. drowning everything out as your vision blurred and your mind switched off.

you got carried away, like a piece of paper in the wind, as you swayed your hips and raised your arms in the air. your feet moved in sync with your head, swinging up and down; back and forth in a dizzying motion. your hair was flowing in every which way, drink spilling down your arm without you noticing. on any other occasion you would be embarrassed to dance this way, but in the privacy of your home with -seemingly- no one around you were having fun. something so rare nowadays.

as you went to take another swig of your drink you had realized it was empty, making you frown and turn to go and poor yourself another one. but instead of seeing an empty room, a figure was seen leaning against the wall by the front door. it made you jump out of your skin, nearly dropping the glass in your hand. you turned back around and lowered the volume of your radio all while your heart raced and thumped against your chest. you breathe in deeply, letting out a mumbled train of curse words under your breath. goddammit dixon.

"what in the fuck are you doing daryl!?" you exclaim, suddenly feeling a bit more sober. the fear that daryl had instilled in you for the brief moment was enough to do so. annoying. all the work you put in to wind down and now it was slowly slipping through your fingers.

"well i was knockin', you didn't answer so i helped myself in." he answered nonchalantly, holding up the spare key you had given him. though he scared the absolute shit out of you, you did say he was welcomed to come in whenever he wanted. he was your best friend for crying out loud, since you're days at the prison.

"well next time say something, asshole," you began, continuing on with your mission to get more alcohol in your bloodstream. "you scared the fuck out of me, i'm nearly sober by now." you added, slightly annoyed that your time of relaxation was abruptly ended even if it was for a short time.

"my bad, but honestly it was quite entertaining." the gruff man let out a low chuckle, making his way over towards you and helping himself to a glass of whiskey. you gave him a curious look, eyebrow raised and a small smile upon your lips. though you wanted to feel embarrassed that he caught you the way you had just been, dancing like a madwoman, you couldn't help but let it go as the liquor still flowed through your bloodstream.

"well, did you need something or are you just here to indulge in my stash?" you questioned, pointing towards him as he placed your whiskey bottle back down on the counter and took a slow sip. you watched as his eyes closed and he let out a low growl, pleasure evident on his features. it made you feel some type of way, heat rising to your core as you took another sip of your drink and eyed him from the rim of your glass. the only thing on your mind was how hot he was as he tilted his head back, watching his adam's apple move up and down.

"couldn't sleep, thought i'd see what you were up to." taking another sip from his drink, daryl grabbed the bottle once more and made his way over to the couch. he had no problem making himself at home in your house, finding comfort in you more than others. he felt as though he could be himself around you and that made you beyond content, though you weren't sure what it was about yourself that made him feel that way.

you shook your head to yourself, following suit with him and taking a seat on the coffee table across from him. you reached behind you and turned the music up as one of your favourite songs began to play. a song that everytime it was played, you would wrestle with your dad. the memory made you want to do it once more, however your dad was no longer around and it made you pout. nights like these are when you wish the world hadn't gone to shit.

daryl sent you a questioning stare, his eyebrow raising as he was about to ask you what was wrong. but before he could you raised a hand and motioned for him to stop, "i'm glad you came over, though you did interrupt my dance party." you let out a laugh and took another sip, feeling the burning loosen up as your drunken high started to return, "me and my dad would wrestle to this song, though i do have to admit i did kick his ass." it was cocky of you to say, but nonetheless you knew your dad loved when you bragged about it. he enjoyed seeing his daughter confident even though he would let you win majority of the time.

daryl didn't say much though, instead he stood up and pushed the couch back. you watched with amusement as he cleared the area. "well stand yer'ass up." he uses his hand to motion you to move and you obey like a dog, standing up instantly and watching him as he pushed the coffee table out of the way as well. once the living room was clear he swigged the rest of his drink and quickly poured himself another, taking it back like a champ again before standing in the middle of the now empty room.

"what did you do this for?" you asked, finishing the rest of your drink and instead of pouring more into your glass you gave up and began drinking out of the bottle. you planned on finishing it tonight anyways, so what's the harm?

"wrestle wi'me." he urged, bending his knees and holding his arms out like he was ready for you to pounce.

"you're kidding?" you laugh out, loudly. placing the bottle down and turning the radio up a bit more as you made your way over to him.

"dead serious. show me whatcha got." he motioned for you to come at him with his fingers, watching as he pulled them back and forth quickly. the amusement never left your mind, finding this night to be getting better and better by the minute.

"okay, but if you could talk with my dad right now he'd tell you that you best be careful, you'll get your ass kicked." though you were unstable on your feet, you could still manage to get into the same stance as daryl before lunging forward and trying to tackle him the ground by his waist. but instead of him falling to the ground, it was like your body hit a brick wall. you groaned out as you stumbled backwards, a shocked expression on your face as your cheeks flush red.

blame it on the alcohol.

"what was that about him saying you'd kick my ass?" he questioned, voice low as he let out a cackle to match. you ignored his taunting voice and instead went to lunge at him again, this time aiming for his legs. you laughed loudly as you watched him tumble to his ass, a low growl leaving his throat as he quickly recovered as to not allow you to pin him down.

"spoke too soon dixon." with an eyebrow raised you took a clumsy step closer to him again, making his arms go up into a defensive position. without hesitation you extended your arms and laid a powerful punch to his forearms, hearing his voice catch in his throat as he tried to hide the pain as he stumbled backwards. the small noise was enough to make you falter, the sound of it was enough to make that familiar heat rise to your core even more than it already was from earlier.

however, the falter was your demise; giving daryl the opportunity to kick your legs from beneath you in a mimic to what you had previously done to him. you hit the ground hard and let out a puff of air as you seethed the pain out from between your teeth and let out a strangled chuckle. all he did was let out a laugh, just like you did when you had him in the same position. however in his state of distraction, you manage to reach up and pull him by his shirt so he was now tumbling to the ground beside you.

in the heat of the moment, the much bulkier man was able to roll overtop of you. he had pinned your arms above your head and used his thighs to squeeze yours in place between them. "spoke too soon? what d'you mean? it seems like i won." his words didn't register in your head as you were too busy focusing on how he had you under him. how his face was close to yours, too close. how his grip on your wrists was just tight enough, how your legs were squeezed tightly between his so you couldn't move.

it made you feel helpless, like he could chose to do anything to you in the moment. and hell, you'd let him. you felt yourself throb from between your legs, the wetness pooling in your panties as your body began to intensely crave him. maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the underlying feelings you had towards him. you would never know unless he made the first move, you knew that much. daryl wasn't one to really show feelings this way, especially not to someone young like yourself. since you've known him he'd never been with anyone, however he always seemed to stick close to you.

"fine. you win." you whisper out too quick, not sure how your voice would carry if you spoke any louder. the feeling you felt towards the man on top of you had you nearly speechless and through your foggy mind and glazed-over eyes you could barely even look at him without feeling like jumping his bones. fuck.

"s'that easy? you ain't gonna put up a fight?" he questioned, his own voice getting low as he stared into your eyes, though it felt like your soul. but how could you put up a fight? with him pinning you like this, the only fight you wanted to be put up against was him making you orgasm over and over and over again. the thought made you moan, the sound never leaving the back of your throat as you tried to stifle it.

all you could do was nod as you felt a flush of red creep upon your cheeks once again, this time it wasn't the alcohol making the natural blush form. it was daryl. you weren't sure if he noticed or if he didn't, but the tension -whatever it was- was eating away at your every being. it caused you to wriggle under him, any friction was welcomed as the throbbing began to grow unbearable.

"what's the matter with you girl?" daryl spoke low, an eyebrow raised in curiosity as his eyes took in every inch of your red face. trying to catch your eyes, searching for an answer behind your eyes simultaneously. he was clueless.

"am i hurtin' you?" his voice suddenly filled with concern as he lets his grip loosen on your wrists. the sudden release made you groan out in annoyance. he wasn't hurting you, he was turning you on. like your drunken brain was taking everything he was doing and sending it straight to your clit.

as you finally gained the courage to look at him, you shook your head as your mind drew blanks. no thoughts ran through your head, except for the one that made you want to make a move. it was more like you needed to, needing the pressure between your legs to be extinguished by him and only him. hell if he didn't do anything, you wouldn't even touch yourself after. you wanted to save it for him to take care of.

your mind came back into focus when daryl suddenly used a hand to grip your face, squishing your cheeks slightly as he shook your head gently side to side, "cat got your tongue or what? you gonna answer me?" his voice demanding, dripping with dominance. something that you just couldn't help but be obedient to, listening just ask quick as someone could snap their fingers.

"you aren't hurting me." you felt so small as you mumbled the words out, relishing in the feeling of his hand and wishing he would just move it down to your throat and whisper in your ear how you were a good girl for answering him.

"so then what is it? you gonna use your words?" there he goes, voice demanding again. you could've sworn he knew what he was doing, the sight of his eyes growing darker as his pupils dilate and nearly send you over the edge.

but as you rack your brain to come up with an excuse for your sudden shift in mood, he suddenly shifts his legs to release yours and lets go of your wrists. he seemed like he was moving to get off of you and that was far from what you wanted. you cursed the older man for making you feel so flustered. and as if your body spoke for itself, without your brain having time to think of your actions, you find yourself reaching up and grabbing daryl's collar. you pull him back to his position on top of you. nice and close just how you wanted. "don't," you begin, voice full of plead. "just stay right here."

you squeezed your eyes shit tightly as the words sent a shiver down your spine, how could you be so dumb? practically begging him to stay on top of you simply because you're getting off to it? how come it was so hard to just tell him what you want even if you were drunk? he would for sure hate you after, or at least feel weird being around you. the thought made your heart ache, but you pushed it down with the liquor that mixed in your blood stream and took a deep and shaky breath in.

"y/n?" your voice leaving his lips was like music to your ears, better than any three days grace song. it made you're skin crawl with pleasure, "hey, open your damn eyes would ya?"

you couldn't respond, however his command made your eyes shoot open. the sheer fact that your body wouldn't let you disobey him made your legs weak and your hold on his collar tighten as your eyes met his. so blue, but so dark. like something had shifted beyond them, like his whole demeanour had changed from the once playful orbs you had witnessed moments ago to an almost sinful -burning- stare.

"i know what it is now, princess." the nickname had you a mess under him, as if you weren't already melting into the rug that was beneath your back. you stifle a small moan and couldn't help but arch your back slightly, at this point the friction that you craved from him was painfully obvious and you knew there was no getting out of it. his grip on your wrists tightened even more, the feeling of your hands loosing circulation turned you on more than you could imagine.

"if i knew that it would make you feel this way, i would've done it a long time ago woman." his words hit you hard, making you groan out as your back arched fully up into him and your legs moved together to try to gain friction once again. he reached down to grab your hands from their spot on his shirt, throwing them above your head and held you once more the way you liked. his eyes burned hard into you as he watched you nearly come undone beneath him.

"but you need to tell me what you want," he started, shifting to push your legs open with his own and pushing his knee up into your wet core. it made you gasp rather loudly, making his breath hitch in his throat. he could feel your heat through his jeans, and god did he think you were so hot beneath him. so ready for him. he was sure a majority came from the alcohol that you had consumed, but damn he wasn't complaining.

"i want you," you're voice was barely above a whisper as the feeling of his leg between yours was so intense, getting the friction that you had longed for since he had you pinned in this position. as if your body spoke for you, you bucked your hips upwards to grind on him. it earned you another hitch of his breath, the sound making you do it again.

"ah ah," daryl clicked his tongue, causing you to halt your movements. "what was that? i couldn't hear you."

"fuck daryl, i want you, just give me something. anything." you were practically begging him at this point. everything was too much, the throbbing you felt from your clit drove you mad. and despite his condescending tone that made you stop grinding against him, you couldn't help but do it again. it felt too good.

"thats ma'girl." he whispers, finally closing the rest of the distance that was between the two of you, crashing his lips against yours. there was nothing gentle about the kiss. it was filled with releasing tension, with a deep need. like the two of you couldn't control yourselves anymore.

you felt as his tongue pushed into your mouth, exploring as you reciprocated the motion. his grip on your wrists was becoming one that would leave bruises, but you didn't care. you liked it, feeling like he could just do anything to you and you'd let him. you wanted him to take full advantage of you, use every inch of your body to fulfill his every need. he could use you like a ragdoll for all you cared, fucking into you silly.

"fuck y/n." he breathed heavily, speaking against your lips, "can feel ya through my jeans, wet like that just for me." his words dripped with filth, and you liked it. you really fucking liked it. it made you moan against him loudly, rolling your body against his as you began to sweat lightly. the intense pleasure mixed with the whiskey was nothing you've ever experienced with anyone in the past.

"hmm, need more dar, need more of you." you whimpered out, the grinding not cutting it for you anymore. you needed something, whether it was his rock hard cock that you could feel rubbing against your thigh, or his hot and glistening lips that had been kissing your lips so good. hell even if he wrapped his hand around your throat, you just needed more.

"what do you need princess?" he asked, wanting you to tell him what to do. he would do anything you wanted, he was yours. as long as he got the words, the confirmation, he would do it. like he was mouldable putty from above you, though he just couldn't wait to get the words from you to be able to push his cock into your soaking cunt and do you until your screaming. the words he's been craving since he laid eyes on you.

"need your hand 'round my throat," you mumbled out, catching daryl by suprise. "need you to just use me. i'll be a good girl, take whatever you want, do whatever you want." his brain went blank, like he didn't know how to process all the emotion he was feeling. but fuck, how cute you were begging him to do anything to you. it made his heart swell and his dick twitch painfully. he needed release, but he was having too much fun with you to be over and done with the night.

he fulfilled your request and removed his grip from your wrists, moving his hand to your throat and relishing in how beautiful you looked in this position. how submissive you looked as his grip tightened, how your lips parted as a moan slipped through, how you never stopped grinding against his knee. goddamn. the man could barely catch his breath.

"you like that huh?" he asked, voice dripping with lust. you didn't respond right away though, too focused on the pressure building up in your clit, ready to burst at any minute. he hummed lightly to get your attention, leaning down and laying a chaste kiss on your lips. it was as if he was trying to bring you back to reality.

"love it, need more." how goddamn needy he thought you were, him fulfilling your wish not being enough for you. it made his mind run wild with possibility.

"patience. let me make you feel good, so goddamn fucking needy." he scowled, causing you to pout because you simply couldn't wait. you truly did need more of him, the evidence in how you've soaked through your underwear and spandex shorts; straight through to his jeans.

"only for you." you're voice was pure seduction to his ears, making his eyes light up with a new found sense of satisfaction. he was happy that he was the only one that made you feel this way, and he hoped that you were happy that you were the only one who could possibly ever get him so riled up that he couldn't contain himself.

he couldn't lie, this is what he wanted. daryl wanted nothing but to have you in this position for a long while now, just never knowing how you would feel about it. but when he came here tonight, it wasn't because he couldn't sleep, it was because he just wanted to see your beautiful fucking face. and when he opened the door, hearing the music omitting from within, watching as your hips swayed in your little shorts and baggy hoodie fit you just right, he almost couldn't help himself then and there.

without another thought and against your bratty little whines, daryl let you go and lifted himself off of you. when he finally sat up and took you in, your face so red, finger marks on your throat from his tight grip, how your chest fell up and down heavily, the small bit of drool that spilled from the corner of your mouth, it made his breath hitch as a small gasp escaped his lips.

"holy fuck," he smirked, deviously, "fuckin' beautiful, looking like this all for someone like me." his hands were put to work as he pulled your underwear and shorts down your legs, taking in the wet mark on them from your dripping pussy. "soakin' wet, ready for my cock. what a good little girl." a loud moan escaped your lips as you felt him stare you down, eyes locked with his as he placed sloppy kisses against your exposed stomach.

the gasp that omitted from your lips when you finally felt the archer's fingers on you was so loud that you could've sworn the neighbours could hear it clear as day. the feeling of his thick digits as they ran up and down your slick folds was something that you could only dream about until now, the pleasure was everything you thought it would be as he began circling your swollen clit.

"jesus christ," you breathed sharply through clenched teeth, throwing your head back and pushing your hips down for more pressure. "just like that." you praise as his fingers hit the right spot, causing you to suddenly feel like you'd explode. daryl hummed as he licked his lips, the scene before him was something from heaven itself. drawing him in, hyper focusing on the task at hand like never before.

with his spare hand you felt as he pushed a single finger inside you, earning a throaty, porn-like, squeal from you. the sound made his dick drip inside his pants, his need to just be inside you growing with every moment. the fuel of your beautiful sounds made him push another finger inside almost instantly, pumping in and out slowly. just enough to tease you and fuck was it working so damn good.

"feel like i'm gonna cum, can i? i've been so good for you daryl." your voice was laced with so much plead, moaning out each word as your breathing picked up so heavy that you felt like your lungs would collapse. as you glanced down at the man between your legs you felt like every inch of your body was on fire, the question meaning nothing as you knew you would hit your high regardless as he hooked his fingers upwards to hit that perfect spot.

"of course ya can princess, be a good girl and cum all over my fingers." with his confirmation and words of encouragement you finally felt everything release, the intense pleasure making your body convulse as your walls close around his digits that were still pumping inside of you. your vision was covered in black and white spots, mouth hung open as strangled breaths try to make their way to your lungs.

before you could even start to recover from the intense orgasm that daryl instilled upon you, he began to strip his boxers and jeans off. he couldn't wait anymore, didn't bother asking for confirmation. he just needed to feel what his fingers felt around his cock, to be able to release deep inside of you as you moan his name to the high heavens. loud enough for all of alexandria to hear. goddamn.

"gonna fuck you now, can't wait anymore." he warns you before gripping your hips to slide you towards him, lining himself up to you entrance.

"please." you whined in response, giving him the last bit of confirmation he needed before he began pushing inside of you slowly until he couldn't anymore.

"shit." the gruff man cursed, moaning quietly as he finally felt you around him. everything he's always wanted, right in his grasp, consuming his every sense and deeming him a wreck as he pulled all the way out and slid back into you a little faster. continuing the motions until the pace was fast and the sound of slapping skin was heard over your screams of pleasure, losing control as he dug his finger tips into your hips harshly. but that's not where you wanted his hands to be, causing you to reach down and grab his wrist.

you placed his hand around your throat once again as your body arches off the ground once more, feeling as daryl hit so deep inside of you that it sent a jolt through your whole body. "fuck daryl!" you scream out, one hand flying up the wrist of the hand around your neck while the other gripped and clawed at his bicep. you're whole body was tensed, jerking back and forth as his forceful thrusts started becoming unbearable.

"that's it baby, taking me so good. just a little longer," daryl seethes out in his own pleasure, picking up the speed even further, practically pounding you to the ground. all the built up tension finally bursting at the seams as he could feel you tightening around him even more, your second orgasm ready to knock you out. "such a good girl, feel so good." he commends, relishing in the sight below him before it was all over.

"can't take it anymore, please daryl, need to cum again." you choke out the beg, tears forming at the corner of your eyes as the jolts of pleasurable pain grow more intense. growing to the point where it's overwhelming you're entire being, tears beginning to spill as your breaths become shaky and deep.

"fuck woman," daryl's grip around your throat tightened even more as he felt the weight of your words, his movements suddenly shifting to sloppy thrusts, slow and deep, until he finally let out a loud grunt-like moan.

"cum for me, be a fucking good girl and cum around my cock." he demanded, voice raised as his vision became blurred. the intensity of his release bubbling to the surface as he felt you come undone around him. the feeling was enough to make him burst, finally spilling deep within your soaking pussy. his body felt so tense that he nearly collapsed on top of you, eyes rolling to the back of his skull as his mouth hung open, riding out the rest of his high as he felt himself spill from you.

"holy fuck daryl," you breathed out, "so good, so fucking good."

"couldn't agree more princess."

~