#✧— series: moral injury.

[romaritimeharbor]

Ok so i finally got to read the new MORAL INJURY chapter and yeah, it’s definitely more on the darker side than the last two. First, i wanna mention that i love you how wrote reader and Scaramouche’s interaction. It feels weird seeing the reader, who in the first chapter was so nice to the test subject they were gonna be experimenting on, be so cold to Scaramouche. And for some reason, i think that might have to do with Dottore’s influence? Like the reader was able to empathize with the other test subjects because they were once like them, a test subject themself. But with Scaramouche? They cant because of two things, his title and physiology (or lack of one?).

Like, Scaramouche has the Harbinger title like Dottore, so i feel like the reader would subconsciously associate him with Dottore as this shitty unfeeling superior who doesnt see anyone below them worth caring about. Which im pretty sure that’s probably true to how Scaramouche is acting during this time but i think its hard to feel empathy for someone they think who’s like their horrible boss. And then his physiology, i feel like the reader is just following Dottore’s fascination on Scaramouche’s creation. It’s not everyday that an Archon’s creation is just being abandoned and not destroyed. Im sure that the reader has experimented on other species before but i think even without Dottore’s interest in Scara, they themself are just as intrigued in him. So while they are doing these stuff under Dottore’s orders, the reader is also a bit intrested in how Scaramouche works which caused them to do a bit more than they need to.

Also i feel like both Scaramouche and the reader are projecting their hatred for Dottore against each other. With Scaramouche, he sees the reader as an extension to Dottore. Capable of hurting experimenting on him like Dottore yet still have a lower standing than him. Which is why he would be an asshole to the reader, he probably wouldnt be one with Dottore himself if he were the one to be checking up on him but the reader is his best next target to just deal with the idea that he’s something lesser in the Doctor’s eyes. With the reader, they somewhat sees Scaramouche as someone in the line of Dottore. An abusive asshole who can do whatever they want. And while the reader was just trying to only do what they need to do when checking up on Scaramouche, aside from their already bad mood, maybe there really was a small part of them that wanted to do the check up much more than they need to. Maybe a small part of them wanted to see Dottore suffer for all the horrible shit he’s done but rn they cant do that, so the best next thing would be Scaramouche, someone who’s just like him. Both of them are hurting each other because they both cant hurt the source of their pain (Dottore) so they’ll just have the best next thing (and sadly, this kind of mentality is an actual thing that happens..)

I also wanna talk about Dottore and reader’s interaction. He sees them as property, doesnt he? Their interactions just makes me think that in some way, he does care in a very twisted way, not as a person but just something that he owns. You did a really good job in explaining on how Dottore sees them as he sees them as some sort of sick entertainment. i wonder, does the reader know any dark secret that Dottore has to use for blackmail? Some sort of blackmail they could possibly use when they defect? Like another payback for their time as his assistant.

Overall, i really like what you made aph! While it was definitely leaning in the storys darker theme, you’ve done a great job at showing Scaramouche and readers interaction! Hope you have a great day/night and remember to drink your daily dose of water! (I’ve been forgetting to drink lately so please dont make the same mistakes like i have)

(ALSO FURINA RERUN IS COMING IN THE NEXT PATCH! I AM SO SKIPPING CLORINDE AND SIGWINNE)

(Also also, im so sorry for somewhat spoilling the Penacony arc 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏😖😖😖)

- 🐱 Anon

I AM SO HAPPY TO GET THIS ASK 🐱 ANON, YOU UNDERSTOOD EXACTLY WHAT I WAS TRYING TO CONVEY AUGHHHHH YOU AND AVERY UNDERSTAND ME SO WELL 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏

firstly, it's so easy for reader to be cruel and awful to scaramouche because he isn't human. you know how signora basically said that the only reason scaramouche is number 6 is because he can endure more pain and suffering than humans can? [name] would agree with her (and maybe i will look into including some kind of interaction between them). reader does not see scaramouche as a human being, as a living thing worthy of respect like they are. no. they see him as an object. but this mentality is also because of dottore's influence--dottore sees them like an object too, and they don't know how to cope with how helpless that makes them feel. i think there's something to be said about how the reader mimics dottore's behaviors; a pet only knows what it has been taught, after all. :)

scaramouche and the reader were both in a fucked up struggle for control (as avery, @/starryshinyskies, mentioned in their tags on moral injury ch. 3) that [name], ultimately, came out on top of. reader will not let themselves be bullied by someone who they can control; they can't control the doctor, but they can control the balladeer. they just need to break him a little first. and on the other hand, scaramouche hates having the hands of someone like dottore on him because he knows that even if they're "nicer," they will still hurt him. AND THEY'RE NOT EVEN A HARBINGER. BUT THEY CAN STILL HURT HIM. and reader doesn't want to hurt him!!!!! they don't!!! but how else are they supposed to survive in this fucked up environment if they don't meet those that threaten their safety with bared teeth, so to speak? it's like scaramouche has no control over what happens to him and the only thing he can do to maintain the feeling of control is be an asshole. and to [name], he's just another harbinger prick like dottore even though deep down inside, they KNOW better. but neither of them can hurt dottore, so all they can do is tear one another apart instead.

(on that note, should i look into adding arlecchino interactions? i actually think that our knave, the current knave, would get along well with the reader, once she realized that they also fucking hate their boss.)

dottore and all of his segments just see [name] as their favorite little lab rat... lab mouse, actually. they're not a person to the second harbinger (harbingers..?); they are a thing to be owned, hence why they treated scaramouche like a thing.

well... for one, though they have no real proof... they do know that he is the rumored outcast of the akademiya. or that's what they speculate, at least. it's a theory that will sit in their mind all the way until act 4 (i think), where a certain archon will confirm their suspicions.

THANM YOU DEARRR i loved working on this chapter. i think it's a really good chapter to learn about [name]'s relationships in a more in-depth way. i will, and PLEASEEE drink some water HAHAH /lh

FURINA RERUN 🗣🗣🗣 i love furina and i would pull for her tbh but i'm saving for arle's rerun. i never got her weapon 😔🙏 BUT GOOD LUCK THEN IF YOU PULL FOR HER I HOPE SHE COMES HOME REALLY FAST

(did you? honestly if you did, i don't even remember HAHA i really don't mind the spoilers too much so dw about it!!)

[idyllic-affections]

MORAL INJURY — a non-romance genshin impact series. ♫

       written by aphelion &           banner by @www-brontide!!

➤ SYNOPSIS :: il dottore's most respected and skilled agent—the lab assistant, [surname] [name]—has, regrettably, committed a high form of treason. after being on the run for several years, cautiously avoiding nations with high fatui activity and never once setting foot back in snezhnaya, they decide to build a new life under a new identity in a new nation—mondstadt. the flames have not yet settled, though, and their pursuer has not yet given up. a worringly life-threatening game of cat and mouse, indeed, but all [name] can do is shrug and say, "you get used to it after some time."

➤ CONTENT WARNINGS :: mild depictions of torture, blood, human experimentation, murder, kidnapping, abuse of power, dottore is his own warning fr, depictions of trauma and c-ptsd, self-hatred, survivor's guilt, etc etc.

➤ MAIN CAST :: il dottore (& some of his segments), pantalone, scaramouche, the tsaritsa, collei, aether + paimon, jean, nahida.

main cast members either appear often, are mentioned often, are relevant to the plot, or appear once but will appear again later!

➤ SUPPORTING CAST :: baizhu, beidou, tighnari, cyno, childe, krupp, elchingen.

supporting cast members either appear occasionally, are mentioned occasionally, or play their roles only once or twice and are not pivotal to the plot!

➤ UPDATE SCHEDULE :: to be honest, i update whenever i am ready to! there is no set schedule.

➤ NOTES :: as is true with all the content i create, there is no romance in this series. all relationships are strictly platonic and often familial. individual content warnings will be posted at the top of each chapter; the general content warnings on this post will be updated as time goes on and as new chapters are posted. the information in this post, particularly regarding the cast, may or may not change as i develop the story. i only have act i written/outlined; as such, nothing beyond that is set in stone.

➤ TAGLIST :: @www-brontide, @umgatochamadopercyval, @starryshinyskies, @zeldadou, @pookiebearcave, @lesanyanyas, @francisnyx. contact me through messages/asks/etc non-anonymously to be added.

➤ ACT I.

i silence. ii the motherland. tbd.

➤ ACT II.

tbd.

[atopvisenyashill]

the sociopath thing does irk me i will admit and some of that is i just feel it’s an inappropriate word to be using in the year 2024 (it's not a nice word i don't give a shit about its literary or metaphorical merits, of which it has none anyway!!) but i also think it’s functionally useless because sometimes people mean “this person has a scary disorder” and sometimes they mean “this person is ontologically evil” and sometimes they mean “this person is ontologically evil and i’m sad about it, how tragic” and it’s like. what are we talking about here. you can’t just be like joffrey/criston/ramsay/tywin/saera/cersei/whOever is a sociopath and expect anyone to think that’s a satisfying answer for why they act the way they act. “gregor clegane is a sociopath” but WHY. “no i mean he really does have like sociopathic disorder” that’s not a diagnosis and the range of things he could have that would make him display “sociopathic behavior” is SO VARIED. just say what you MEAN.

[luna-azzurra]

Some examples of challenging obstacles for characters to face

Personal Tragedy, The sudden loss of a loved one throws the protagonist into a state of grief and despair, forcing them to navigate the complex emotions of mourning while still grappling with their responsibilities and goals.

Betrayal, A trusted friend or ally betrays the protagonist, revealing hidden agendas or turning against them at a critical moment, leaving the protagonist feeling betrayed and alone, and forcing them to reevaluate their relationships and alliances.

Physical Limitations, The protagonist suffers a debilitating injury or illness that threatens to derail their plans and ambitions, leaving them physically weakened and vulnerable, and forcing them to find new ways to adapt and overcome their limitations.

Social Prejudice, The protagonist faces discrimination or prejudice based on their race, gender, sexuality, or social class, making it difficult for them to achieve their goals and forcing them to confront systemic injustice and inequality.

Impossible Choices, The protagonist is faced with a series of impossible choices, each with its own moral or ethical consequences, forcing them to weigh the lesser of two evils and grapple with the fallout of their decisions.

Internal Conflict, The protagonist battles with their own inner demons, such as addiction, trauma, or mental illness, which threaten to sabotage their efforts and undermine their sense of self-worth and purpose.

Rivalry, The protagonist finds themselves locked in a bitter rivalry with a formidable adversary, such as a rival athlete, business competitor, or romantic rival, pushing them to their limits as they strive to outmaneuver and outwit their opponent.

Existential Crisis, The protagonist wrestles with profound existential questions about the meaning of life, the nature of reality, and their place in the universe, confronting their own mortality and searching for purpose and meaning amidst the chaos and uncertainty of existence.

[redstarwriting]

pda/general affection hcs | i.

ft. hobie brown & miles morales

request?: yes

request: “Hiiii!!! I am absolutely IN LOVE with ur the clash series and I can't wait to see how it progresses!!! Could u do some pda/general affection hcs for the spider verse characters? I would love to see Miles and Hobie hcs but it's rlly up to whatever characters u would wanna write for. Endless thanks!!”

warnings:  language, cuteness, mentions of dying, mentions of injuries, mentions of throwing up, mentions of being overwhelmed

a/n: i love hcs lol this was actually how i first starting writing and it’s so fun bc i can be my sarcastic self without having to change any of it teehee, thank you for requesting anon! thinking of doing this for other characters to, what does everyone think?

i’ve made a pt ii. to this with gwen and pavitr if you wanna check it out!

───────────────────────────────────

hobie brown | spider-punk

pda

- he’s kind of a middle ground - not crazy about it - not against it at all - he just - hold onto your hats for this one - ✨he does what he wants✨ - ofc it also depends who’s company you’re in - if y’all are with Miles, Gwen, and Pavitr, he’s super comfortable and a part - of his body will always be touching yours - but it’s not like he’s goin out of his way to be like LOOK AT MY PARTNER - HOWEVER - if he’s ANYWHERE where there are authority figures? - *cough* miguel *cough* - he will just start to make out with you - LMAO - “Hobie, can you stop kissing your partner and listen to me.”   “No.”   “You’re aware of how rude you’re being?”   “Good.” - if you don’t like it ofc he won’t but he WILL be touchier with you in those moments - because it pisses people off - and he loves that - also if he felt threatened? - he’d probably get a little touchier than usual - but honestly he almost never feels threatened so who knows if you’d ever experience that - and if he did ever feel threatened he would feel better knowing that you always wear one of his studded bracelets - ppl will ask where you got it and you’ll be all - “Oh! My boyfriend Hobie!” - he loves seeing the hope drain out of anyone’s eyes when he appears behind you after that statement, he finds it so amusing every time - he’s only obsessed with a few things - like there is something he will ALWAYS do - he is OBSESSED and i mean OBSESSSSSEEDDD with having his hand in your back pocket - at all times - only if it isn’t around your shoulders (another obsession of his) - like y’all are going to one of his shows? - you enter with his hand in your back pocket - after gets offstage? - hand in back pocket - walking home? - hand in back pocket - sometimes y’all will walk instead of him picking you up and webbing back home JUST BECAUSE he wants to put his hand in your back pocket - he also LOVES using you as an armrest - if you’re short, he places his arm on your head like an armrest - if you’re average height, he’s still using your head as an armrest - if you’re tall or as tall as him he will climb a wall to use your head as an armrest - it gets you flustered and he thinks it’s adorable! - and eye contact? - he will keep his eyes trained on you at all times - he’s always looking at you - or else he’s looking for you - only looks away SOMETIMES when he’s talking to other people - “Hobie, I’m over here.”   “Yeah, I know.”   “So stop looking at them, I’m the one talking to you.”   “Yeah, but you ain’t the fittest person in the room so piss off, eh?” - that being said - there is something he just doesn’t do in public - he doesn’t hold hands - i do feel like he would hold pinkies with you upon request - but holding hands just isn’t his thing - in public👀

general affection

- THIS MAN HAS THE WORLD FOOLED - he acts all nonchalant about it - acts like he only does pda to go against societal rules - which he does BUT ALSO - he is so touchy - he isn’t clingy by any regard - but he LOVES being affectionate - just like the smallest things - every morning when y’all wake up in the same bed together and he wakes up before you (which is a lot bc he doesn’t sleep well) he will place a feather-light kiss somewhere on your face so he doesn’t wake you up - but like clockwork - he will do it - and after he will just lay there and hold you for a bit - even when during the night the two of you separate from each other he will always reach out for you during those times - and he will maneuver you back into his arms so he can just lay there with you for a bit - every time you ask him why he just tells you you make him a “bloody softie” - which yeah you do - but also - he gets scared when he comes home, you won’t be there - with his job that isn’t really a job and all, he gets so nervous that you’ll just be fed up with it and leave - or worse, you’ll be used as bait for him - bait which he would immediately take, of course - he even does it because he thinks about the possibility of him not coming home one day - and he wants you to feel like you were loved if that happens - he also just loves the little smile that comes to your face every morning - when you realize he’s done it again - and that is just ONE THING - he hates getting injured, but would lie if he said he hated getting patched up by you - when you’re cleaning his wounds with alcohol the two of you hold hands - he’ll squeeze when it stings and you’ll squeeze when you feel bad - so you’re kinda squeezing his hand the whole time - but you know how i said he doesn’t hold hands in public? - at home it’s a different story - watching tv? - hands are held - looking at the stars from the top of a building? - hands are held - throwing up after drinking too much? - hands are held - so is hair - and he rubs your back - you rub his - he adores back scratches (not when he’s throwing up just in general LMAO) - one thing he didn’t realize he loved so much until it happened was when he was sitting and playing his guitar on y’alls bed - just mindlessly finger picking some melodies - and you came up and sat behind him and put your head on his shoulder and wrapped your arms around his waist and kissed his cheek and just - stayed there - it made him melt - he loves it so much - he especially loves it when you hum along - even if you can’t hold a tune - it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard he doesn’t care - you can expect him to be all over you the minute he gets back from being Spider-Punk - especially when he has a bad day - i could probably give more examples but this is already kinda long lmao oops

overall

- he LOVES affection - public and private - if he loves you, he’s gonna show it - he’s gonna scream it, literally and figuratively - everyone will know y’all are together - which he loves - but that’s not why he does it - he just loves you - and doesn’t care what other ppl think 🤭

miles morales | spider-man

pda

- omg this lil man is so awkward - i’m far older than him and he makes me think of how nervous and awkward i was at his age when it came to any type of romance - so i can see him being SO unintentionally awkward in public - he tries so hard to be cool - but omg - the tiniest thing will go wrong and he’ll go from 😏 to 😟 - everything is the end of the world until you assure him it isn’t - like the time he saw you outside around Brooklyn Visions Academy and thought it’d be so cute to go up behind you and cover your eyes and say “guess who :)” - except it wasn’t you - you were across the street and watched it all go down - he literally made eye contact with you the minute he tried to be cute - the HORROR on his face - he was immediately apologizing to the random person he just did that to - in the moment you were so confused - but when you and him were in his dorm and he was flailing his arms around -and yelling in lowercase explaining it? - oh my god - hilarious - he was all pouty when you started laughing so you had to attack his face with little kisses to make him cheer up - one would have done the trick but he was grateful for all of the ones you gave him regardless - or the time he went to wrap his arm around your waist during lunch because he wanted to be all cute in school and you turned around as soon as he put his arm out and tried to walk and his sturdiness and strength made you literally drop your lunch tray and the food went everywhere - and there you were again in his dorm as he was flailing his arms around and yelling in lowercase apologizing because you just got new shoes and he ruined it and— - shut him up with a kiss, would you? - a display of public affection that always happens though is you’re always in his jacket - to the point where he has two of the same jacket now so you guys can be twinning :,) - “Look, babe! Same jacket!”   “Oh my god wait! We’re gonna be so cute!”   “I know, right? Pretty smart and cute of me, huh?”   “Very smart and cute of you, Miles.” - he also loves to have his hand on top of yours whenever he can - he’ll do it in class - if y’all go out to eat - if he’s sketching and you’re next to him - and holding hands in public is a favorite of his - it’s very tiny things that he does because every time he tries something big something goes wrong - like opening a door for you and motioning you to go in before him - and always being ready to steady you if you would trip (which happens more than he thought it would) - and always fixing your necklace that he bought you for your birthday (with the help of Rio) when the little clasp comes down in the front - he’s constantly staring at you with a dopey grin on his face - literally will get called out in class because he’s just 👁👄👁 - and then he gets all flustered  - but the smile you get on your face letting him know you like him that much will relax him - will go from “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to draw attention to you!” to “yeah, you like that? imma do it more then.” - he’ll also pretend to drum on you with his pencils when you’re near him - especially if he has his headphones in - he likes to play this game where you guess which one of his songs he’s jamming out to - sometimes he says you got it right when you get it wrong just to see you get excited - and he doesn’t necessarily mean for this to be a public display of affection, - but his constant drawing of you is frequently watched by other classmates - the only person who has successfully seen his bold moves of affection is Ganke, and he pretends to gag every time lol

general affection

- he’s such an affectionate boy 🥹 - like i said, Ganke is the only one who successfully sees his physical affection plots work - he’s much smoother when people aren’t around - and yes, he has shown you the shoulder touch - you did it to him once and he short-circuited - i’m so serious he accidentally shocked you - but then he hugged and kissed you for like 40 minutes afterward cause he felt bad - so it wasn’t too bad of an experience - but when it comes to physical affection in private, he’s worlds better at it - any time he plays video games, whether that be with you or Ganke, he has his leg over top of yours - He loves watching movies with you where you lay your head on his lap and he just mindlessly draws little shapes on your shoulder - he also loves having you laying on top of him while y’all cuddle - it makes him feel safe (and he gets to steal soooo many kisses from you) - you’re kinda like his very own weighted blanket but not even because his spider strength makes you feel like a feather - but it’s also an easy way for him to keep a hold of you and feel like he’s protecting you - he also loves to take you web swinging - holding you super close and taking you to a tall building away from anyone who can see y’all - he loves that - sometimes he’ll have like a whole picnic type date set up and y’all will just have a cute lil date on the top of the one world trade center - he also loves having you over to his place - his parents love you - and you love them - they make him keep his door cracked when y’all are in there together but it’s mainly because they love to peek in and see their son so in love - Jefferson took like 74 pictures the first time he saw y’all napping together - And Rio took like 52 pictures when she caught the two of you on the roof of the building and he was playing you a playlist he made for you - he does that a lot but that was the first time Rio saw it - she was ecstatic lol - he occasionally will just poke you for no reason - and by occasionally i mean he does it constantly - “Miles? Why did you do that?”   “Do what?”   “I literally saw you poke me.”   “No, I didn’t”   “…”   “…”   “I did, you’re just so cute, I don’t know.” - he also loves drawing on your hand - the back of your hand has constant Miles doodles - sometimes it’s stuff like the two of your initals in a heart - sometimes it’s Spider-Man - sometimes it’s just whatever was on his mind - but you love your constant Miles hand drawings - and he feels like it’s some sort of way for other people to know you’re his - but when he does it it’s so cute - cause he’s so gentle - and no one is watching - but you’re sitting there and just smiling as he creates a work of art on your hand and the playlist he made full of songs that remind him of how you made him feel the first time he saw you is softly playing in the background - he calls them temporary tattoos and one day you’re going to actually get one of the doodles tattooed on you somewhere - he’ll probably have a heart attack from how much he loves it but hey that’s fine he’ll recover - speaking of he loves to draw with you - he doesn’t care about your skill level, he just loves to be creative with you - he also is very much all about making sure you’re eating - getting enough sleep - prioritizing yourself above everything else - and if anything is ever bothering you - he is There - he will always be there and it’s very comforting - he just wants you to be happy all the time and does his best to do so - and you feel the same - so any time the responsibility of Spider-Man is too much for him - or when his parents get on him because he’s hiding half of who he is - you’re there for him - often times after he comes home from a long day of Spider-Manning he’s the one who is being held, but you’re fine with that - cause he can be vulnerable with you and he needs it

overall

- Miles is getting the hang of being in a relationship - he really does love pda but is so bad at it lmao - when he gets better beware - you will be a melting mess in public all the time - but for right now it’s just behind the scenes where he’s able to show how he really feels - give him all the hugs he needs ‘em

[heli-writes]

A dragon's heart, part 12.

Pairing: Barbarian!Bakugou Katsuki x female!reader

Summary: The dragonblood tribe is known for being cruel, barbarian warriors that slaughter, loot and rape all places they pass through. They are feared among the villagers and even bigger cities. Having lost most of their women to a plague, they're trying to ensure their tribe's survival by kidnapping women from other places. However, they're not the only monsters in human form out there. When y/n experiences this first hand, she has no choice but to ask for help from no other but the barbarian leader Katsuki Bakugou himself.

Disclaimer: mentions of injuries, rape and abuse, mentions of breeding, marking, nsfw, smut, oral sex, fingering, vaginal sex

[Please don't read if you are sensible to or triggered by the topics mentioned above.]

Minors do not interact.

Note: Took a while to finish this. I found the last part especially hard to write so I put it off for weeks. But voilá, it's finally here!

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13

Series Masterlist

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Axiety. It's what curses Katsuki's veins right now. After he left his mother at the war tent, he went ahead and took a look at his injured men. Some of them might never mount a dragon again. That already made him restless. He feels like ever since he became chief, things have gone bad. They need a win soon. His men can't lose morale. It won't benefit the tribe and they'll also maybe get some bad ideas. His mother stepped down as a chief voluntarily, but Katsuki is sure that the rest of the tribe would have forced her if she didn't. It's easy to blame the leadership when things go wrong. Even if some things are out of the chief's control.

That's when y/n crosses his mind. He has forgotten about her ever since Kirishima walked into his tent. Maybe she can be his win, a way to boost morale among his men and a way to strengthen his position. If y/n was to carry a healthy, happy baby, Katsuki and her could lead an example for the rest of the tribe. To show them that there is a future. After today's events, he's sure that he's making the right decision taking y/n on as a mate. He fully trusts her to become a good partner, a good mother. He'll do everything in his might to ensure the tribe's and y/n's future. She won't ever have to go back to the men who hunted her like an animal.

His heart feels heavy and full when he makes his way back to his tent. He can't wait to pull y/n into his arms, to feel her soft warm frame pressed against him. It's what he needs right now. 

Surely, y/n must have returned by now. She was angry earlier but he hasn't experienced y/n to hold a grudge for too long. Also, it's gotten dark and cold. That must've driven her back home as well.

When he enters his tent, it lies in darkness and silence. He stares into the black of the tent, listening expectantly. Y/n's not here. His heart starts to pump harder, blood cursing faster through his veins than just a few minutes ago. He can hear an unsettling whooshing in his ears. 

Y/n's gone.

It takes a moment for the realization to sink in. Then, he turns around on his feet exiting his tent swiftly. In front of the entrance, he stops in his tracks. His first instinct is to find Kirishima. Get him to assemble a search party, get everybody moving to find her.

It's a bad idea. He and y/n have to lead as an example. How can he prove to his men that they can find a mate outside of the tribe that loves and accepts them if his own mate runs off in the middle of the night? No, the others can't find out. Especially his mother. He can already see the triumph in her eyes telling him 'I've told you so'. He must find her alone.

But where could she possibly have gone to? She doesn't know anybody or anything around here. A cold chill runs down his back. She wouldn't have tried to leave, would she? That would be incredibly stupid of her. She can't survive in these mountains. Especially not without appropriate gear. But that didn't stop her before. 

Katsuki thinks back to when y/n took off the day after getting injured by these men with bows and arrows. Back then, she also was stupid enough to think that she could wander off in the forest on her own. And now she was angry, furious even. With heavy emotions like that clouding her logical thinking, it wouldn't surprise Katsuki if she got the bright idea of running off. He can already picture her angry, pouting face in his mind. 

Shit. He needs to find her. 

First of all, Katsuki tries to search the settlement inconspicuously just to make sure he's not setting off a false alarm. He's glad that most of the tribe already settled into their tents for the night. While he wanders through the settlement, he's getting more anxious with each passing second. Scenarios of y/n getting torn apart by a pack of wolves, of y/n falling down a hillside and other deadly things fill his inner eye.

When he can't find her in the settlement, he decides he must scout out the area surrounding the tribe's village of tents. Considering she's on foot, she can't have made it very far. In this darkness, she must've laid to rest somewhere. Tonight's new moon, so it's especially dark tonight. Out there, you can't see your hand infront of your own eyes. She must wait to continue her journey by sunrise.

It's best to look for her on the back of his dragon, he decides. He can cover more ground and the Drami's improved eyesight and smell will help them to find y/n quickly. So, he sets way to the stables. He already knows Drami won't be too happy about him waking her up. He walks quickly through the gore to the dragon's den. The other dragons ignore him, some bow their heads in respect. There's even the small green one that hasn't been tamed yet. It scurries away at the sight of Katsuki.

Only his torch illuminates the den upon entering. The dragons inside seem to be asleep. „Drami!“, he calls out to his dragon almost softly. He doesn't want to evoke the great red's rage. „Drami!“, he calls out again, this time a bit louder. Then, the big red dragon moves. It stretches its long hind legs and raises its heavy head.

„We need to find y/n, c'me on!“, Katsuki tells the dragon.

The dragon snarls at him and huffs hot air into his face. Katsuki rolls his eyes.

„Yeah, I know it's late. That's why we need to find her quickly.“, he points out.

The dragon stares at him intently. Katsuki is not sure what she's trying to tell him. „What?“, he asks shrugging. The dragon shifts again, lifting its heavy wing up, revealing y/n. Katsuki's eyes almost bulge out of his head. What on earth is she doing here? Almost at the same time, relief floods his veins. She's safe. When Katsuki wants to rush to the woman's side, a claw-studded paw cuts in between him and y/n. 

Katsuki's head jolts up. „What?“, he asks the dragon again. Drami looks angry now. A deep rumble curses through the dragon's throat. It snaps at Katsuki leaving behind a loud cracking sound when its upper and lower teeth clash against each other. Katsuki jumps back just in time to not get crushed in between the dragon's large jaw.

„Hey!“, he barks at the dragon, „What the fuck are you doin'?“

The dragon rises to its full height filling out the den completely. Y/n slides off its tummy and awakes in a rough manner. Disorientedly she looks around. Meanwhile, the dragon shifts into an intimidating stance looking angrily at Katsuki.

„What are you angry about?“, Katsuki yells grasping y/n's attention.

The dragon curls its tail around y/n in a protective manner. Katsuki doesn't fail to catch onto that.

„Is this about y/n? Fuck, it's not my fault that dumbass ran away?“, he defends himself in front of his dragon. Y/n awkwardly watches the scene in front of her. Somehow, she feels content. Seems as if the dragon is about to put Katsuki into his place. Good.

The dragon snaps at him again and Katsuki quickly moves out of its way. „Don't fuck with me, Drami. It's not funny! I didn't do anything!“, he yells at the dragon.

Suddenly, another rumble goes through the red dragon's throat and then there's electricity in the air. Katsuki's eyes widen. She's not about to...? Not in here! The fire would burn all of them. He can see an orange colour light up in the dragon's throat. Shit!, he thinks. Instinctively, he jumps over the dragon's tail and covers y/n's body with his own.

As quickly as the electricity becomes palpable in the air, as quickly it fades again. Y/n peeks through Katsuki's arms and sees the dragon staring at them intensely. Katsuki shifts, facing the dragon again. He sighs in relief. He absolutely believes Drami would go through with such an action. If a dragon doesn't deem a human worthy of their trust anymore, they more often than not kill them.

„You crazy fuck,“, he tells the dragon standing up and shaking his head. In return, the dragon growls at him

„I get it ok, I haven't been a good mate. I let her slip away.“, he continues. The dragon continues to stare at him angrily.

Katsuki raises his arms in defeat, then drops them again. „What do you want me to say? I didn't keep an eye on her. She could've died, yes. But she was safe with you, wasn't she?“

A rustling sound goes through the red's throat. It moves its head closer to Katsuki and presses its nose against his chest. Katsuki stares back with the same intensity. Then he sighs in defeat.

„Thank you for taking care of her. I'll be better, I promise.“, he tells her and the dragon gives him one more intense stare before settling into a laying position again. The smaller red dragons, which fled the bigger one the moment they sensed its anger, return to its side again.

Y/n doesn't know what Katsuki tells the dragon but it's clear he almost shits his pants. She finds that rather satisfying. Even if the red dragon almost fried her in the process. Quickly, she scrambles onto her feet. She must've fallen asleep somewhen but she's wide awake now.

Katsuki turns to her taking a long look at her. There doesn't seem to be a scratch on her. His instinct tells him to walk up to her, shake her and yell at her for being stupid. He can't believe she ran off and walked straight into dragon territory. She can be lucky Drami protected her. If she was unlucky, one of the other dragons could've seen a convenient snack in her that walked straight into their mouth. Considering what happened earlier, that's probably a bad idea though. Y/n was already pissed and it's better to reconcile than to argue. Especially, since Katsuki decided to ignore his mother's disapprovement. 

Katsuki walks up to y/n and takes her hand. He puts it over his heart and presses it softly. „Don't you dare leave again.“, he tells her. Then, more softly, he adds: „I need you. I was worried.“

Y/n looks up at him. At first, her face looks clueless as it usually does when she doesn't understand him. Then, she harshly pulls her hand away. She's still angry at him. Don't you think a few soft words will make me forget what has happened today, she thinks. 

Without looking at him, she stomps past him exiting the den. Katsuki swirls around and immediately catches up to her. Outside the den, he gets a hold of her wrist and pulls a bit too harshly. Y/n is swirled around. She stops herself inches in front of his chest. Quickly, she brings an arm's length distance between them, as far as her arm allows her to. Katsuki keeps a tight grip on her wrist.

„Where the fuck do you think, you're doing?“, Katsuki growls at her. Y/n looks at him with fire in her eyes.

„Let go of me, asshole!“, she yells at him pulling at her wrist. She doesn't care how loud she is or if she wakes up one of the dragons. How dare he act like this? Maybe a few days prior she would've mistaken Katsuki's attitude for concern, but knowing what she knows now, she's sure it's possessiveness. She can't stand that. Considering what Nadia says, that's all that women are in this place. She refuses to become Katsuki's possession, to let him push her around like that. He either accepts her as an equal or he doesn't get to have her at all.

Stunned, Katsuki lets go of her hand. He already notices some dragons shift in the darkness. Y/n crosses her arms in front of her chest. She doesn't really know where she's going with this. She doesn't want to argue with Katsuki. So far, he has been good to her. Today's been not good, but at the end of the line, he didn't treat her badly. The ceremony this morning went badly but Katsuki didn't lash out his anger at her, only at his furniture. While she doesn't understand where exactly his anger comes from, she shares the sentiment. 

It's been frustrating. Clearly, it's been frustrating to both of them and that Katsuki doesn't seem to have much control over his anger is something y/n noticed before. And despite what Nadia said, he didn't put his hands on her. He even wanted to protect her from the great red's fire. Y/n knows that if the dragon had gone through with it, Katsuki would've been burned to crisps. He was ready to sacrifice himself for her. Katsuki must value her more than he lets on.

Y/n sighs and rubs her face. She tries to calm herself. In contrast to Katsuki, she has more control over her anger. Katsuki watches her intently. He doesn't want to argue with her either. He's frustrated and worried and he doesn't know how to make y/n understand how important she is. To him. To his people.

He tries to take a step towards her when a growl and a pair of red glowing eyes appear right behind her. It's the small green dragon from earlier. Katsuki stops in his tracks. This dragon is untamed which means that it is unpredictable. 

„Don't move.“, he wispers and hopes that y/n understands.

Apparently, y/n didn't hear him, or rather didn't understand him but she slowly moves around staring right into the green one's eyes. Fear starts pulsing in her veins again. At the same time, the anger that's been trying to push down bubbles up again. 

Seriously? As if I don't have enough problems, I've got to deal with this thing again?, she thinks angrily.

„Y/n.“, Katsuki says calmly. They can't make a wrong move right now. His mind flickers back to Drami in the den. He's sure she must sense the green one by now. He just hopes she isn't too offended by earlier to help them if necessary.

Y/n ignores Katsuki. She continues to stare into the green's eyes intently. She holds its gaze. She's not going to back down. It's probably stupid to pick a fight with a dragon but Katsuki and the whole situation made her angry enough to try. 

With a steady, almost dangerous voice, she speaks to the dragon: „Leave. I won't be dealing with you tonight.“

The green dragon shifts, still holding her gaze. For a moment, its gaze flickers back to Katsuki.

„Hey, eyes on me!“, y/n barks at it and immediately catches its attention again. Katsuki feels like he's about to faint. Is she really speaking to a dragon like that? What outcome is she expecting?

`

„I'm telling you one more time.“, y/n says loudly, „Leave and don't come after us.“

The green dragon stares at her. There's a clicking sound in its throat. Then, he snaps at y/n, but y/n expected it considering it snapped at her earlier. She uses her chance and throws herself at its snout. Katsuki watches her with an open mouth. Y/n pushes its snout down before letting go of it.

„Leave!“, she yells. The green dragon looks at her perplexed. It raises its head, probably to spew fire at them when a deep rumble can be heard from the red one's den. It's probably a warning. It's enough to make the green one back off. Y/n holds her stance and stares after it until it disappears into the darkness again. 

When it's clear that it's gone, she loosens her stance and huffs a strand of hair out of her face. Meanwhile, Katsuki gains control of his facial expression again. He's not sure whether to be impressed that y/n stood her ground in front of a dragon or concerned that she's mad enough to try so. Actually, it's probably not that bad. He remembers when he tamed Drami. It's the first thing you need to be capable of, to stand your ground in front of such a mighty beast. Most people go into fight-or-flight mode. Of course, then you also need to fight it into submission, but that's another thing.

Y/n turns around to Katsuki. „Are you coming?“, she tells him before turning to leave. Katsuki quickly catches up to her. They don't speak while they walk back to the settlement. 

The closer they get to the tents, the more relaxed Katsuki feels. Also, his bad consciousness starts to creep up on him. He never apologized to y/n about what had happened today.

„Y/n“, he calls out to her and stops her by taking her hand. This time his touch is soft and not firm. Y/n can get out of his grasp anytime she wants. She turns towards him and looks at him expectantly.

„I'm sorry about today. I'm sorry about my mother treating you badly, I'm sorry if the whole presentation was humiliating to you and I'm sorry I lost it earlier.“, he tells her. 

Y/n is sure he's apologizing right now. He's got that look in his eyes. Curved eyebrows, an almost sorrowful look on his face. It's not enough, however, he needs to try a little harder. A simple apology isn't going to get him into her good grace again. Katsuki sighs and steps a bit closer to her. With his other hand, he strokes her cheek.

„You've been nothing but great. To me, you're the perfect mate. Hell, you are standing your ground no matter what we throw at you. Even a dragon. We, no I, failed you. Drami's right. If I want to be your mate, I need to be better. I promise I will be better.“, he softly says. He knows she can't understand him but he just hopes she'll soften up on him a little bit.

Y/n stares in his eyes intently. His voice sounds soft, almost submissive. She sighs. There's no use in keeping this argument up. It's not going to help her situation. And at least, Katsuki seems to understand that she's frustrated. She just hopes he also believes that her frustration is justified and that he's not just trying to sway her.

She touches his hand softly. Katsuki gives her a shy smile and takes a few steps closer to her. When she doesn't react, he closes the gap between them. Carefully, he wraps his arms around her. Y/n can't help but lean into the touch. By now Katsuki's touch has become something familiar and comforting to her. She buries her face in his chest. Katsuki chuckles and y/n can feel the vibration of his laugh. Her heart flutters a bit. Damn this Katsuki, she thinks, Why does he have to be so attractive? She can feel Katsuki's hand in her hair. Lightly, he scratches the skin on her head. Y/n wants to melt. After this long, confusing day, she just wants to relax and fall asleep in his arms.

Katsuki's hand moves towards her ear and he tucks a few strands of hair behind it. Y/n looks up to him and is met with a soft gaze. It's almost surprising to her. Katsuki rarely looks so soft. He's just not that kind of guy. Maybe today has worn him thin as well. Y/n gives him a small smile. Katsuki's hand ghosts along her cheek. Slowly he moves his head towards hers giving y/n enough time to move out of the way or reject him. She doesn't. Katsuki's lips meet y/n's in a light kiss. He's not putting much pressure behind it. Just enough for y/n's heart to make a little jump. 

Quickly, he pulls away and ruffles y/n's hair lightly. Y/n retreats a bit as well. Katsuki throws an arm around her and pulls her towards the settlement. There's almost no one outside anymore and it's quiet when they walk back to Katsuki's tent. Y/n is shivering by the time they arrive. Katsuki's arm around her shoulder does little to keep her warm. Inside, they're met with the chaos they left behind earlier today. Y/n shakes off Katsuki's arm and zigzags around the broken things on the ground. She picked up the broken parts of the chair earlier but left the other things he threw around on the floor. She flops down onto Katsuki's bed and points at the mess on the floor.

„You're tidying that up!“, she says sternly. Katsuki scratches the back of his head embarrassedly. He's not sure what y/n said but he guesses she's scolding him for the chaos in the tent. Dutifully, he starts picking up the things on the floor. Meanwhile, y/n starts looking for the clothes she wore to bed yesterday. Once she's found them, she disappears to the attached bathing hut. 

When she's done changing, she returns to the main room. She looks around approvingly. Katsuki tidied up the place quite well. Currently, he's not in the tent. Y/n guesses he disposes of some broken things. While waiting for him, she picks up an apple from a fruit bowl that Katsuki placed back on the small table. Sitting on the bed, she eats it. While it's not much, she's glad to finally get something into her stomach. 

Eventually, Katsuki comes back into the tent. When he sees y/n sitting on the bed, he gives her a curt nod. Then, he starts changing. He's still wearing the armor that he put on before the presentation. Chewing on her apple, y/n watches Katsuki changing. Katsuki usually doesn't wear many clothes so there's not much new to see but y/n takes her time observing. She feels like she deserves that. After all, he let all of his people and that woman eyeball her this morning.

She lets her eyes run over his broad shoulder and how the muscles of his back move when he opens his pants and slips out of them. Katsuki stands there in his underwear for a moment as long as he puts the armor and pants away. Y/n admires his naked chest. A few scars decorate the soft skin on his pecks. Her gaze follows his trained bicep down to his hands. She doesn't notice how Katsuki's done putting on some linen pants or how she stopped chewing at some point.

„Ya like what you see?“, Katsuki asks her with a cocky smirk on his face. 

Katsuki's voice rips her out of her own thoughts. She's met with Katsuki's triumphant facial expression. Oops, guess he caught me, she thinks. She sits up a bit and throws the rest of her apple at Katsuki. Katsuki catches y/n's projectile with ease and gives her a biting laugh. He finishes off the apple in two bites and throws it into a bowl by the side.

Katsuki walks over to the bed and gets in at y/n's side. He starts to climb over her but stops when he's right above her. Y/n tries to shuffle away to give him some more space to get to the other side of the bed when she notices a suspicious twinkle in his eyes. He's not planning to move to the other side. Y/n rolls her eyes and Katsuki chuckles. He leans down and kisses her on the lips.

This time, the kiss is a bit less soft. It's more urgent and there's more pressure behind it. Y/n's eyes flutter close. Katsuki slides down and his weight pushes y/n deeper into the pillows. Absently, y/n's hand runs down Katsuki's chest. She feels Katsuki's tongue running along her upper lip. She lets her own tongue run along his lip as well and soon they meet in an even deeper kiss.

By now, y/n's heartbeat picked up. Katsuki detaches from her lips for a second. He presses open-mouthed kisses along her jawline and down her neck. Softly, he nibbles at her collarbone. Y/n can't help but let out a muffled moan. She already can feel a tingling sensation in her lower belly. Also, she's starting to get hot. Katsuki lets out a chuckle before returning his attention to her. 

Their eyes meet and y/n can see a mischievous gleam behind Katsuki's eyes. „You dick!“, she tells him and smacks his upper arm. Katsuki laughs and rolls off of her. Y/n hasn't got much time to recover before Katsuki pulls her into him again. Angling her head up to him, he drags his lips over hers again. Y/n shifts to get more comfortable. Part of her leg grazes Katsuki's scrotch and she can feel that he's already half-hard. She's lowkey glad she's not the only one on whom this has an effect. 

Quickly, she tries to move her leg away again but Katsuki catches her leg mid-movement. He pulls her leg in between his own and pulls the rest of y/n half on top of him as well. His other hand finds its way back into y/n's hair. Entangling their mouths again, his other hand starts exploring y/n's back, butt and leg. Y/n's hand rests on his lower stomach just above his v-line. Slowly, her hand creeps up his chest up to his cheek.

They continue to make out like this for a while until y/n breaks the kiss to take a deep breath. Katsuki uses the break to fully pull y/n on top of him. Y/n can feel Katsuki's erection under her. In all honesty, she can't blame him. She's also feeling the effects of all this kissing. The way Katsuki's rough hands drag along her back drives her absolutely mad. She doesn't want to know how the inside of her thighs look right now.

Suddenly, Katsuki's hand finds its way under the shirt she's wearing. While his lips still feverishly drag along hers, his hand softly strokes its way up to her chest. Y/n's heart skips a beat when his calloused hand finally makes an impact with her boob. Carefully, Katsuki kneads the soft bundle of flesh. There's enough pressure behind it to make clear how urgently he wants to touch her and soft enough to not hurt her. Giving her one last kiss, he detaches from her and sits up.

„Take that off.“, he demands and pulls her up towards him. Y/n sits up and lets Katsuki push the shirt over her head. She feels flushed even though Katsuki and she now wear the same amount of clothing. Katsuki lets his gaze wander over her chest. Gently, he reaches out to her. The backside of his hand touches her cheek, and then he lets his hand sink downwards towards her chest. With both hands, he squeezes her breasts. He leans his head forward and rests his forehead against hers. While adrenaline and excitement still curse through her veins, y/n feels oddly at ease suddenly. 

Katsuki lets go of her chest and his hand finds hers. Gently, he caresses her hand before pulling it into his lap. Y/n can feel how he presses her palm onto his hardened member. It's not her first time touching a man. She wonders if Katsuki is aware of this or if he thinks it's her first time. Y/n's other hand reaches up to Katsuki's cheek and she pulls him down onto her lips again. At the same time, she carefully squeezes his dick. Katsuki lets out a frustrated groan before pushing his mouth on hers again. Gently, y/n massages him through his pants.

Then, Katsuki pushes her off of him. „Gimme a sec, doll.“, he mumbles and starts fumbling with his pants and pushes them down his legs. Y/n waits patiently for Katsuki to come back for her. When he shivered out of his pants, he crawls over to y/n again and pushes her onto her back. He starts kissing her neck and nipping at her earlobe. Each kiss leaves behind electricity that shoots down her body. Y/n takes his hand and puts it back on her chest again. She's done with kissing. She wants more. Katsuki lets out a low chuckle. Carefully he dips his head down and lets his tongue run over her nipple. Y/n groans and lets her hand run through his spiky hair.

Meanwhile, Katsuki's hand wanders down her side. When his hand finds the hem of her pants, she can feel her heartbeat quicken again. She's nervous about what's about to happen next. A positive nervous, an expectant nervous, a I-can't-wait-to-feel-your-hands-where-I-need-you-most nervous. However, Katsuki doesn't give her that satisfaction just yet. He lets his hand ghost over her crotch before gently cupping her most private area. Y/n gasps at the contact and wishes that stupid linen pants weren't in the way. Again, Katsuki chuckles at her expression.

Y/n glares at him. She's got enough of his teasing. She pushes at his chest and Katsuki lets himself fall back onto his back with a laugh. Immediately, y/n is on top of him and kisses down his neck. Gently, she bites the skin on the nape of his neck. Katsuki lets out a forced groan. She can feel his dick jump a bit in between her legs. She continues to kiss down his chest, and presses open-mouthed kisses onto his tummy until she has reached his v-line. She traces the bones on his hips while mischievously looking up at him. I can play the same game, she thinks. Katsuki looks down at her through lidded eyes. 

„Fuck, y/n, are you gonna do something or do I need to show you how?“, Katsuki grumbles and pushes his hand into y/n's hair trying to gently push her down onto his cock. Y/n clicked her tongue. „Oh, no, don't think I let you get off this easily.“, y/n teases him. She starts pressing soft kisses onto the side of his hips, down his v-line and stops right in front of his shaft. 

„Shit, you bitch!“, Katsuki groans in frustration but he doesn't move. Secretly he's enjoying y/n's attention and playfulness. He didn't expect y/n to be this devious, especially not in bed. Clearly, she must have some experience and he's glad about that. He was afraid that this would scare her away. But, considering her reactions, she must be enjoying this too.

Lost in his own thoughts, he doesn't notice how y/n's head dips down. Only when he feels her tongue running down his dick. He almost jumps up at the sensation. His hand grips her hair a bit tighter but he doesn't make any further movements. Y/n can feel his leg muscles tighten. She runs her tongue up his shaft again before gently teasing the tip of his cock. Katsuki groans and lets his head fall back. Y/n gently rubs the side of his legs in comfort. I got you, she wants to tell him. 

Then, she takes his entire dick into her mouth. Katsuki almost thrusts up but catches himself mid-movement. Y/n is glad for Katsuki's control. She's sure that she can't deepthroat him. For now, she just bobs up and down his length licking and sucking. The areas her mouth can't reach get stimulated by her hands which she has wrapped around his shaft.

Eventually, Katsuki can't take it anymore and pulls y/n off his dick. He sits up and roughly pulls y/n up to him, towards his mouth. Feverishly, he kisses her, shoving his tongue into her mouth. Slowly but carefully his resolution starts to crumble. In a swift movement, he pushes y/n onto her back with one hand and pushes down her pants with his other hand.

Cool air hits y/n's pussy. She almost gasps at that sensation alone. However, Katsuki is done waiting and teasing. Immediately, he pushes his fingers in between her folds. Y/n lets out a choked noise. Katsuki leans down and starts licking and biting her nipples while massaging her clit in rough, circular movements. Y/n is already seeing stars. It's been so long since someone touched her like this and clearly Katsuki knows what he's doing. His fingers wander from her clit downwards towards her entrance. Swiftly, one of Katsuki's fingers enter her. Y/n can't help but let out a raspy moan. 

She's not sure whether or not Katsuki registers the sound she's making. Maybe he doesn't care or maybe he's beyond capable of teasing her about it. Either way, his mouth lets go of her nipple and wanders down her tummy until he finally reaches her cunt. He's not waiting for another second before pushing his tongue in between y/n's folds. Y/n gasps again and buckles her hip. Katsuki simply pushes her hips down and continues his administration. While his tongue swirls around in between her pussy folds, his finger pumps in and out of her tight hole. Y/n's upper body twists around in the bedsheets. 

It feels so good, she barely can't take it anymore. Katsuki adds another finger and y/n goes wild. She pushes her hands into his hair and she's not sure whether she wants to push his head deeper into her cunt or pull him away because she needs to stop. Katsuki does not leave any room for a decision as he pushes deeper into her crotch. Just when he feels y/n's walls tighten around his fingers, he pulls away.

He stares at y/n with wild eyes. Her wetness still glittering on his lips and chin. Y/n's chest is heaving and she can't tear her eyes away from Katsuki. „Fuck, babe, you taste so fucking good.“, Katsuki grumbles while taking a long look at her. Y/n's hair is disheveled and her cheeks are flushed. Right now, there is a disappointed expression on her face. Katsuki grins and moves to hoover over her. 

„Don't worry, love, you'll get to come. You just have to do it on my dick. Only this way you can become truly mine.“, he tells her.

Y/n pouts because she doesn't understand why they're suddenly stopping. Luckily, Katsuki doesn't let her wait too long. He crawls up her body and kisses her deeply. Y/n can feel his dick laying right above her pussy. Katsuki snaps his hips a bit and pushes his dick in between her wet folds. Y/n moans and opens her legs so that he has better access to her pussy.

„Shit, babe, you want me that bad, hm?“, Katsuki groans as he sees y/n pull her legs apart for him. He leans back a bit to take a good view of her soaked cunt. „Fuck...“, he groans as he lets his dick run over her now-open pussy.

„Katsuki!“, y/n whines. She wants him. Now. Katsuki chuckles and leans down to kiss her. „Alright, alright, babe, I get what you want.“, he mumbles as he shifts and tries to find her entrance with his cock. When he's not fast enough, y/n takes matters into her own hands and leads his dick to her entrance. Katsuki doesn't wait for another second and pushes into her in one swift movement. Y/n can't help but let out a loud moan at the sensation. Katsuki's head drops down onto her shoulder.

He doesn't give her any time to adjust to him but immediately starts a steady pace. His dick slides in and out of y/n's slick hole. Y/n wraps her legs around his hips and grabs onto his shoulders. She can't help but let her eyes roll back a bit. Her fingers could never compare to the feeling of a real dick inside of her. And Katsuki's dick feels especially good. Katsuki keeps up the pace for a bit until he grows tired of it. He sits up a bit and his dick slides out of y/n. She groans in protest.

„Relax, love, we're not done yet.“, Katsuki mumbles as he sits up on his knees. Roughly, he pulls one of y/n's legs over his shoulder and opens her other leg widely. Then, he shoves his cock back inside of her. In short, hard movements, he rocks in and out of her pussy. Y/n cries out loud at the new angle and the roughness with which Katsuki starts to fuck her.

„Fuck, babe, this feels so good.“, Katsuki groans while his balls slap against y/n's ass. He has had sex before but it was never like this. He either paid the women or just took them. None of them were as wet as y/n or as willing to move against him the way y/n does. And the sight of her just added to his arousal. Concluding from her facial expression and moans, y/n must be so fucking horny for him. It makes him wish they had done this sooner. Before they came here and things got more complicated.

„Katsuki-i...! Harder! Fuck!“, y/n moans and grips his wrists. Even without understanding her words, Katsuki gets the message. He wants to fuck her harder and faster, too. He pulls y/n's leg from his shoulders and hooks his hands under both her knees pulling her pussy closer to him. He quickens the place and the closeness gives him the option to ram his dick into her harder.

„Fuck, yes!“, y/n yells. She's glad he understood what she wants. Fuck, this is so good, she thinks. She loves how hard Katsuki is taking her. Most men are too timid to take her how she likes it the first time. The first time is always a bit awkward, trying to find out what the other likes. But Katsuki fucks her just the way she wants his, the way she needs it. She needs to forget this awful day and Katsuki's cock in her pussy makes her mind goes numb.

Slowly, but steadily, y/n can feel her orgasm approaching. She hopes that Katsuki doesn't change his movement but keeps it up just the way he's fucking into her right now. There are already pearls of sweat forming on his chest and eyebrows. Meanwhile, Katsuki can feel y/n's pussy tighten around his member. 

„Shit, babe, are you close?“, he groans while keeping up the pace. Concluding from y/n's concentrated look, yes, she must be. Carefully he grips her upper body and pulls her up to him. Y/n whines at the change of position but Katsuki makes it up to her by fucking up into her and reaching that one spot that drives her mad. Katsuki pulls her up and his face rests on the left side of her neck. Y/n claws at his back, desperate to finally get off. Katsuki continues to fuck into her relentlessly. 

„I've got you, babe, c'mon, come on my cock.“, he mumbles into her skin. 

Right now, he needs her to finally climb over the edge. It will hurt less if she's in the middle of an orgasm. Y/n groans throwing her head back. Katsuki can feel her pussy tighten one more time and then start spasming around him. That's what he's been waiting for. He doesn't wait for another second and sinks his teeth into her neck.

Pain. Blinding, numbing pain shoots up her neck. 

Y/n lets out a choked scream. From all the things she's expected Katsuki to do, this is not on the list. Is he... biting her? It feels like he's about to rip a large part of flesh out of her. The pain overshadows the orgasm she forgets she's having. She pushes against his chest, trying to get him off of her.

„Let... go!!“, she cries as she pushes against him. There's no use. He's so much stronger than her. He only sinks his teeth deeper into her flesh. Maybe it's because there was more adrenaline in her blood back then, but this feels worse than when she was hit with the arrow.

Her heart pulls itself together. Why is he doing this? She can feel her warm blood flow down her own chest. He must know how badly he's injuring her.

Meanwhile, he's still fucking into her roughly.

She wants him off. She wants his teeth and dick outside of her body. Right now. She fights against him. Pushing and scratching him. Yelling and crying to let her go, but Katsuki doesn't listen to her. Or he's not hearing her.

His thrusts pick up speed as he fucks into her. 

„No, Katsuki! Pull out!“, she yells but Kasuki is too far gone to register her words. In three hard thrusts, he comes. Y/n can feel his hot seed spluttering deep inside of her.

By now, all colour must've left her face and she becomes numb. 

She doesn't feel the pain in her neck anymore. Or how Katsuki pulls away from her. How he gently places her onto the bed and presses a clean cloth against the wound. How he caresses her face and litters it with soft kitten kisses. How he gets another warm, wet cloth and carefully cleans the inside of her thighs. How he pulls her close and lovingly scratches her head. 

Or how he softly mutters:

„You're mine now, my mate.“

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

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[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Blood Ties Chapter 16

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Typical TWD violence and gore; pregnancy; symptoms of pregnancy; pregnancy complications; vomit; mention of urination; attempted SA; injuries

A/N: I am still not convinced that I like this one or the direction it takes the story, but I agonized over it for too long. So here we are. 💙

gif by @daryl-dixon-daydreams

It was one of those days, weak from hunger and dehydration, that you struggled. You couldn’t ride on the bike with Daryl and were confined to the bench seat in the back of a beat up van that the group had grabbed when the old truck had run out of fuel. 

You were freezing, even with the two blankets wrapped tightly around you. You refused to complain, though. It seemed like you always needed something. Daryl was barely eating, ensuring that you had most of his portions as well, meager as they already were. He always placed you closest to the fire when it wasn’t too dangerous to have one. You were to receive any anti-nausea medications that were happened upon, leaving Lori to suffer through her own morning sickness. It didn’t matter to you that hers was just run of the mill nausea and would fade. 

At 24 weeks, you felt the baby fluttering more often but only inside. It made you wonder if they weren’t growing as they should. You could see the same grim notion in Hershel’s eyes when he would check on you; the way the others avoided your gaze all together. 

But not Daryl. 

He’d just sit with you, letting you curl into him for warmth, while he displayed the tiniest of smirks. 

“S’a Dixon. They’ll be fine.”

The reassurance always made you smile. Sometimes, he’d even press his lips to the top of your head as he pulled a blanket snug around you. He had found this god awful poncho, colorful and not him in every way, which meant that it suited him perfectly. Always keeping you on your toes. He relied on that for his own source of warmth but never objected when you would pull him beneath the blanket as well. 

“Gotta keep my human furnace functional.”

The van rolled to a stop, prompting you to sit up. 

“Why’re we stopped?” You asked from behind Carol’s seat. Rick looked at you through the rear view mirror. 

“Getting late and we’re all exhausted.” He gestured to his right so you’d look out the window. A large, tattered house with a fence. “Haven’t seen too many walkers so we’ll clear that and maybe stay a few days.”

There hadn’t been many stops for the past several hours. There were probably buildings nearby to scavenge, but it was getting too dark to attempt. You gave the slightest nod and sat back to wait for the building to be cleared. Carol opened the door to help. She was learning and helping more and more with the walkers, becoming self-sufficient. You had the gun Daryl had given you but were under strict orders from the archer that you were to stay away from any altercations unless absolutely necessary. 

Just as Carol disappeared, the bowman peered inside. 

“Ya doin’ okay?”

You tried to offer a reassuring smile but it just wasn’t there. “Yeah.” 

He was doubtful, had every right to be, but morale just wasn’t anyone's strong suit anymore. Expression drawn, he reached back to squeeze your knee. His hand was warm through your sweatpants. You almost asked him to stay with you instead. He was needed out there though, part of the muscle that made things safer for everyone. 

“How are you feeling?” Lori asked from the passenger seat once the door had been closed. She was reclined slightly, eyes shut. She had already begun to show, even being several weeks behind you. 

You shrugged needlessly. She wasn’t looking at you. “Okay, I guess. The meds helped.” Cursing yourself the moment the words left your mouth, you tried to backpedal. “I have a few if you want one.”

“I’ve been through this before. Mine’ll pass.” You could hear the smile in her voice, though you didn’t understand why. She and Rick acted like strangers in recent weeks. Everyone had their theories but no one dared speak them. 

“Well, if you change your mind—” you trailed off, sitting back to deal with your own bout of nausea. You were feeling better. The episodes came less as your pregnancy progressed, but when it hit, it hit hard. IV fluids had long ago run out, no luck in finding more. It was up to you to keep yourself going now. 

The door slid open, startling you from a light doze. Daryl moved the seat in front of you and offered his hand. 

“S’clear. Let’s getcha inside. S’got a fireplace. Getcha all warm an’ make somethin’ horrible to eat.”

You rolled your eyes and took his hand, dragging your cocoon of blankets out with you. “I don’t know if I can eat but I’ll try.” You knew it bothered him when you didn’t at least take a couple of bites, make the attempt even if you weren’t feeling hungry. Because you should be hungry. You were pregnant in the middle of an apocalypse never knowing where your next meal might come from. So, you tried, if for no other reason than to see a few of the lines on his face smooth out. 

“S’all ya can do really.”

You couldn’t feel his hand on the small of your back but you knew it was there. That’s how he had taken to walking with you. It felt both possessive and protective, neither of which you minded. It had been weeks since you had realized you loved him. Weeks of never knowing where you stood. No one dared make an assumption other than Carol. She was convinced your feelings were reciprocated. You just didn’t know. 

“Sit down over there. I’ll get the fire goin’.”

“I can do it.” You attempted, knowing full well he was going to shoot down the idea. 

“Nah. Sit down.” He waved dismissively, not even turning around. You sat back with a pout, feeling utterly useless. You couldn’t fight. You couldn’t hunt. You couldn’t even start a bloody fire. 

Rolling up your sweater a little, you poked at your round belly. The air was cold, goosebumps rising as soon as it hit. “Guess I’m good at growing you, huh, Thumper?” When you thought about what you had said, you let your palm fall flat across the taut skin, tears stinging your eyes. “Fuck. Not even good at that, am I?” You sniffled, glancing up to make sure Daryl was preoccupied. The last thing he needed was to deal without another bout of your emotional whiplash. 

You watched the man work at the fire. Rick was bringing pieces of wood that weren’t soaked, too preoccupied with his task to pay you any mind. You could hear Glenn, T-Dog, and Carl chopping up furniture. Lori, Maggie, Carol, and Hershel were either snooping around or bringing in supplies. So, you could stare without risk of being caught. 

Like everyone else, Daryl had lost weight, his face more angular, clothes fitting looser. Not only did he barely eat, he was by far the most active. He’d scavenge, clear homes, lead the caravan on his bike, and still leave for a day of hunting that was usually unsuccessful. The only thing he did less of than eating was sleeping. You woke up at least twice in the few hours you had, usually to go pee. You never had to wake him to accompany you. He was always sitting up beside you. 

It was all starting to show. The dark circles under his eyes. The way he’d lose his balance sporadically. You were worried. You just wanted him to care for himself. 

Unconsciously tapping your middle finger on your stomach, you flinched when you felt a ripple beneath your hand. No way. You had frozen as if the baby would get spooked and run if you so much as breathed. When it happened again, you laughed out loud, startling Daryl. Upon seeing your shirt up, the archer was up and striding toward you. 

“S’wrong?” He asked with notable worry, crouching beside your knees. You shook your head, slinging your tears. 

“Nothing’s wrong. Gimme your hand.” You wiggled your fingers in front of him, elated and impatient. His hand barely made it up before you snatched it and pressed his palm to your belly, feeling bad for the way the sudden movement made him flinch. It was just out of surprise, you knew that, but it didn’t stop you from muttering an apology. You were just too damn excited. 

But then nothing happened. 

“I, uh—the fire.” Daryl began to pull away but you weren’t ready to give up. 

“They were moving.” You pressed a little firmer against his hand. 

“Doc said ya’d feel ‘em ‘fore—”

You watched his face the moment the little ripple bumped against his palm. His eyes, wide as saucers, were shining with tears he didn’t seem able to blink away. Because he wasn’t blinking. You were about to question if he was even breathing when he drew in a gulp of air as if he’d forgotten. 

“Was that—”

You nodded. “Thumper’s thumping.” A tear trickled down your own cheek but you refused to move in order to wipe it away. Good moments were few and far in between and that was a great moment. Another movement within you had you laughing, Daryl glancing up and back down. “Feels funky but it’s the best thing I’ve ever felt.”

Your baby was moving. Alive and moving. It wasn’t a guarantee that nothing was wrong but it was something and you’d take that. 

The archer was still staring, cautious and curious, at his hand. He swiped his thumb back and forth over the skin, more than likely hoping for another movement. You were about to tell him it may not happen when he was rewarded with a small but firm bump to his palm. 

You laughed again, too engrossed in what was happening to notice Daryl leaning in. You lifted your head just in time for his lips to press against yours, both of your eyes shooting wide before he pulled away, hand and all. His reaction made it clear he’d been aiming for your cheek. 

“I should, uh—” 

The way he stood, nervously adjusting the crossbow’s strap as he backed away, made you anxious. The excitement was gone from his eyes, replaced with something you couldn’t even begin to decipher. 

“Daryl, it’s okay.” Shirt pulled down, you leaned forward, resisting the urge to reach for him.

“Nah, I—” he turned, making large strides out of the room. Foregoing your blankets, you were quick to follow. Daryl was standing a few feet from Rick, shifting from foot to foot like the panic was about to burst from within him if he stopped moving. 

“I’ll get the fire goin’ but man, it’s dark out. You can hunt tomorrow.” The former deputy shifted the wooden burden in his arms. He seemed to see something on the archer’s face that you couldn’t because he quickly relented. “Just be safe out there. What do you want me to tell Y/N?”

“Tell ‘er whatever ya want. She ain’t my problem, m’just here for my kid.” 

Your wet eyes stayed glued to where he had stood only seconds ago. At some point, Rick had noticed you, stopping beside you in the doorway. He would have squeezed your shoulder if not for the firewood he carried. 

“He didn’t mean it, Y/N.”

You couldn’t hide the hurt when you looked toward him, gaze seeming to look through him. “You sure about that?”

He wasn’t. 

Morning came and went, Daryl still hadn’t returned. Had he not left during the night, it wouldn’t be unusual. He spent many days out looking for anything that could be a potential dinner. But he always came back before dark. 

“You need to eat, sweetheart.” Carol gently stroked your hair while you looked out the window. You were cross-legged, wishing you could draw your knees to your chest and shrink into yourself but baby Dixon made that impossible. 

“Do you think he’s okay?” You asked quietly. 

“It’s Daryl. I’m sure he’s fine.”

Something about that answer didn’t sit right, no matter the good intention behind it. Daryl was only human. Anything but weak but no less human. You helped drag him from a ravine when he was barely hanging on to consciousness. If you hadn’t shown up when you did, the walker would have certainly killed him.

“I should go after him.” Even if he doesn’t care about me. 

“No you absolutely should not.” Carol’s hand stilled on the back of your head. “You’re pregnant, Y/N. It’s dangerous.”

“I can handle myself.” The quiver in your voice betrayed your attempted confidence. What if you couldn’t protect yourself anymore. Everyone had been treating you like a doll, fragile and useless. 

“You can’t go out there. Think of your baby.”

As if they could hear the concern echoing in the other woman’s voice, the baby moved, a whispered flutter just beneath your skin. Your hand moved of its own accord, gently massaging, reassuring the little life inside you that you were thinking of them. 

“I’ll wait.” You conceded, your shoulders slumping in defeat. Your baby needed to be your first priority. They certainly were Daryl’s. You supposed that was a good thing. At least he would be a present father. 

“I think he’s dealing with some serious emotions right now.” Carol had begun to pet your hair again, her voice soft and sure. As the first snow of the season began to fall, you leaned into her and allowed yourself some comfort. 

Still, your eyes never left the window. 

You had fallen asleep as Carol held you. You didn’t remember moving to the bed roll but when you forced your eyes open, the fire was burning brightly and you were bundled up. You stretched stiff muscles, pushing the blankets away. What had become a tradition, your bladder screamed for relief. You wouldn’t complain since it meant that you weren’t severely dehydrated. 

But it was cold and everyone was asleep. 

Biting your lip, you decided to venture out on your own. It wasn’t far to the tree line. Your holster was in the van, unable to wrap around your thickened waist. You decided to simply carry the gun and strapped your knife to your thigh. Your swollen belly altered your center of gravity, making it difficult to step over the lumps in blankets and sleeping bags. 

Glenn was nowhere to be seen, most likely patrolling the outside of the house. Hopefully you didn’t startle him. The snow had stuck, nearly two inches at least, and Daryl was still absent. It was beyond difficult to push down your worry, fight the urge to keep walking past the trees in the direction he had left. 

Just inside the treeline, you nearly moaned in relief that quickly passed into annoyance. With toilet paper and napkins being saved for the messier trips, you had to bear the cold biting your most intimate areas while you drip dried.

“God, the apocalypse sucks.” You complained under your breath. After an adequate—and brutal—amount of time, you were sure there was a layer of ice on your nethers. Panties, leggings, and sweatpants pulled up, you picked up your gun and stretched again. 

“Aw, the show’s over, boys.”

Your gun was aimed before the sentence was finished. Four shadows were spread out around you, one shoved toward you harshly. Glenn fell close to your feet, and you instinctively offered a hand and let him pull himself up. 

“Assholes jumped me.” Your friend staggered, choosing to hold onto the tree instead of putting his weight on you. 

“How many more of you are there?” One of the men asked, stepping forward so you could make out some of his features. 

“More than there are of you.” You silently clicked the safety off your gun.

“Getting knocked up when the world’s all fucked is pretty stupid.” The shadow to the left sneered. “Must be some good pussy if the daddy didn’t pull out.”

“You’ll never know.” You hissed, your freed hand clutching the sweater over your belly. “We scream, and our group will take you down before you can even reach us.”

“Y/N, there’s one missing.” Glenn was dazed, shaking his head as if he just couldn’t focus. 

“What?”

“There were four.”

Before his words could fully sink in, there was a knife pressed into the side of your belly, a bulky arm wrapping around to hold tightly to your left breast. 

“Drop it, or I’ll carve the little one out.” The tip of the blade pushed into your skin, enough for a small, damp patch of red to spread across your sweater. 

“Okay! Alright, I’m putting it down.” Flicking on the safety so the gun didn’t accidentally discharge, you let it fall to the ground with a dull thump. 

“Good girl.”

You visibly cringed, glancing over to find Glenn as his hands were restrained. He was having a hard time staying awake. Head injury. 

“Tie her hands and get her pants off.” Your breath hitched as the knife was pulled away, your holster ripped from your thigh. 

“Please don’t.” You begged, your body being jerked unnecessarily roughly to zip tie your wrists. A dirty hand ran across your stomach and down to your hip, squeezing uncomfortably. 

“She knows how to beg when she don’t got that gun.” He laughed huskily, leaning in too close. You reared back, turning your head to avoid his lips. “Don’t be like that, baby. We about to get to know each other real good.”

“Leave her alone!” Glenn tried to struggle upright, a boot to his stomach securing him to the ground. 

“Don’t worry, boy. You’re next.” The stranger standing over him chortled. 

What if these men were the reason Daryl hadn’t returned? What they had—

You flinched when the waistband of your pants was grabbed and pulled at, the hold too strong to struggle against. That sure as hell didn’t stop you from trying. If they were going to rape you, you wouldn’t make it easy. 

“Get off me!” You shrieked, not caring if you drew every walker in the vicinity. Maybe they’d hear you in the house. When your mouth opened to scream again, a dirty handkerchief was stuffed inside. The only thing worse than the taste was the smell, instantly triggering your nausea. 

The man grabbed behind your knees and pulled, sending you crashing to your back, your head smacking the unforgiving ground. The snow began to melt and seep through your sweater but your lower half was nearly exposed. Two men worked to undress you—maybe there was just one? They looked identical and moved in sync. After a moment, the two melted together. Now you had a head injury. 

It was futile to battle against the bile creeping up your throat. You had to tilt onto your shoulder to vomit, the viscous liquid seeping out around the fabric blocking its exit. With what little coherence you could summon you swallowed down what remained in your mouth. It would happen again but at least you wouldn’t choke on it this time. 

“Hoo, boys. Look at that pretty cunt!” 

Your face burned with shame, your gut churning, and your heart breaking. Daryl. It was the only logical explanation. They’d killed him and now they would kill you. One of them knelt between your legs, loudly working open his belt. Over the laughter and the clink of metal, you heard a sharp whistle. 

“What was that?”

“Where’d it come from?”

Another whistle, but this one was different. It was the sound of a projectile traveling to its target. Something warm ran down your right thigh. When you managed to raise your head, ignoring the throbbing, the man that was about to fuck you began toppling toward you, a familiar bolt through his eye. 

Daryl. You’re okay. 

You managed to move just far enough to avoid the dead weight before letting your head fall back into the snow, the cold soothing the ache. There were voices all around you, some distant part of you yearning to get up and help in the fight. 

“Stay awake, honey.” You opened your eyes to find Carol’s worried blue gaze looking you over while she ripped the disgusting cloth from your mouth. 

“Snuck up on us.” You breathed. 

“I know but they’re dead now. Or they will be.” 

You hummed, tuning her out when she began to admonish you for going outside alone. You were too tired to admit you fucked up. You could do that later. After a nice nap. 

“Nuh uh, girl. Open them eyes.” 

Something warm was wrapped around you, and you were gently lifted. The smell of leather and smoke wafted into your nostrils, and you knew you were safe. 

“Daryl—”

“This her blood? What th’fuck happened? Why wasn’t someone with her?!” 

When had he laid you on the bedroll? You squirmed against the cold hands on your skin, your clothes being completely removed. Had you dreamed it? Were you still out there?

“Be still, woman!” 

You exhaled. It wasn’t a dream after all. You were safe, the baby was safe. You could rest. Ignoring the pleas for you to stay awake, you followed the darkness into a blissful state of nothingness. 

“I’m fine!” You whined, swatting at Carol’s hands when she tried to roll up your shirt for the millionth time to check your stitches. “It wasn’t that deep and the baby’s been wiggling like a nightcrawler.” When the woman deflated, you leaned forward with a wince to grab her shoulders. “I’m fine.”

Daryl was perched on a chair in the corner of the bedroom they had moved you into, forever fiddling with his crossbow. He had long ago cleaned and prepped the two rabbits he’d brought back. Lori was handling those while Carol insisted on being your mother hen. The archer hadn’t left the room much, but he hadn’t spoken to you either. 

It wasn’t like you did anything damnable. You went to pee, thinking Glenn was safe and on watch. Why the hell was Daryl mad at you? He was the one that skulked off for over twenty four hours and scared the hell out of you! You should be giving him the silent treatment. 

You already kinda were. 

“Any headache?” Hershel asked, strolling into the room with some Tylenol. 

“Just a little.” You shrank back, suddenly feeling like a kid under the scrutiny of the older man. He held out the tablets and you took them without question. You stayed forward so he could probe the back of your head, hissing when he pressed against the sensitive lump left behind. 

“Swelling’s gone down but we still need to keep an eye on you. You took quite the tumble last night.”

“Wasn’t as much of a tumble as it was a thrown onto the back of my noggin.” From the corner of your eye, you could see Daryl go still, his fist clenching. “Doesn’t matter though. I’m good. Baby’s good. Glenn’s good. And we have meat for dinner! I’d say that’s a win.”

“Jesus fuck.” Daryl hissed from the corner. You turned your head so fast that your vision blurred and Hershel moved as if you’d slapped him. 

“What?” You clapped back, growing warm with anger. Carol and Hershel all but dashed out of the room. 

“Ya just gonna act like s’all good? No big deal? Ya almost got yourself killed, Y/N!” The crossbow was still on his lap, trembling from how hard he was gripping the stock. “Fuckin’ stupid.” 

“I was going to piss, Daryl! I usually have someone to go with me but you weren’t here!” You wanted to find the stricken expression on his face satisfying but somehow, it just felt bad. 

“Couldn’a got someone else?” His voice was calmer now, tired and raspy. 

“Why does it matter now anyway? Your baby’s safe.” You sank back against the headboard, grimacing when even the dusty but soft pillows made the back of your head sing with pain. 

“Yeah but you got hurt.” 

You heard his crossbow being placed against the wall but didn’t bother to look over. Your head was actually starting to hurt and dealing with Daryl wasn’t doing it any favors. “Your kid is your priority, Dixon. You don’t need to hover. They’re good.” Massaging your temples, you sighed. “I’m sure Hershel will tell you if anything changes.”

The mattress dipped beside you, your eyes opening and fingers ceasing their movements. Daryl wasn’t looking at you. He was actually looking at his knees, where one hand was clenched so tightly, his knuckles were white. His other hand was planted on the mattress, the trembling shaking the surface beneath you. 

“Ya heard that?”

You swallowed, your heart feeling heavy and suffocating beneath your ribcage. “I did.” You wanted to push him off the bed, yell at him until he felt as bad as he made you feel. 

“Didn’t mean it.”

You scoffed. “Then why’d you say it?” The archer looked pained, confused. “You know, it’s fine if you don’t want to be anything with me. Doesn’t mean we can’t raise our kid together.”

“That ain’t it.”

“Then what is it because this hot and cold with you is getting really old.” You laughed wryly. 

“I didn’t mean to do that.” He cleared his throat and sat back a little, hand hovering over your belly before he placed it on his thigh next to the other. “Kiss ya. Not, uh—not like that.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle. His cheeks were tinted pink, the tips of his ears matching the shade. 

“That’s okay. I turned my head. It was—”

“I wanted to.” He clarified quickly, shutting you right the hell up. “Just didn’t mean to.” God, that man was confusing as fuck. Just like you had said: hot and cold. “Ain’t good with words. Never have been.”

You shrugged flippantly. “Always good with them when we’re fucking.”

“Y/N.” He deadpanned. 

“Sorry.” Licking your lips, you wiped away your smile. “So, you want to kiss me?”

“Yeah.”

“But it was an accident?”

“Yeah.”

“Right.” This was beyond hot and cold. This was eternal hellfire and hypothermia. “Daryl, can you just—say what you want?” 

“Told ya, ain’t good with words.” You opened your mouth but then he was leaning forward pressing his lips to yours, gentle and chaste, leaving you yearning for just a little more. His eyes were dancing back and forth between yours, fear and uncertainty blooming in the cerulean pools. 

“Do you want to know what I want?” Your fingertip brushed over the scar on this temple, moving his hair a little. It was growing and he wasn’t stopping it. You kinda liked it. Your focus returned to his gaze, and he nodded. “You. Me. Thumper. I never thought I’d have a family and then I thought I’d be a mom and you’d be a dad and we’d coparent as friends.”

“That whatcha want?”

“Shut up and let me finish.” You struggled not to laugh when his mouth shut with a click of teeth. “I want you and me to raise little Thumper. Together. Not as friends. It’s okay if you don’t wan—”

This kiss was a bit more. More tongues, more teeth, more vigor. When he moved away, it was only to start pulling at your clothing, coaxing a hearty laugh from your throat as he wrestled your sweatpants off with a bit of a struggle. 

“Wait!” You called out, holding out a hand to have him freeze. Your chin trembled with the absolutely agonizing attempt to hold back more laughter. “Does this mean you like me?” 

Your sweatpants landed on your face. 

“Shuddup.”

[hayatheauthor]

Everything You Need To Know About Writing Bruises 

Welcome to the latest instalment in my ongoing series on crafting realistic wounds in fiction. After delving into stab wounds, burns, and gunshot wounds, we're turning our attention to another crucial element in bringing your characters and their stories to life: bruises.

Bruises are possibly the most common miswritten injury in fiction. As tempting as it might be to make the protagonist's skin bruise when the morally grey characters clutches her wrist, scenes like this only serve to ruin immersion and make your readers wonder whether this could realistically happen. 

Unlike the other wound types I've covered in this series, the internet doesn't seem to have a lot of writing advice for bruises. So, here's my comprehensive guide to writing bruises. 

Types of Bruises

Understanding Bruise Formation:

Bruises are a common occurrence in everyday life, from the accidental bump into a table corner to the aftermath of an intense sporting event. But before we dive into the art of crafting realistic bruises in your writing, let's start by understanding how bruises form.

Bruises, also known as contusions, result from the rupture of blood vessels beneath the skin's surface, typically veins and capillaries. When these vessels break, blood leaks into the surrounding tissue. The body's natural response to this injury is to initiate the healing process, causing inflammation and discolouration.

Differentiating Types of Bruises:

Not all bruises are created equal. Understanding the various types of bruises will help you describe them accurately in your writing. Here, we'll explore the common distinctions among bruise types.

Contusions: Contusions are the most typical type of bruises. They often occur due to blunt force or trauma, resulting in pain and discolouration.

Subcutaneous Bruises: These are the most typical bruises resulting from blunt force trauma. Subcutaneous bruises appear as dark, discoloured areas under the skin and can change in colour as they heal, starting with red or purple and transitioning to green, yellow, and eventually fading away.

Hematoma: A hematoma is a more severe type of bruise caused by the collection of blood outside of blood vessels. Hematomas often appear as a raised lump under the skin and can take longer to heal.

Petechiae: Petechiae are tiny, red or purple pinpoint spots that can form when small blood vessels near the skin's surface break. These are often a sign of more severe underlying medical conditions.

Ecchymosis: Ecchymosis is a large bruise that covers a wider area, typically caused by substantial trauma or medical conditions. These bruises tend to be darker and may require more time to heal.

Tattoo Bruises: Sometimes, an object's pattern or texture may leave a distinct mark, resembling a tattoo. These can occur when someone is subjected to direct pressure from an object with an intricate or textured surface.

These distinctions will enable you to convey the type of bruise accurately in your storytelling, reflecting the nature and severity of the injury your character has endured. So, when crafting a scene in which your character sustains a bruise, you can choose the type that best suits your narrative.

Causes of Bruises:

Bruises can occur for various reasons, and knowing these causes will help you craft believable narratives. It's important to note that not every physical interaction results in a bruise, and your characters shouldn't bruise from actions that typically don't lead to bruising. For instance, someone holding another person's arm tightly is unlikely to cause a bruise.

Common Causes of Bruises:

Blunt Force: The most common cause of bruises is blunt force trauma. This can occur from falls, accidents, or impacts, such as bumping into furniture or being struck by an object.

Pinching or Squeezing: Intense pinching or squeezing, especially on delicate skin areas, can lead to bruises. For example, if a character pinches their arm or thigh too hard in frustration, a bruise may develop.

Repetitive Motion: Overusing or repeatedly striking a particular area, like through strenuous exercise or certain work activities, can cause tiny blood vessels to rupture and lead to bruising.

Medical Conditions: Some medical conditions, like blood disorders or certain medications, can make a person more prone to bruising.

Ageing: As skin becomes thinner and more fragile with age, it's more susceptible to bruising even from minor bumps or impacts.

It's crucial to consider the appropriateness of a bruise in your story. Understanding when and how a character can realistically develop a bruise will help maintain the credibility of your narrative.

Characteristics of Bruises:

Accurately depicting bruises in your writing involves considering various characteristics, such as:

Colour Changes: Bruises typically undergo a series of colour changes during the healing process. They usually start with shades of red, purple, or blue due to the initial bleeding under the skin. As the bruise heals, it can turn green, yellow, or brown before fading entirely. These colour shifts can be an essential detail when describing the progression of a character's injuries.

Size and Shape: The size and shape of a bruise depend on the impact's force and the underlying blood vessels' distribution. Bruises can be small, like a fingertip mark, or large, covering a significant portion of the body. Irregularly shaped bruises may indicate multiple impacts or trauma.

Tenderness and Swelling: A fresh bruise is often tender to the touch, and the area around it may be swollen. Describing your characters' reactions to this tenderness and swelling can make the injuries feel more lifelike.

Pain and Discomfort: Bruises can be painful, and the level of pain may vary depending on their size and location. Detailing your character's pain and discomfort can enhance the realism of your narrative.

Itching and Healing: As a bruise heals, it may become itchy. This can be an interesting detail to add, showing the progress of the injury and your character's recovery.

Duration: Mention the duration of a bruise. Some may heal relatively quickly, while others can linger for weeks. Knowing how long a character's bruise lasts can impact their daily life and the story's timeline.

Factors Affecting Bruise Appearance and Healing:

Bruises aren't one-size-fits-all injuries. Their appearance and healing process can vary based on several factors:

Location: Bruises can look different depending on where they occur on the body. For instance, a bruise on a bony area, like the shin, might appear more pronounced compared to a bruise on a fleshier part, like the thigh.

Age and Health: The age and overall health of your character play a significant role. Younger, healthier characters may heal faster and have bruises that change colour and fade more quickly. Conversely, older characters or those with health issues might have bruises that take longer to heal.

The severity of the Injury: The force and severity of the impact determine the size, shape, and colours of the bruise. Consider whether the injury was caused by a minor bump, a hard fall, or a violent struggle.

Character's Skin Tone: The appearance of a bruise can be affected by the character's skin tone. It might be more challenging to spot a bruise on darker skin, and the colours may appear differently.

Treatment and First Aid: The way a character treats a bruise can affect its healing. Mention how characters apply ice, warmth, or topical remedies to their bruises.

Character's Pain Tolerance: Some characters may have a higher pain tolerance and can bear a bruise without much discomfort, while others might find even a small bruise painful.

Clothing and Cover-Up: Characters may conceal bruises with clothing or makeup. This can impact how they are perceived by others.

By understanding these factors, you can tailor your descriptions to create a more authentic portrayal of bruises in your writing.

Healing Process of Bruises:

A key element in writing realistic bruises is depicting their healing process. Here's how to effectively describe it:

Gradual Changes: Highlight the evolving nature of the bruise over time. The progression of colours—red to blue, green, and yellow—is a visual cue that indicates the bruise's age. This chronological shift in colour offers readers insights into the passage of time within your narrative.

Concealment and Exposure: Address the issue of concealing or revealing the bruise. Depending on its location, characters may need to don concealing clothing, apply makeup, or use other means to hide or reveal their injuries. Such choices can significantly impact the character's interactions and relationships.

Medical Care: Mention whether the character seeks medical attention for their bruise. Medical professionals can provide insights into the severity of the injury and the potential complications that might arise during the healing process. Additionally, you can explore any treatments, remedies, or advice offered by healthcare providers.

Impact on the Character: Describe how the presence of a bruise affects the character's daily life, activities, and interactions with others. A prominent facial bruise, for instance, can influence the character's self-esteem, social interactions, or how they are perceived by those around them. Emotions and psychological effects should not be overlooked.

Varied Healing Timelines: Recognize that the healing process can vary from one character to another. Factors such as age, overall health, and the severity of the injury can affect how quickly the bruise fades. This variation can add depth and authenticity to your character's experiences.

Scarring and Discoloration: Note that severe injuries may leave lasting scars or discolouration on the skin. Explore any permanent marks or changes that remain after the bruise has healed.

By incorporating these aspects into your narrative, you can create a nuanced portrayal of the healing process of bruises and its impact on your characters.

I hope this blog on Everything You Need To Know About Writing Bruises will help you in your writing journey. Be sure to comment any tips of your own to help your fellow authors prosper, and follow my blog for new blog updates every Monday and Thursday.  

Looking For More Writing Tips And Tricks? 

Are you an author looking for writing tips and tricks to better your manuscript? Or do you want to learn about how to get a literary agent, get published and properly market your book? Consider checking out the rest of Haya’s book blog where I post writing and publishing tips for authors every Monday and Thursday! And don’t forget to head over to my TikTok and Instagram profiles @hayatheauthor to learn more about my WIP and writing journey! 

[captainfern]

141Rugby!au [18+]

• Part Two - Crush •

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish x fem!reader

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You've recently started a new job as a physiotherapist for an English Rugby Union team. It's your job to ensure that all the players are in top shape for upcoming games against other strong teams. This job is absolutely perfect for you: good pay, good hours, a fun and exciting atmosphere to be apart of. But there's just one thing you can't seem to understand– the same four players seem to need more attention than the rest.

chapter summary - you're getting used to your new job now, and have a knowledge of player's injuries. but the scrum-half insists it's more than just his leg that needs attention lol.

rating - 18+

wordcount - 5.5k

chapter warnings - fem!reader, slow-ish burn [but not really cause ik you're here for the porn], soap's an absolute menace, mutual masturbation, guided masturbation?, brief discussion of oral [m!receiving], light degradation/dumbification but only if you squint tbh, praise, strong language

disclaimer - physiotherapist, or staff x player sexual relations are not allowed in the real world. but please keep in mind this is fanfiction. it's fake. if you have an issue with inappropriate relations with faculty, blurred morals [etc], then please do not read. additionally, reader be fucking in this series. all four. separately, and at once. it's not cheating, i promise. it's consensual sharing <3

Soap is a scrum-half, or half-back – has a wide set of skills, kicks and passes well, and is generally the smallest on the team. this position tends to work the best under pressure.

see my rugby union introductory for definitions of rugby words

<- part one | part three ->

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You wake bright an early the next morning, the sunlight streaming through your window and bathing you in warm golden light. You stretch, joints popping, back shifting out of sleep-mode.

You ready yourself for the day, manage to eat a small amount of breakfast, and then you're out the door– the sun hovering above the horizon and reflecting onto the city below.

You're one of the first to arrive at work, as per usual. It's unusually quiet. The players usually bring the noise once they all start arriving a few hours later. So you hum to yourself as you walk down the award-lined hallway, passing by the coaches door and seeing light peeking out from beneath it. He's the first at work, before you.

You round the slight corner, juggling the files and your lunchbox in your hands, as well as your favourite choice of beverage for that time in the morning, while you wriggle your keys out of your pocket. You look up at your door, and almost drop your things in fright.

The scrum-half of the team leans against the wall beside your door, scrolling absent-mindedly through his phone. He looks up when he hears you approaching, a broad smile passing over his face. He pockets his phone and kicks himself off the wall as you walk over, your heart still beating a bit faster than normal after that unexpected fright.

"Mornin', doc," he smiled, then held out his hands. "You need a hand."

"Oh!" You hand your files and your lunch over to him, now finding it significantly easier to slot your key into the keyhole. "Thanks, Johnny."

When you twist the key, it unlocks, and Johnny beats you to it– pushing the door open for you and sliding his hand inside to flick on the light. He then stood aside, allowing you to walk in as the lights beamed on.

"After you." He smiled, and you smiled back, walking into your office. It was cold and dark, so after placing your keys and your travel cup on your desk, you moved to open the curtains and then turn on the heater in the corner of the room. Johnny followed in behind you, placing your files and lunch neatly on your desk, before looking around your office with a small quirk in his lips.

You pulled the curtains and allowed golden sunlight to stream in. You then passed a look over your shoulder. "You know... your appointment’s not for another forty minutes, Johnny."

"I know," he shrugged as you moved to the heater to turn it on. "I just figured you'd probably want to get it out of the way, right?"

You laughed. "Not necessarily. It is my job."

Johnny smiled. "Well, I'm glad you don't want to get it over and done with then, eh?"

You turned from the heater, catching his sly grin and the flirtatious tone in his voice. You ignore it with a roll of your eyes, before pointing to the medical table on the other side of your office. Johnny got the memo, hobbling across the room and scooting himself back up onto the table.

You grabbed his file from your desk and walked over to him, thumbing through the pages.

"Right, so you've pulled a muscle in your calf, correct?"

"Yes ma'am," Johnny said, twisting to lie on his stomach, but looking over his shoulder so he could see you. "My right one."

"And you did it at training the day before yesterday?" You questioned him again, placing your files to the side and opening one of the cabinets, pulling out a bottle of cool, muscle rub gel.

You approached the table and unscrewed the cap as he continued speaking. "Yeah, pulled it coming out of a ruck."

"What's the pain like?"

"Not too bad, but still unpleasant."

"So it's definitely not a tear then, which is good." You said, squeezing a generous amount of the gel onto Johnny's calf. He flinched at the cold.

"So that means... it's probably just a strain?" Johnny asked, no longer looking over his shoulder. Instead, he had folded his arms and was now resting his head over them.

You began to smooth the gel over the surface of his calf, gently at first. "Most likely. They're very common."

Johnny grunted when your grip hardened– a firm massage into the skin, feeling for the muscles that were causing him the most discomfort.

"Does that mean, you know, because it isn't a serious injury, that I won't be able to come in here as much?"

You rolled your eyes. "Very funny." Your thumb then pressed down on an inflamed patch of skin, feeling a particularly tender strain of muscle beneath the thin layer of flesh. Johnny let out a low groan, and you quickly apologised as you lightened your touch.

You spent a couple of minutes working your fingers and thumb around the injury. Not too hard, like a proper massage, as the injury was still fresh. But you got a feel of the strain on the muscles, and you moved away to wash the gel from your hands.

"What's the diagnosis, doc?" Soap asked as you scrubbed the gel from your hands.

"Oh my god," you shook your head in disbelief. "What is with you boys and calling me doc?"

Soap cracked a smile, though you couldn't see him do it. "It's 'cause you're our doc."

"I'm a physiotherapist, Johnny."

"Same thing."

You shook your head in disbelief again, drying your hands and moving to scribble down a few things on Johnny's file. Your eyes lingered on the top for a moment, and you laughed behind closed lips. Johnny heard you, turning around and sitting up, his head cocked to the side like a curious puppy.

"What're you laughing at?" He asked, trying to get a peek at your files.

You tapped the tip of your pen to the top of the page you were writing on. "How'd you get a nickname like Soap?"

Johnny smiled. "Oh, that! S'cause I'm slippery like that, doc. Hard to catch on the field."

You blew out an unimpressed sigh, moving back to your cabinets and taking out a new tube of gel– this time, Voltarol. You spoke to him as you unscrewed the cap and walked back towards the table. "That's a stupid nickname and– turn back onto your stomach for me, thanks– I find it hard to believe everyone calls you that."

Johnny twisted himself back around to offer you his calf. He laughed. "It's a popular name 'round here, doc. Not many of the lads call me Johnny."

You piped a small amount of the Voltarol gel onto the back of Johnny's calf, screwing the cap back on and placing the tube to the side. You then slowly began to smooth the gel into the skin, which was now bright red from where your hands had been moving against it.

"Am I the only one that calls you Johnny, then?" You asked, carefully rolling his calf beneath your fingers and palm.

He grunted, lost in the feeling for a second, and then cleared his throat in an attempt to re-centre himself. "Uh, yeah, pretty much."

"Do you like it?" You asked.

You said it innocently enough, but Johnny's brain was in a slight haze. Your hands on him, the slight twinge of pain, the smell of the gel and of your perfume. He blinked rapidly where his head was tucked against his folded arms.

"Huh?"

"Do you like it?" You repeated, fingers rubbing gently across Johnny's burning-hot skin. "Do you like when I call you Johnny?"

"Uh–" Johnny was praying that he didn't get a fucking boner.

"Or would you prefer it if I called you Soap like everyone else?" You asked, this sentence sounding more sweet and sincere than seductive like the last few.

Johnny cleared his throat again. "Oh, I mean, it's up to you, doc. I don't... you know, I don't really mind–"

"No, seriously," you assured him, the palm of your hand pressing down on his calf, making his breath hitch. "What would you prefer? Don't worry about what I prefer. What do you prefer?"

Anything. Fucking anything. You could call him whatever name you wanted to, even if it wasn't his, and he'd still love it. He'd still love the way it sounded falling from your lips. Call him whatever you want, doc.

"You can call me Johnny." He said quietly.

"Yeah?" You smiled. "I'm not cool enough to call you Soap?"

Johnny bristled. "What? No! No, doc. It's not that–"

You laughed, and the sound alone made Johnny's heart start beating a hundred times faster. "I'm just kidding, Johnny. Don't worry."

Johnny sighed into his arms, shaking his head, which made you laugh. Soon, you finished applying the Voltarol gel, and were washing your hands at the sink while Johnny gingerly put his feet to the ground, sliding off the table.

"Okay, so I've just put some Voltarol on your calf, which should help reduce the swelling and inflammation. It'll also help soothe the muscles a bit and hopefully reduce the risk of you cramping up in the near future," you said, double-checking your files once more before turning your full attention to the scrum-half. "Don't shower or put water on the area for at least an hour, and try to avoid direct sunlight if you can. It works better in the first hour if you do that."

Johnny was nodding along to everything you said.

"Oh, and don't touch it and then touch your eyes, that'll sting like hell," You finished with a smile, clasping your hands together. "Any questions?"

Johnny looked out the window briefly, and then back at you. "Yeah, uh, do I need to do anything else?"

"Well, no training for thirteen days at least. Which means no game this weekend."

He gaped at you. "What? Doc, come on–"

"If you want it to get better, Johnny, then you need to rest it," you told him sternly, and he shut his mouth immediately. You smiled. "Any other questions?"

"Am... Am I coming back?"

You laughed. "To me?"

"Yeah. I mean, you know, as a physio–"

"Yes, you'll come back to me, Johnny. Give it about a week, but if it's still feeling as though it's a fresh injury before then, make an earlier appointment. Oh! And don't let me forget–" You hurried over to your cabinets and grabbed a spare tube of Voltarol gel, handing it to him. "You can use it up to four times a day, but your injury isn't too swollen anymore, so just put it on after your shower, maybe once in the morning and again at night if it's bad."

"Okay. Okay, cool, thanks doc." Johnny said, looking down at the gel and nodding.

You smiled, heading back towards your desk. "I'll see you in a week's time then, okay?"

"Yeah, sounds good," Johnny told you, pocketing the gel. "Thanks for that, doc. Have a good day, yeah?"

"You too, Johnny."

Johnny left your office, closing the door gently behind him. His calf was already feeling so much better, but he had another problem.

He adjusted himself in his shorts, placing his hands in front of his hardening cock.

Fucking hell.

•º•º•

He felt like an absolute perv the way he would take any opportunity just to look at you.

Over the next week, Johnny wasn't allowed to take part in any of the trainings, but he played water-boy pretty well. That meant he was still limping around the training grounds, wandering through the halls, and annoying his teammates by just being himself.

But, one of the main reasons he was so happy to play water-boy for the next week or so was because he could see you.

He watched the way you hurried down the hall, files tucked beneath your arm, humming to yourself. He admired the way you smiled and greeted all of the players and staff, always so happy to be talking with any of them. He noticed how sometimes you'd absent-mindedly watch the training from your window, and Johnny got to steal glances of your pretty face behind the glass.

It was some high-school type crush. It had to be it.

Or maybe not. When Johnny saw the way Gaz looked at you, just for a split second, a fleeting moment passing each other in the halls, he felt his stomach drop. Would he have to compete with Gaz for your attention now? The way the winger smiled at you; all bright white, absolutely perfect fucking teeth. So charismatic, and charming, and Johnny saw the way it melted you. The way you hid half of your face behind your clipboard of files, and the way you averted those pretty eyes of yours.

Johnny had no reason to feel like this. But something about you... something about you had him feeling so... different.

So he did feel as though he was competing with Gaz sometimes. Subtly, of course. Gaz was still his teammate and one of his closest friends, so the Scotsman had to ensure his strategy was invisible.

For example. Walking down the hall on the way out to the field, and you'd pop your head of your office to wish everyone good morning. Johnny found it easy to just push Gaz ahead, jostling him around with false excitability that everyone predicted of the scrum-half, anyway.

Or at night, one time Johnny caught Gaz lingering near your door, waiting for you to finish up your shift and then, like the gentleman he was, walk you to your car. Johnny found it slightly less easy to tell Gaz he had a last minute appointment, and so Gaz didn't need to wait around. It was just a little white lie. Nothing major. And then, when you'd finish with your work, Johnny would walk you to your car, opening the door for you, leaning against it as he spoke to you. He'd wish you goodnight, and a safe drive home.

And then–

"Did you need a ride, Johnny?" You asked at the end of the week, looking around the empty carpark.

Johnny drove sometimes. But as of late, to keep himself moving– and occupied– he'd walk from home to the station and then take the train. If he really wanted to, he could probably walk all the way home in less than thirty minutes.

But, how could he say no?

Not with the way you were offering him such a warm, comforting smile. The night was cold, too.

"Are you sure, doc? I don't want to keep you from heading home..." Johnny said, drumming his fingers against the car door.

You smiled, starting the ignition. "Don't be silly. Hop in, it's cold out tonight."

Johnny tried and failed to hide his smile as he walked around to the other side of the car, sliding into the passenger seat. After giving you his address, he thanked you while he put his seatbelt on, and then thanked you again when you rolled out of the parking spot. He thanked you a third time when the car merged out onto the main road.

You released a small, bashful laugh, glancing at him momentarily. "You don't need to thank me. I'm sure you would've done the same for me."

Of course he would have. He'd do anything you asked of him, you know that, right? Hell, if you wanted him too, he'd let you drive him home and get you splayed out on his sofa and, because you'd probably ask so nicely, he'd press his face between your legs and make you come in his mouth. Or, or, if you let him, if you granted him even the slightest chance, he'd be so fucking happy for you to drop to your knees in front of him, pump his cock in those soft, skilled hands of yours, and then wrap your lips around him. Good god—

"Yeah, o'course I would doc." Johnny mumbled, screwing his eyes shut and trying not to focus on the image he just put in his head.

You shot him a look. "Are you alright?"

Johnny's eyes snapped open, and he realised, with heat forming in his cheeks, that he'd made a pained face and released a soft groan. How fucking embarrassing.

"Yeah, m'fine... s'just, you know, my calf." He lied.

At that time, you pulled up outside his flat. Johnny took a deep breath.

"It's still sore?" You asked with a frown.

Johnny felt guilty now.

"No..." He admitted. "It's actually feeling a lot better. I should probably thank you for that too, eh?"

You smiled. "That's okay. It's my–"

"Your job, yeah..." Johnny trailed off, looking down the dark street through the windshield. He turned back to you and found you were already looking at him. He furrowed his brows. "What?"

You squinted at him, as though trying to see him better. "What has been going on with you lately? You've been acting... different."

Johnny looked around sheepishly. "S'nothing, doc."

You hummed, skeptical, but didn't question him further. Instead, he thanked you again for the ride, wished you goodnight, and exited the car. You watched him disappear through the door of his flat before driving away.

•º•º•

Of course you had a crush on Johnny. Who wouldn't?

It was hard to ignore his charm, his infectious smile and his flirtatious compliments. It was hard to ignore the looks he gave you across the hall, or the way he always seemed to run into you after the end of your shift.

He was a handsome man. An absolute menace, mind you, but he was nice. Really nice. And you wondered whether it was a ploy to get you to actually like him.

Thirteen days after your initial appointment with Johnny, and a couple of days after you had dropped him home, he sauntered into your office, chirping out a "morning, doc!" before automatically laying himself down on the medical table.

You smiled, shaking your head ruefully, getting up from your desk and walking over to him. He was rolling up the leg of his grey sweatpants, exposing his calf to you.

"Morning to you too," you said. "Your calf looks good. The swelling's gone down significantly, hasn't it?"

He nodded. "Yeah, and it feels good too. No pain."

"No pain?" You questioned, gently prodding the target area on the back of his calf. "None at all?"

"Yep," Johnny said, popping the p. "I'm all good."

"Good," you told him, patting his calf a couple of times before walking away to write up a final statement on your computer. "Then I suppose we're all done."

Johnny jolted up, his head snapping over to look at you as he quickly lifted himself off of the medical table. He began rolling down the leg of his sweatpants. "Oh, well, I mean– are you sure? Like, did you want to check it again?"

"No, it's alright," you said without looking at him, eyes on your computer as your fingers flew across the keyboard, the clacking filling the room. "Swelling's gone down, pain is gone. You're all good to go."

Johnny frowned. "Right... okay... Do I need to, I dunno, like, come back for a follow-up appointment?"

"No." You shook your head, still typing.

"So that's it?" He was almost pouting now.

You smiled at your screen, hearing the slight sadness in his tone. "Yes, Johnny, that's it. Until you get hurt again, you don't have to come back and see me."

Johnny's frown was deep now. "But what if I want to see you again without being hurt?"

"Well, I work here, so you'll see me–"

"No, I mean, what if I want to spend time with you without you– you know– checking me for injuries."

You finally looked away from your computer, cocking your head to the side in confusion. You stared at him for a moment, and then laughed. "God, at least take me out to dinner first, MacTavish."

The way you said his last name had his cock twitching within the confines of his sweats. He cleared his throat, fidgeting with the elastic of his waistband. "Yeah, actually, I mean, if you wanted, you could come 'round to mine for dinner."

You smiled at him. "You cook?"

He shrugged. "I try."

You laughed. "Okay, sure. When–?"

"Tonight," Johnny said a bit too quickly, then slowed himself down to repeat; "Tonight. Six o'clock."

Your smile didn't fade. "Okay, Johnny. I'll see you at six."

•º•º•

"For the record, this is not a date. It's just dinner, okay?" You reiterated as you walked into Johnny's flat at a few minutes to six that evening. He took your coat from you, and showed you into his flat.

"I know, doc. Don't worry," He said, and then led you into the living room. "Dinner's in the oven, but we can wait here if you'd like."

You sat down on the couch and Johnny took the armchair directly opposite. You were presently surprised, too. The flat smelt amazing, savoury smells of rendering fat and frying potatoes– a good roast, by the smell of it. And the flat was tidy, well decorated too. Not something you expected from a rugby union player.

"Your place is really nice, Johnny." You remarked, looking around the room.

"Oh, that's all Simon. He likes keeping the place clean."

"Oh, you flat with Ghost?"

Johnny nodded. "Yeah, but he's out for the evening. Gym, I think. Probably with Price and Gaz, too."

After looking around the room, you turned your attention back to him. He was already looking at you, and it was like a wave of heat passed over you– the way he was looking, his soft dark eyes and the slight pinch in his brow, made you grow hot. It was like he was studying you, an unwaveringly warm appraisal that had you shifting in your seat. The only other person that had ever looked at you like that with such admiration was Gaz.

"What're you staring at, Johnny?" You asked accusingly, trying to play it off like a joke. Something flippant. Anything to conceal the fact your heart was beginning to hammer in your throat.

He sighed through his nose, lips quirking as he looked at you. "You're a smart girl, doc. I think you can figure it out."

Your stomach fluttered at that. What the hell.

You forced yourself to roll your eyes and sigh and act the complete fucking opposite of the way you were feeling. You shook your head, a mocking smile on your face as you broke eye-contact, looking anywhere else but him. "Don't do this to me, Soap."

"Oh, no Johnny?" Johnny teased. "You're nickname-zoning me now?"

You huffed, finally looking at him. "No, that's not what I–"

"I'm not trying to make you uncomfortable," Johnny quickly said. "And you're more than welcome to leave, seriously, no hard feelings. But... but I have a huge crush on you, doc."

Oh. Well… it’s not like you weren't expecting it. But you still felt your mouth drop open a bit.

You tried to play it cool. "Crush? What are we, thirteen–?"

"Don't shoot me while I'm down, doll," Johnny grimaced. "My heart's beating out of my fucking chest."

Doll. That's new. You didn't know how to feel about that.

But your pussy certainly liked it. [LMAO]

That pulsing heartbeat in your chest seemed to move down your body and into your underwear, pleasure pinching at the base of your tummy, making you feel giddy. Maybe it was because it was Johnny saying it...

"Johnny..." You whined, flopping back further onto the couch.

Johnny groaned in response, his legs spreading as he lifted his hips, adjusting the way he was sitting in the armchair. Your eyes followed the movement unabashedly, causing a wicked grin to split across the Scots face.

"God, I've imagined you saying my name like that since you walked into the team room on your very first day," Johnny muttered, and you watched him with bated breath as he palmed himself over his sweatpants. You could see the hard outline of his cock, and you squeezed your thighs together.

"Johnny..." You whispered to him and he groaned again.

There was a prominent tent in the front of his sweats now. He groaned again, watching the way your eyes never left his body. "Tell me to stop doc, and I will. I'll stop. I'll... I'll stop for you."

You didn't want him to stop. Maybe you did– I mean, hello! You're job? But, just like with Gaz, all thoughts of your job seemed to fly out the window. The way Johnny was looking at you, the way his cock hardened just by you whining his name like that, had heat flooding your body and arousal dripping from your cunt.

"I... I don't want you to stop," you told him and you could see the visible relief on his face. You bit your lip to hide your smile. "I want you to touch yourself, Johnny."

"Oh, fuck yes–" he literally growled, pulling his cock out of his boxers and sweats. He hissed out a low groan when he squeezed his cock at the base, the tip already flushed red and pearling with pre-cum.

You bit back a whimper at the sight. The way he fisted his cock a couple of times, before holding it at the base; the way his cheeks burned red, eyes darting across your face; the soft grunts and groans that elicited from his chest; the light pinch in his brows as more pre leaked from his slit.

You released a shaky breath, teetering on a whimper. "You're so pretty, Johnny."

"Ah, fucking hell, doll–" He groaned, using the pre-cum rolling down his length to slick his grip, pumping his cock while his eyelids fluttered. But he willed them open, eyes finding yours. He noticed the way you were squeezing your thighs together, moving in your seat. God, he loved it.

"Come on, doc. Let me see you touch that pretty cunt, eh?" Johnny uttered, a sparkle in his eyes as you wasted no time pulling your trousers down, followed by your underwear. He noticed the damp spot on the fabric, and groaned again. "God, s'this what you wanted the whole time? Naughty fucking girl, doc. Look how soaked you are."

You spread your legs slowly, parting your thighs for him to see your glistening core. He moaned out, the pace of his hand increasing as you dragged your own fingers along your inner-thighs, dancing across your bikini-line but not quite going further. That made Johnny grunt, movements slowing.

You blinked lazily at him, pleasure stirring in your stomach at just watching him. Your clit was throbbing.

"Tell me how to touch myself, Johnny." You basically begged, and Johnny almost came right then and there.

"Fuck, fuck–" He gripped his cock hard at the base, trying to slow the building of his orgasm. But you looked so good, sounded so good. You were perfect. He slowly began his movements again, the sounds of his pre-cum alone sending soft squelches through the living room. "Play with your clit, doll, come on. Show me how you like it."

You moaned, finally dragging your fingers over your core. The pads skimmed across your wet folds, gathering your slick, before circling your puffy clit. Johnny's eyes were burning you whole.

You moaned out, a breathless "oh my god, Johnny–" following, bracketed by another long moan at the end of your sentence. You were so sensitive, your bundle of nerves throbbing beneath the tight circles of your fingers. Johnny jerked himself off to the sights and sounds of you, his cock twitching in his hand, rigid velvet beneath his fingers. His eyes flitted from your blissed-out facial expressions, to the way your fingers toyed with your clit. Your cunt squeezed around nothing, and Johnny groaned when another dribble of slick leaked out down the lower curve of your arse.

"You're so wet, fucking hell," Johnny muttered, more to himself than you. "Want you to fuck yourself now, doc. Want you to stuff that wet cunt with your fingers," he said louder this time, wetting his lips as he quickened his hand movements, hips twitching upwards to meet each thrust. "Go on."

You whined at his words, reluctantly dragging your fingers away. Your clit was buzzing with your unreleased orgasm. So fucking close. But you listened. Like a good girl, you listened and trailed two fingers down your folds to your dripping hole. You waited for him, fingers circling the opening.

Johnny cursed, then groaned. "Waiting for my permission? Really, doc?"

You whined. "Please, Johnny–"

He chuckled darkly, still pumping his cock. "Go on then, doll. Two fingers, yeah? S'that it?"

You whined again, two fingers smearing your arousal across your dripping core, heat fizzling in your lower tummy. Your hips twitched, body warming against the couch.

"I know that wet cunt can take more than that," Johnny said. "Fuck yourself with three fingers. Go on doc, you can count. Three fingers. Make yourself come thinking they're my cock."

Listening to him, you added a third finger and then slowly pushed inside. The stretch was there, of course– the light twinge of pain somewhere deep inside you, but you ignored it. The gummy walls of your cunt sucked your fingers in, wet and warm, until your knuckles were brushing up against you.

"Steamin' Jesus–" Johnny whispered, cock twitching in his hand, leaking pre. "That's it... now fuck yourself, doc. You can do that, can't you? Be good– fuck– be good and fuck yourself."

You did. In and out, you dragged your fingers, fucking yourself like he said and imagining they were his cock. His cock filling you up, pulling moans and whimpers from your throat, building that bubbling hot pressure in the base of your gut. You knew he'd feel so good inside you. Warm and hard and thick inside you. You were almost salivating, whimpering out to him as you neared your orgasm.

Your legs shook against the couch, trembling. You tried your best to keep your eyes on him, but the heat of his stare was making you dizzy. You whimpered "Johnny, Johnny, please–" and he grunted in response, praising you through it, uttering deep "that's it, doll, that's it" with each thrust of your hand.

"M'gonna come, fuck, m'so close–" You gasped out, eyes rolling.

Johnny was close to, grunting as he fucked his fist, eyes on you the entire time.

"Eyes on me when you come, doc. Open those pretty eyes." Johnny told you. You wrenched your eyes open, head falling forward slightly and your lips parting, a string of breathless whimpers emerging.

Johnny moaned. "You can come, doll, go on. Come 'round your fingers and tell me– fuck– tell me who you’re thinking about. Who’s on that pretty mind of yours while you’re being a good girl and coming ‘round your fingers, hm?"

Your orgasm crashed over you like a wave, and you did as you were told– keeping your eyes on him for as long as possible before the weight of your pleasure forced them shut, moaning his name in a long, loud "Johnny–!"

He came too, moaning your name into the living room. No doc, or doll; it was your first name– moaning it as he came across his knuckles, his cum splattering up his abdomen and dripping onto his lap. He pumped himself through it, slowly softening, muttering your name over and over, eyes finally closing.

"Next time..." He breathed, chest rising and falling rapidly. Yours was much the same. "Next time, I'm coming down your throat."

You smiled, fucked-out, taking a deep breath as you relaxed against the couch, the pair of you basking in each other's company as your highs waned. When you breathed in again, you smelt food. Burning–?

"Oh, fuck! Fuck–!" Johnny was tucking himself back into his cum-stained sweatpants and sprinting out of the living room and into the kitchen. "Fuck! My fucking roast!"

You couldn't help but giggle, moving to slip your pants back on. "Make sure to wash your hands first!" You called, and immediately heard the water running. You laughed again.

As you got dressed, you looked back down at the couch, embarrassment flooding you. A wet stain on the fabric. Oh, fuck no.

"Uh, Johnny? Do you have anything I could, uh, clean the couch with?"

"Check the bathroom! First door on the right!" Johnny called.

Thank god for that, you thought. You didn't exactly want Ghost wondering why his perfectly clean couch had a fucking stain on it. And, knowing Johnny, he wouldn't exactly have a good excuse for it.

Speaking of Ghost...

"Oh, by the way, I forgot to ask, what has Ghost done to himself? He's got an appointment before the game tomorrow, and it only says he's hurt his hand." You asked after exiting the bathroom with an arms full of cleaning supplies.

"Yeah, something wrong with his fingers, I think. I dunno. He hurt himself sparring with Price on Monday," you heard Johnny reply. "Price made him book an appointment. He usually doesn't."

"Huh..." You pondered. "Why's he at the gym if he's hurt?"

Johnny poked his head in the doorway. "He's Ghost. It'll take more than a couple'a sore fingers to knock him down... and, by the way, dinner's ready."

You smiled. "It's not too burnt, is it?"

Johnny rolled his eyes. "Shut up."

•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•

[moondirti]

animalic (5)

← chapter four // series masterlist

pairing: miguel o'hara x f!reader rating: mature word count: 3.4k summary: an unwelcome confrontation warnings: enemies to lovers, violence, blood and injury, mentioned death, fighting, angst, morally questionable characters, miguel o'hara is not nice notes: this chapter caused several headaches and i don't even like the end result, but i can't pick at it forever sooo. enjoy!

While you’ve never been renowned for making the most accurate of assumptions, there are certain patterns you’ve come to expect in order to have survived this long. To never have a glass of orange juice after brushing your teeth, or maintain eye contact while being threatened. That a kilogram of antimatter produces ten billion times the energy of chemical combustion upon annihilation, and that any quantity larger than that should not be contained.

Of such paradigms, you’ve noted only one to be entirely reliable. That a spider-hero would always fight crime, whatever the greater good. 

“Absolutely not.”

You might’ve been mistaken. 

“Those people are in danger, O’Hara.” You strain, trembling against the cough battering your chest. Your diaphragm spasms with every stride he takes, crushed against the curve of his broad shoulder, desperate to make up for lost breath. 

He lets the plea hang, countenance obscured from your view. With the way he carries you now, all that meets your eye is navy – navy, and the bright red geometry stretched over the brawn of his back. The nanotech suit warps to fit every muscle, glinting as they push forward to meet the sun. And it dips, right between his shoulder blades, lining a clear contour of the anatomy he fails to hide. A dosser of intercostal sinew. Tapered laterals, cinched to curve at–

Your core broils uncomfortably, and his grip tightens around your knees, levelling up to the degree of his treatment thus far. After slinging off that rooftop, he’s made sure to keep you particularly close, like the effort could prevent your powers from manifesting. Like you could make it happen. 

(Though, he doesn’t know that you can’t.)

But he’s smarter than that. If nothing else, it serves as a cautionary gesture. A reminder. You’re disarmed – quite literally – the only force between your nose and the sidewalk being the behemoth of a man whose body you’re strewn across. And, if you could control it – transcend the material at any given whim – it would be the extent and end of your efforts. Not with the neon webs binding you, nor your clear lack of skill. 

The wind quivers with the distant sounds of calamity. You’re drawn back to the very real situation at hand. 

“You make for a lousy excuse of a spiderman if your first instinct isn’t to save them!” You raise your voice, hoping to be heard over the sirens that blare towards the destruction. By counting them as they pass – two, four, six – you’re able to assign a severity to it. But it isn’t, won’t be, enough. You’d heard the screeches; primordial, clawing out from beyond the capabilities of an ordinary threat. You’d felt them – seeping into your bones, grating the spongy marrow – until Miguel had gathered enough obduration to reel you in the complete opposite direction.

Speaking of– 

You tilt your head upwards, surveying the street down which he runs. It’s deserted, yet the presence of its civilians is slower to leave, a molasses that slinks towards locked doors. It’s thick with an apathetic acceptance, bordering on resignation – bitter and not unlike your own resting inclinations. You’ve never known an evacuation to happen this fast, especially this far out from the scene; people are stubborn like that, refusing to face what isn’t in front of them. That is to say, they might be used to it.

“You’re not even going the right way, dickhead!” 

Of all things, that makes him stop. 

(Of course it does.)

Your form flops uselessly as he turns to make sense of his surroundings. There’s the sign – 30 St and 7th – which should give any New Yorker an idea, but he doesn’t linger on it. Instead, he shoots a web to wrap around the railway of a fire escape, propelling the both of you onto an accompanying balcony. Swallowing the bile that swells along your throat at the sudden jump, you shoot him an incredulous look, which he chooses to ignore as he drops you to the floor. 

His mask retreats, hair bouncing upon escape from its smothering embrace. For all that he tries to hide his pinched lips, you sense the scepticism emanating off him in waves. 

You take a moment to stew over it, examining him while he calculates the path of your previous chase. From the convenience, to the corner, and into a nearby store lot. Perhaps he hadn’t been paying notice – which you sincerely doubt, considering the efficiency with which he treats everything else. Could he really be unfamiliar with the layout of a city his job is to protect? Or–

It occurs to you steadily, washing up on the fringes of your arrogance; a realisation in pieces.  

Nueva York. 2099. 

A metropolis. Likely one with no grid system. 

Your cackle beckons his attention, severe stare snapping to your grin.

“We’re on Seventh.” You specify.

He cocks his head, nostrils flaring. Warning or question – you have a hard time deciphering the difference. 

“The convenience was on Sixth and Third. You know, third avenue, East of Fifth?” You push it, spurred by your awareness that he, in fact, does not know. 

“¡Ándale pues! What exactly is your point?” 

“We continued down east until you bit me, judging by the way the sun hit the lot upon rising. But now, we’re on Seventh, on the other side of Fifth.”

His jaw clicks, pulsing in irritation. You toe the line of what you can get away with, how long you can drag this out before he decides you’re not worth the trouble. 

“West. You’re heading West, and–” Wriggling, you adjust your posture into one more reflective of your current pride. “If you have any hope of finding that day pass, then you’re gonna need to go back.” 

The bid translates, weighty, bubbling like the arid smoke off nuclear strife. He processes it, understands – you watch as it unfolds in that intimidatingly intelligent glare – yet the circumstance takes a while to establish itself. Even when it does, he doesn’t grant you the satisfaction of a full blown breakdown. No. His hands just find his hips, chin sloping to the sky.

“No puedo más, no puedo más, no–” 

You probably shouldn’t rub it in any further. 

“Since it’s on our way–” 

"No." He snaps, voice laced with a prickling irritation that sears through his supposed indifference. The heat of it greets you, wiping the simper that had begun stretching your cheeks. “You must think this is some game, and while that might explain the shit you’ve pulled in the past, I have a responsibility. I can’t interfere with their canon.” 

“So, what? You’re just gonna let them die?” 

His expression lifts, brows rising expectantly, like he’s imploring you to shut up without his verbal confirmation. 

Right.

It starts like a taut bowstring, straining as it verges on release. 

On one end, there’s Apollo; drawing his arrow, a god amongst men. The direction with which he aims his weapon can be seen as prophetic – plague was always meant to befall the crowd at his mercy, their fates little more than a thread of mass design. Some call it righteous – epithets dedicated to his name – agreed upon by the same men who claim that rational means right. Some craft sculptures in his visage, this muse of the kouros, likening stone to flesh and deluding the observer that the two can be synonymous. Nietzsche, Bernini. You, yourself, had managed to believe that the muscle rippling below you could be anything but an Athenian tragedy. 

You linger on how startlingly poetic it all is, and the string pulls tighter. You’ve never claimed to be a hero, but you have the instinct, just the same. He, on the other hand, seems entirely dismissive of the urge you assumed would wreck him too. 

(Partially your fault. You know better than to expect the obvious from him – that’s his pattern.) 

As the two of you veer closer to the havoc, the arrow discharges, striking the tension that’s kept you still thus far. When it snaps, it shatters, congealing to form a beset of sounds, sights, fear. Heaving sobs from a limping group of friends – the middle one rapidly losing blood from what you can tell. The pungent clog of burning debris, fed by the ash that lays suspended, mid-air. The painful creak of metal collapsing in on itself, peppered amongst the constant buzz of radio static. Miguel curbs to a stop, hidden in the notch of an alleyway, and uses the cover to reposition you in his carry. You go from slung over his shoulder to laid across his arms – not quite bridal style, but a placement similar enough that he retains a solid hold of you. 

His mask comes back up, concealing the cynicism that had begun to creep up onto you both. You scoff at the unambiguity of the action, the parallel it poses to the reality at hand. He blocks himself to the obvious, the avoidable. 

Glowering, you trace his line of vision to the encompassing wreckage. The street appears hauntingly familiar, thrumming with the hurried echoes of a recent memory. It lacks the colourful components – the vivid signage, the star speckled windows – yet, you recognize it all the same. The very avenue you frantically traversed only hours ago. Your companion, too, begins to grasp the truth, and you find yourself biting your cheek, a twinge of unease settling in as the revelation hits you: that perhaps you had divulged too much, far surpassing the realm of personal gain. 

Yeah, the day pass is here. And you can only hope that he won’t find it.

For now, though, it appears to be the least of your worries. 

A crimson creature prowls along the fringes of the decimated ruins – deliberate, relaxed, like a predator with its teeth already halfway dug in its meal – circling a man clad in a lab coat. Its size is menacing enough; standing at seven feet, with limbs as thick as pipes. Yet, what truly strikes you are the protruding bulges flanking either side of its jaw, and the white, emblematic eyes gazing out from upon its face. 

“Spider-person?” You whisper, not so much looking for clarification as you were putting the possibility out there. Miguel is unwavering, dead-set on waiting the interaction out. 

“Something like that.” He affirms. 

“Y’know, I remember you, doc!” The creature jibes, its inflection nearing maniacal. “You sat on my jury! Yes, yes. Hard to forget a shiner like that.” Laughing, it points to the balding patch atop its victims head. He trembles, bowing in a silent cry. 

“O’Hara–” 

“Wraith.” He warns. 

“Sixty seven years! Not even you look that old, ‘course you don’t understand how damning that sentence was! But you see, I got lucky. Some higher being must’ve taken pity on me, enough to grant me this miracle of a symbiote. Mhm, yeah–” He skips closer to his prey, considering him in the new light. “‘Cause now I can do things like…” A sharp blow echoes. The glassy spear, red as the flesh it extends from, skewers through the doctor’s chest, a spout of blood following through on the other end. “This!”

Miguel’s palm slaps over your mouth, knee supporting the portion of your body he releases whilst angling you away from the scene. You’re thankful for it, despite the overwhelming anger you bear against him. You’ve no trust in the horror that wracks you suddenly, all at once. It launches you back to that convenience, the robbery. How powerless you had been to stop the clerk from dying out, your hoodie fruitlessly wedged to her neck. You’d been spared the grief so far – the blur of the last day tamping to little more than an aching numbness. Yet you should have appreciated that it couldn’t last; guilt is far too familiar a prospect for you to have expected it to let off so soon.

(Your mistake.) 

“Oops. Did that go through your heart? My bad, doc.” It howls, stuck in its own stand-up routine. “You’d been doing your… erm– civil duty, sure.” The loud squelch of gore triggers the imagery for you, regardless of your averted gaze. The limb-turned-spear being pried out from between his ribs, caked in bits of tissue. 

Dead. You could’ve prevented it. 

He could have. 

From behind the veil of unshed tears, you watch as he ponders the risk of retracting his hand. You betray nothing, blinking back the hot dismay from your eyes, and instead meet his regard in cold defiance. Slowly, as though your apparent sensibility means anything, he removes the muzzle. 

You contemplate screaming, to coax the creature from the group of people it has surrounded and make it Miguel's problem to handle.

Then, you remember your rather unsavoury predicament. How prone you are to harm with your limbs locked; you aren’t the best in combat, but you still could’ve stood a chance at survival if it wasn’t for your restraints. 

Your captor reaffirms his grip, tucking you to his figure as he creeps up to a corner. His back remains glued to the brick wall, obscured in shadow. The stance is primed – far from the hesitant sidle he’d adopted before. It isn’t hard to figure out why; you see it too, buried under a pile of trash bags, on the other side of the road. Purple, luminescent. 

The day pass. 

As if on cue – choreographed by a sadistic deity with no favour for anyone involved – you glitch. 

It doesn’t last long, but it’s enough for you to fall to the ground, erupting in a pained groan. The creature twists to lay its terror on your curled frame, shaded by a man who – despite his vast height – is dwarfed in comparison to its colossal self.

“Better start learning not to ignore my spidey sense! I’d felt you tiptoein’ over there,” It growls, neck stretching in preparation for attack. 

“We’re not here for you.” Miguel urges. 

“No? That hurts my feelings, and here I was thinking you wanted to be friends.” At the feral rip of its taunt, it lunges, tearing through the space separating you. The spider-man, in turn, dodges the barrelling assault, swinging in a blur of motion to a wreck not far off. You thank God for his flashy suit; the creature seems to forget you completely, pivoting to charge at him again. 

You force yourself to look away, sickened at the unhinged savagery with which it thrashes. There are people still around, crippled by quickly debilitating injuries, the paramedics meant to aid them now amongst the lost. This is what you wanted – the opportunity to help – and of course you’re still hindered by the asshole who’d refused you in the first place. Desperation weighs heavy on your chest as your eyes scan the spoilage, seeking anything you could use to cut yourself free. And there, you catch it – the sharp end of a broken gutter, its jagged edge catching the afternoon sun.

Using your heels as anchors, you push yourself across the coarse pavement. It isn’t a long way, thankfully, but sweat already starts to dampen your shirt by the time you reach the potential lifeline. Angling yourself, you press the webs to the serrated metal, ready to start shoving. That is, until you remember Miguel; how he sat on your legs, his talons performing much the same feat. He made sure to hold your wrists apart, so you didn’t suffer damages he didn’t intend. 

You remedy your approach, arms straining to separate, then thrust downwards. The telltale signs of your success come as pops, like elastic bands splintering. Then, it’s the easing pressure on your skin, irritated and surely marked in places where the binds come undone. 

The makeshift blade catches your elbow once you’re halfway down, burying deep enough to touch bone. The world narrows to the searing intensity that blazes up your nerves, eclipsing all else. You almost forget your goal, your brain stirring signals to pull away, but the fight that rages in your peripheral is only growing more barbaric. Alarmingly, Miguel is losing. 

If he dies, you’re next, and it’d all be in vain. 

Biting your tongue, you stifle the pain and continue pressing. The gutter inches sideway, ripping through flesh and web like butter, the sleeves of your top mangling at its lip. Miraculously, you stay awake for the time it takes to finally get your arms loose. It’s harder to preserve that triumph when you sit up, though, dizziness distorting the plan of action you’d set for yourself. 

(Get… get the people to safety. Then, your legs. No–

Free your legs, get the people to safety. And… what? 

The day pass. Yeah.

But Mig–)

Your body moves with an unsettling disconnect from your own command. Unable to fully grasp the dissonance, you blanch in bewilderment as you navigate the clearest cut path through it all. A dance in a mechanical rhythm; pulling the webs off your calves, running over to the nearest civilian, and helping them up on their feet. And again. And again. 

There’s a boy, young enough that you worry he doesn’t understand you’re harmless. His cherubic face is coated in a grey layer of dust, disturbed only by the tear marks that run from big eyes. His foot has been crushed, stormy blue blotching his knee. You dismiss the agony of your numerous wounds and crouch to pick him up, hugging him to your chest. 

New squadrons of emergency services trickle in, careful to leave their sirens off as they round the corner. It’s an odd enough choice that it distracts you from the child’s fingers, which dig into your abrasion for purchase. An ensemble of prospects occur to you. 

When you hand him off to an awaiting EMT, it clicks. 

What’d the creature call itself? A symbiote? 

(You haven’t always been science-oriented.

Freshman year of college, you’d joined as an undeclared major within the school of arts and architecture. ‘Course, you only had your general education requirements to fulfil at the time; useless classes that fit your self-imposed four day weekend, meant to do fuck all as your tuition went to waste. Needless to say, your ambition had been directed at more carnal pursuits. 

Then, there was astronomy. It’d awakened your curiosity for the cosmos.

Astro 8, to be exact. Life in the Universe. Your post-midterm lesson had been on a recently discovered,  space-faring civilization. Symbiotes – they were called – based on the initial assumption that they thrived in mutual beneficial relationships with other lifeforms. But the projection that flickered for its class of drowsy students entailed another truth entirely. Darkened bullet points in big, bold letters. Known weakness. 

Fire, and sound.)

You sprint towards a nearby cop car, its door wide open and the driver's seat vacant. It’s instinctual, devoid of consideration. A singular objective dominates you, beyond the day pass – to kill that thing. Not for Miguel, who’s choked in its gnarled hand. Not for yourself, or your deep-rooted desire for heroism. No. Just for them – the boy and that group of friends, the doctor who still lays dead on the scene. For the sake of this world, and to reconcile the life you took just last night, as if such a trade-off could absolve you of the weight of your sins.

Stepping on the gas, you accelerate abruptly, gaining speed with every pothole you drive over. It looms ahead, crouched in front of a hollowed-out apartment complex, suffocating the futurist spider-man and vibrating with glee. If you can align it – aim and time it just right…

You activate the wail siren. Your hypothesis is validated when it screeches in response to the racket, throwing Miguel off to the side. 

Good. He won’t be collateral.

You grab a gun from the cupholder on the dash, throwing it on the pedal to keep it down, then jump to the backseat. 

The impact is seismic; a violent convergence of metal and brick and brawn that sends shockwaves rippling throughout your being. You become captive to the merciless momentum, forcefully propelled against the leather cushions. Chronic whiplash shreds upon the vulnerable muscles holding the weight of your concussed head; its talons raking through the fibres, pulling apart the once sturdy tissue. A relentless ring envelops the cacophony of noise, and silences it into one, tender hum. 

You’re hauled out the window, detained in the embrace of some unspecified form, which settles above you for cover as the building comes crumbling down. 

Or – not unspecified. 

That mix of patchouli and musk.

Your consciousness turns to black as you're buried beneath the rubble.

chapter six →

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[romaritimeharbor]

Sorry to keep bothering you in your asks but, can i just say how much I loved the new chapter of Moral injuries?! Fuck it was amazing. If I wasn’t so nervous I’d be able to say something more useful, but can I ask a question about Reader?

Does Reader actually have parents? and if so can we know anything about them yet?

HELLO DEAR i appreciate that so much AUGHH and don't worry about it!!!! saying anything at all, even if it's barely coherent, is more than enough for me <3 it's never bothersome at all!

reader does have actual parents, who i believe will show up in chapter 4 (i have to check, but i think that's right!)... but they don't live very long and quickly become background characters who only get brief mentions throughout the rest of the series, usually in flashbacks or when reader has breakdowns. reader's parents are written to be very blank slate, save for them being a man and a woman. and i made reader's mom very compassionate. but honestly their biggest purpose is to serve the plot. but they DO have relevance, though i can't share too much of what that relevance is because it would be spoilers hehe

[idyllic-affections]

MORAL INJURY — a non-romance genshin impact series. ♫

       act i, chapter i     "silence."

➤ CHAPTER SYNOPSIS :: it's quiet. it should not be quiet. why is it quiet?

➤ CONTENT WARNINGS :: mild depictions of blood, human experimentation, dottore is always his own warning 🙏 (he is there for. literally only 2 seconds LMFAO), use of painkillers in the form of pills, etc.

➤ WORD COUNT :: 2.8k.

➤ AUTHOR'S THOUGHTS :: it's hereee 🤭 thank you all sm for your ongoing support in the lengthy amount of time i took developing this series.... i don't remember what anon originally sent the request that inspired it (i believe it may have been 🐱 anon?), but nevertheless, i hope that anon is astonished in the best way possible seeing what their request has gradually evolved into! this chapter is largely worldbuilding, so dialogue and lore will improve starting chapter 2. also sorry to disappoint you guys. natalya isn't real i made her up for the plot 💔💔💔💔 a little note, be sure to click around on the words and symbols that are underlined at the top of this post! the word MORAL INJURY will take you to the series masterlist/navigation post, and the music note will take you to the spotify playlist.

➤ TAGLIST :: @zeldadou, @umgatochamadopercyval, @starryshinyskies, @lucid-lilium, @pookiebearcave, @lesanyanyas. contact me through messages/asks/etc non-anonymously to be added.

       "It's quiet today."

       It was merely a murmured observation, perhaps nothing more than a thought that was accidentially spoken aloud, more or less directed at the only other… conscious and coherent individual in the room.

       In their many years of employment, there was never anything that unsettled them quite like silence did. The lab was never completely quiet. There was always something to occupy the air—whether that be the absentminded flow of conversation between them and their Lord, the distant bickering of his Segments, or something far worse like the screams of the lab's more permanent residents. They supposed it wasn't entirely quiet; the periodic clicking of metal against metal was… present, but not enough, and the shuffling of the papers they were handling was hardly adequate. It was still too quiet. It was hardly ever this quiet. If it was, usually…

       Usually it signalled unfavorable conditions.

       "Hm. Does that disturb you?"

       Some of which were tolerable—some unfavorable conditions could be dealt with, given the person dealing with them had enough skill and grace to do so, like the death of a promising test subject.

       Some were less managable.

       …But perhaps it had nothing to do with them today, given how little hositility Dottore held towards them. They couldn't quite place why it worried them so much, then.

       "Somewhat," they admitted. "It's hardly ever so quiet, no?"

       Their gaze flickered to the map of Teyvat haphazardly hung on the wall. Blue thumbtacks pinned in various spots on the map—some in the further reaches of Snezhnaya and others all the way in Sumeru or Inazuma—indicated mission distributions.

       Ah… they supposed the silence could be attributed to that. Come to think of it, they hadn't seen any of Il Dottore's other segments that day in particular.

       They were thankful, then, that at the very least, the looming silence was not due to some circumstance they needed to be concerned about.

       The silence in its entirety returned. Dottore—this Dottore—was rarely much of a talker; that is, he hardly ever held a conversation with them. They could practically hear the seconds ticking by in the quiet.

       One, two, three… five… seven…

       It didn't last too long.

       "[Surname]."

       At least there were no unfavorable conditions to manage today. The death of a test subject, the failure of one of their coworkers…

       "Yes, my lord?" Their gaze flickered from the desk they were busying themselves with organizing to the cold, metal examination table. The woman on it looked half-dead. Poor thing. "How may I be of service?"

       Today, there was nothing they needed to fix. Good. They weren't sure if they were really in the mood to deal with one of their coworkers' failures. The death of a test subject would have at least given them time away, time to themselves, while they sought out an adequate replacement—the failure of a coworker, however… Archons, in that case, they'd have to deal with a pathetically snivelling agent begging through the tears for them to help repair whatever fatal error was made before the Second ever had a chance to find out about it.

       "Clean her up, will you?"

       No, they weren't really in the mood to deal with that; it was as taxing mentally as it was physically, given that the kinds of mistakes leading to their coworkers to break down sobbing tended to be… larger ones.

       (For example, the time when Krupp accidentially wrecked beyond repair one of the Ruin Guards that the Segment he worked under was fixated on. They spent one of their free days seeking out a replacement and even then, the difference was still noticeable.

       At least Krupp is still living, despite the fact that they threw him under the bus—so to speak—immediately upon being confronted about it. They're certain he's still sore over their alleged betrayal… but the last time they checked, they had absolutely no completely safe or trustworthy allies, so they're unsure of what "allyship" Krupp is always nagging about.)

       Anything else, any other job or request, would be more favorable than having to fix something like that.

       "Very well."

       As they were finishing up with the mess on the desk in front of them, they noted that the click of heels gradually grew more distant. Then, a door opened and shut with a slight echo.

       Just like that, the Harbinger was gone.

       A deep sigh left through their nose. After being certain he was gone, they called out with a relatively light tone, "Hey, you alive over there? Don't die on my watch. You know that'll get me in trouble."

       The unsettling silence returned, and for a brief moment, their heart sank into the endless pit of their stomach.

       Was she actually gone?

       Then, with a cough and a wet splatter that made them grimace slightly, the woman replied.

       "Haha. Very funny, [Name]."

       "Just making sure you know that your actions have consequences."

       "My actions?" she huffed incredulously. Despite her tone, a tired smile played on her lips as the lab assistant approached her side.

       They gingerly brought a hand up to her face, brushing the hair that was sticking to her forehead away with their calloused fingertips, causing her to flinch but she made no attempt to pull away. She was sweating. Worrying, but not unexpected. "Yeah. Your actions."

       Again, that vile silence that they so despised returned.

       "Are you cold at all? Having chills?" they inquired softly, leaning down to examine her face more closely—most importantly, the size of her pupils. It would indicate if she were suffering any brain injury. Thankfully, it didn't seem like she was. "Please describe to me your symptoms in detail."

       "Right, yeah… um," she hesitated, clenching and unclenching her fingers in what seemed to be an attempt at pushing through the pulsating ache rhymically striking her whole body. They ran a hand up and down her upper arm soothingly, encouragingly. When she drew away from their touch with a pained sob, their chest squeezed, but they said nothing and obliged by her wordless request, withdrawing their hand from her arm. "It's cold," she managed, though her words were heavily strained.

       They hummed.

       The Pyro delusion secured on their hip emitted a pulsating red glow, and they slowly raised their open palm to her forehead. The steady flame produced by their delusion hovered just above her skin, where it could not burn her or harm her any further than she already had been. "Better?"

       She nodded wordlessly. For a moment, she sat in the silence, simply basking in the warmth of their palm.

       A point came, however, when the hushed whispers of the long-deceased deities—audible to their ears alone as the sole user of their delusion—used to craft the weapon at their hip grew utterly overwhelming. They swallowed thickly, fingers twitching with barely-restrained ill intent above her face. She did not seem to notice.

       "Natalya… symptoms?" they reminded as gently as possible, lowering their hand—much to her dismay; Snezhnaya was cold and unforgiving, and the Doctor's lab was hardly any warmer than the outside was. Their delusion was the only warmth she had. For them, the whispers thankfully dissipated as quickly as they arrived. It was as if those voices had never been there in the first place. They tried not to focus on what they might have done to her if they hadn't withdrawn. "I need to know."

       "Everywhere hurts, [Name], I can't… I can't think straight…"

       "It's alright. Don't worry. I'll just put down the normal symptoms people have after… that. Do you need painkillers?" they whispered, as if afraid that, should their voice be any louder, it would shatter the fragile, shivering woman.

       Of course, another concern was that someone may hear them offering something they shouldn't be.

       "Do you have any?"

       "I do"—they offered her a weak smile, standing up straight once again—"I always do. I don't have water available, though. Can you dry swallow them?"

       "Yeah, hand them over, honey. Don't worry about it."

       "Alright."

       For a moment, they fished around in one of their pants' pockets. Then, they pulled out a small plastic bag. Inside were two small pills.

       'I'm running out… I'll have to get more at some point.'

       "Here," they murmured, gently opening the bag and handing her the two pills. They shoved the little empty bag back into their pocket. "Take them quickly, before someone walks in. I'll start stitching your incisions once you do."

       "…You can't wait until they kick in?"

       A wave of regret and guilt washed over their chest.

       "I'm sorry. I have a meeting with Lord Beta's assistant soon… you know, the segment that runs Haeresys? I can't wait that long. The risk to my safety is far too great. Maybe if it were someone else's assistant, but… we all know what Lord Beta's track record looks like, and worse, I have to run basic maintenance on Lord Sixth later, since Lord Dottore isn't available for some god forsaken reason…" they sighed. "I'm really sorry. The things I have to do today are just… too important to risk delaying."

       Her eyes, hazy and vacant, were filled with a sudden life as she came to and realized the situation she was in.

       It wasn't over, she had realized.

       She stared back at them shining with nothing but gut-wrenching terror. Her gaze was quick to flick away from them, however, so they couldn't linger on it for too long. It was probably for the better. Lingering on things like that was never particularly healthy.

       "Right… okay. I understand," she reassured sincerely, before shifting slightly so that she was at least sitting up on her elbows. The strain on her abdomen made her wince. They were quick to support the majority of her weight, curling an arm under her back. Thankfully, the thin layer of cloth draped over her body provided some kind of reprieve for her overworked nerves, and their touch did not seem to affect her as terribly. It was then that she brought the pills to her lips and swallowed them without so much as a complaint. "Thank you for the medicine, [Name]."

       "Of course." They reached for disposable gloves as she cautiously laid herself back down. "As usual, as a general rule, you are free to scream or cry or damn me to hell and back. I would not hold it against you. I know it hurts. Whatever helps you manage your pain, save from squirming—please try to be as still as possible—is permissible. You are not being disruptive. You are not being uncooperative. You are not being difficult. Scream if you must. It's okay. You are human and in unreasonable pain. It's okay. I promise."

       Her eyes glittered with the sheen of unshed tears—they briefly wondered if it was because she was afraid of the prospect of more pain, or if she was afraid of them.

       They sincerely hoped it was the former.

       With as much gentle tenderness as they could muster in spite of the way she was looking at them, in spite of the utterly betrayed expression on her face, they gingerly cupped her face. "Okay?" they whispered. "You're okay. You'll be okay. I will take care of you, okay?"

       Her hoarse voice came in a raspy whisper: "Okay. Do what you need to do."

       They nodded, withdrawing their hand. "Remember: deep breaths. It will be okay."

             — flower of the universe !! 🌸

       There was never a time during which they could honestly and confidently assure victims that "it would be okay."

       Nothing was certain. The concept of "being okay" was never certain. All they ever did within this aspect of their job was lie. It was… regrettably, part of what made them so skilled.

       (A much younger Fatui agent in their unit once, with an awestruck expression, told them that they made their job look effortless—looking back on it, they're certain that she meant well, that she meant it as a compliment, if anything. They ended up shooting her a nasty glare, however, that ultimately contributed to her transferral to Tartaglia's unit, a work enviornment with much lower stakes. They sometimes felt bad when they looked back upon it.

       …But perhaps it was for the best. If she could not navigate their complex social cues, only the Tsaritsa could possibly know what might happen to her if—when—she came into contact with Dottore or any of his Segments. Everyone in his unit did, does, and would at one point or another.

       So, yes, perhaps it was better like this. Tartaglia was far more forgiving, after all.)

       To lie to the test subjects and put them at ease… it was all they ever did. It was all they could ever do, because they knew that the majority of those people would not live long. Lying was an unfortunate but necessary skill in their career.

       Subsequently, dissociation was also a hell of a skill to have in a career such as theirs.

       They could not afford to let anything weigh on their conscience—not guilt, not regret, nothing. Nothing could weigh on their mind, for if something were to do so, they would end up putting themselves at risk. Performance, work related or otherwise, often dramatically falls when one is troubled.

       In truth, they could get away with more than what others could. Small slip-ups, simple errors, accidents that didn't lead to any serious damage to any research—these things were often overlooked with a hypothetical slap on the wrist.

       …Of course, that didn't mean they were ever going to voluntarily push their luck. They would much rather dissociate when their mind deemed it necessary than risk suffering severe punishment.

       Knowing when to detach was surely what kept them sane. It didn't make their job any less horrible—it just made it managable enough so that they could keep it. In their position, at their rank… quitting or losing the job they had was not an option. Maybe if they worked under another Harbinger, it would be, but for them?

       (They should have submitted a transfer request when they first joined the Fatui. It was far too late for that now, but they still lamented the fact that—against their better judgement, and against the warnings of older, more experienced agents who knew firsthand the horrors that went on in Dottore's unit—they did not at least try to switch divisions.)

       Losing their job was a death sentence because the only reason they would ever lose it was if they did something punishable, and quitting may as well have meant the same, depending on the mood the Second was in at the time.

       Knowing when to detach was surely what kept them alive.

       Halfway through their cleaning and stitching of her open wounds—they briefly had wondered what could possibly be so urgent that Dottore could not have been bothered to finish what he had started, but it was not their place to ask or question—she had fainted, which was… better than her being awake, at least. She likely would not recall most of the process when she woke up again.

       After checking for a pulse, just to be certain that nothing problematic had happened to her, they sighed.

       As they pulled their disposable gloves off, they turned the latex inside out so that no blood got anywhere else… not that it would have mattered, they supposed. The lab was bloody and they would have to sterilize it all regardless, since the janitor had seemingly disappeared under mysterious conditions they did not want to think too deeply about. Still. Anything to make their job even slightly easier.

       …The lab would surely fall apart without their guidance—or, at the very least, the deaths and "disappearances" of their coworkers would tragically skyrocket.

       With quick and purposeful steps, they strode down a hallway branched off of the main lab towards a pair of heavily guarded doors. Four agents lingered there armed with delusions and guns. They all seemed to stand up a bit straighter as the lab assistant approached.

       "Hey, listen, I'm going to need two of you to take Natalya back to her room," they instructed, absently fidgeting with their uniform as they rehearsed the rest of their day's schedule internally. "I've got places to be, otherwise I'd do it myself."

       One of the agents rolled his shoulders—perhaps in preparation, though Natalya was not particularly heavy even in a state of complete unconsciousness—and nodded.

       "Sure. No problem, [Surname], but what's her number?"

       "Hell if I know"—they shrugged—"I call them by their names, not their numbers. Everyone knows that. Check the tattoo on her wrist. That's what it's there for, no? Look, I'm running short on time. Just… do what I've asked, okay?"

       The agent threw his hands up defensively, and they rolled their eyes, crossing their arms and leaning most of their weight on the wall.

       "Don't be dramatic," they scoffed. "I'm not going to gut you."

       "I don't know. You might if you're in a bad mood," he accused. Well, they weren't going to before, but now they were considering it… "Anyway, no need to get short with us. Really, [Surname]. We'll handle it. What do you take us for?"

       "I have a million reasons to be short with you all. Just get it done, please."

       With that, they turned on their heel and left.

please consider reblogging, it helps me out quite a lot! written by aphelion & banner by @lucid-lilium. do not plagiarize, copy, ai train, or otherwise use my work -☆

[cherrybombfangirlwrites]

Hey, remember how during Pride Month the writeblr community has posts circulating where queer authors are encouraged to promote their books with queer representation?

July is disability pride month, Disabled people are at risk of falling below the poverty line especially and i'd love to help those who are published get paid this month if i can, so...

Let's do the same thing but with Disability Pride Month!!!

Disabled Writers feel free to promote your stuff!

I'll start:

Hello, I'm Anna, I'm an Autistic and ADHD author! Here are my canonically disabled characters in books that will come out in like 50 years because I'm a slow writer:

(I noticed most of these are mental disabilities and disorders, probably because that's where most of my personal experience is, BUT i do have quite a few physical disabilities in there, and there's also quite a bit of intersectionality <333)

Prince Kaye (FSF series): Kaye has OCD! He's also mixed latino and bisexual <3 very sweet scrawny peacemaker prince born to a family of warlords <3

Captain Cassandra (FSF series): Cassandra is mute due to trading her voice and tail for human legs, and partially deaf due to an explosion on the seas during a battle. Due to losing her tail for human legs, she also experiences chronic pain in her feet (the original curse of every step feeling like walking on knives if you will). She's also plus sized, pansexual, and gets a pirate girlfriend

Erica (FSF series): Erica is an amputee pirate with a peg leg. She's also lesbian, polynesian, plus sized, and Cassandra's hopeless romantic pirate girlfriend.

Princess Hestia (FSF series): Hestia has an anxiety disorder! She's also plus sized, South Asian mixed (like her brother), and falls in love with a shy blonde bookworm trans boi named Elliot

Raven (FSF series): Raven is Autistic! He's a morally gray knight charged with being the personal bodyguard of a reckless princess. He's so Latino and bisexual <3

Princess Sapphire (FSF series): Sapphire has ADHD! She's the reckless adventure seeking and impulsive princess that Raven has to protect. She's also a redhead, and demisexual <3

Triveya (FSF series): Triveya is autistic and adhd! She's the resident wizard and magic expert in the cast of FSF, and is a little bit feral with a bubbly and nerdy personality

Kylee (TCIO series): Kylee is autistic and non speaking! She's a superhero with super speed and invisibility powers, and she's the youngest of the team while also being a mischievous and outgoing ball of sunshine

Bryson (TCIO series): Bryson is diabetic! I'm still developing his character so i haven't figured out which type he is yet (leaning towards type 2). He's the superhero team medic with healing powers (can't heal himself or emotional injuries with said powers), and he's also a black guy and the token straight of the team that's on thin ice

Chase (TCIO series): Chase has OCD, a bipolar mood disorder, and chronic depression and anxiety to go with it! He's the tech guy on the team of superheroes, and doesn't have any supernatural abilities, but he's really good with computers and tech. He's cynical and sarcastic (because of the ableism he's experienced in the past) but secretly does care, and he's also Romani American and Jewish!

Corie (Galaxy Des. series): Corie is a cyborg and has prosthetic limbs! She has a prosthetic eye, arm, and leg. The eye does come with a small interface and her arm does have a laser gun attachment. She built and repairs all of her robot parts herself, and is a highly feared and valuable assassin in the galactic underworld. She's also mixed brown and is AroAce!

NOVA (Galaxy Des. series): Nova is epileptic! She is an android who was scrapped due to malfunction, and became a smuggler who is good at her trade. Due to faulty wiring she's epileptic. She's a cynical and grumpy android who accidentally falls in love with a loveable human lesbian rogue. She's bisexual and has shiny chrome skin with cyan lighting in the cracks.

Pandora (Galaxy Des. series): Pandora is a part-time wheelchair user, autistic and adhd, and tourettic! He is a biologist that formerly did morally questionable work for the galactic government, and now does that same work in the criminal underworld and sells it to the highest bidder. She also uses he/she pronouns, is mixed brown, and pansexual!

Ethel (unnamed witchy wip): Ethel has one eye and PTSD! She's a witch in a world where magic has just been outlawed, and a witch hunting cult has been hired by the new king and queen to hunt down and eradicate witches. She's also AroAce and very underdeveloped because this is a backburner wip.

Thanks for reading! Links to my wips are in my pinned post! If you are a disabled writer and or have disabled characters, do share!

Happy Disability Pride Month!

[legobiwan]

So I find it a little odd that Mario shakes his brother's hand like he's trying to win political office rather than having just been rescued (again) from one of King Boo's paintings at the end of Luigi's Mansion: Dark Moon.

But then I was thinking - this might be a kind of instinctual response.

From what we can gather over the three games, being stuck in a painting isn't a passive experience, but one that is disturbing, disorientating, and mostly likely tantamount to torture.

And given King Boo's abilities, who knows what kind of environment he has dropped his victims into with these settings. The landscapes, you might say. There's no definite background in any of the trapped paintings, ghost or otherwise, but it does beg the question of what can be felt, seen, heard, or otherwise perceived by someone who is trapped in a portrait. Does the hunter create the cage, enrichment area and all, or are the trappings beyond the frame (inside the frame) more akin to being trapped within one's mind and all the pitfalls that could emerge from that?

We see three iterations of Mario being freed from the painting in each game. The first being total confusion and possible injury; the second looking like some kind of hallucination, given Luigi's concerned expression; and the third being a form of decorporalization (not a real word, but whatever), as Mario seems shocked to learn he has a body again.

The first might be attributed to King Boo's insistence of straight-up physical torture combined with E. Gadd's more medieval equipment, which had likely been less-than-tested in extracting someone from a portrait. (And if the de-portraiting process was that bad, imagine what it was like for the ghosts going in. No wonder they held a grudge. I love E. Gadd, but oh boi, is he the pinnacle morally ambiguous mad scientist).

Anyway, in the third installment, Mario definitely shows signs of having been disconnected from his physical form, perhaps meaning that his time inside the portrait reduced him to a neutered, mental representation of himself, incapable of fighting back in the real world. But this being said, he seems to recognize Luigi on-site, rushing forward to give him an enthusiastic hug, which is the reaction you'd expect after being freed from a pair of diabolical ghosts, one of whom is trying to thirst-trap the other through psychological torture.

So what's the deal with Mario's reaction in Dark Moon?

My guess is that King Boo trapped Mario in a painting that was a distorted reality, or perhaps a distorted version of Mario's own insecurities. It would account for the disorientation and the fact Mario comes out of the painting gladhanding his own brother like a stranger. (Which would also account for Luigi's concerned reaction - what the hell is my brother doing?)

And you figure, Mario, at this point, is a kind of figurehead, an idol, a hero of the Mushroom Kingdom. It's become his identity, it's who he is, it's what he does and is known for. Of course, part of this role is going around and shaking hands, being present - at least physically - at press conferences and speeches and all the like. The people need a focal point, a representation of their hopes against the violent and numerous incursions upon their land they suffer from outside forces (although in complete transparency, my personal headcanon is that Bowser's kingdom used to be comprised of at least a part of the Mushroom Kingdom, and that that land and sovereignty was stolen through a series of bad treaties by his father and some of the more malicious factions of the Toad Council, thus leading to both the enmity between the kingdoms and some serious economic and trade repercussions in the Darklands, but that's a whole other post.)

Mario must be so used to blindly shaking hands and putting up that front, that character, so much so that he doesn't even think about it anymore, and it's my theory that this is the version of Mario that emerges from the portrait in Dark Moon, perhaps having been wrested from some situation where this almost desperate attempt at approval was manifesting from Mario's own subconscious.

And poor Luigi. You have to wonder if one of his latent fears is becoming another empty face in the adoring crowd surrounding his brother. The Mario that emerges is not 100% connected to the fact he is Luigi's brother, it seems, is just putting on airs and the right words and actions as he may have been trained to do by the Toad Council. (Who, incidentally, are one of my favorite scapegoats in the series). Talk about a nightmare come to life.

It fits, in a way. Mario's first abduction results in physical harm, his second in mental, his third in more of a depersonalization - perhaps a rushed spell enacted by King Boo as he was, by the time of the whole hotel debacle, was far more preoccupied with his idea of trapping Luigi than enacting harm on anyone else beyond imprisonment. Because by the time Luigi's Manion 3 rolls around, King Boo is almost deranged in his obsession with Luigi, and I wouldn't be shocked if his non-existent heart wasn't into the nastier sides of portrait capture when it came to Luigi's friends and family. But oh boi, if he had captured Luigi in one of those paintings - good night, nurse.

[redstarwriting]

his girl | x. talkin’ bout my girl

earth 42!miles morales x fem!reader | miles morales x fem!reader

word count: 2k

genre: angst to fluff

warnings: language, spoilers (!!!), more fluff, mentions of severe injuries, bad Spanish probably, so much multiverse shit

a/n: and that’s a wrap on another spiderverse series! wild. big thank you to everyone who read and supported the story! it was fun to write, and sorry for all the major plot twists and turns i threw in there i’m a little unhinged sometimes LMAO but in all seriousness, i hope you enjoy this last chapter🖤

his girl masterlist

previous chapter: ix. i’ve got sunshine

now reading: x. talkin’ bout my girl

end.

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You and Miles are back to being inseparable. And both you and him have never been happier. Rio is relieved, and so happy that the two of you are no longer just best friends, but partners. Jefferson feels the same way and is even more relieved that you know and are there for him as Spider-Man on top of it all. His parents missed having you around the house for a while, so they’re more than happy that you’re around basically all the time. Ganke sort of hates it because the two of you can be all lovey-dovey in front of him, but also doesn’t because you join in with him to make fun of Miles for being an idiot. Something the two of you agreed on was to never tell anyone else you were Black Cat. It could be too dangerous for you, and Miles doesn’t exactly like the thought of you going to jail for stealing.

What he does like is you’re sneaky enough to follow him into Spider Society when he goes. Sometimes he lets you sneak in with him. The first time, though, he was completely unaware you followed him. And when you popped up behind him, mask on, Miguel almost had an aneurysm.

“Why is there a Black Cat here?!” he yelled, and Miles, who didn’t even know you were there until Miguel said that, put his arm around you protectively. “Because she’s my girlfriend. And she is really good at following me without setting my sense off. We got a problem or something?”

“Yes, Miles, we do. Black Cats can’t be–”

“Remember that time you told me I shouldn’t exist? I remember that.”

“He told you that?” you feign ignorance. You know everything Miguel did to Miles, and you hate him because of that. But you pretend you don’t know because it gives you an excuse to look shocked and make him feel bad instead of your real feelings of being ready to fight him right now. And Miguel actually falls for it. “I NEVER–” he begins to protest, but cuts himself off with a sigh, shaking his head and muttering some things in Spanish. “If you do anything…” he points at you, and your mask fades away as you narrow your eyes at him. “You wouldn’t know if I did,” you say, and he groans. “Black Cats. Always the same,” he mutters, turning around and walking away.

From that point on, if you didn’t have anything to do, you would accompany Miles to Spider Society. And today was one of those days. The two of you are walking hand in hand when Gwen lands next to the two of you. “Hey lovebirds,” she says, bumping her shoulder against yours. “Hey, Gwen,” you say, and she joins the two of you. “What are you two up to today?” “Nothing, really. Actually, was gonna ask you, Pav, and Hobie if y’all had anything to do," Miles says and Gwen sighs. “Yeah, actually, Hobie and Pav are on a mission right now. And I have a father-daughter day planned with my dad so we can try to mend our relationship after he, y’know, threatened to arrest me and pulled a gun on me,” Gwen says, and you both nod, making noises of disgust and agreement. “Yeah, probably for the best you don’t miss that,” you say, and she nods. “Yeah. Oh! And then I someone you know might have a date with Mary Jane later,” Gwen says, and you stop walking, turning to her and grabbing her shoulders. “Are you for real?!”

“Yes! I finally asked her, and she said yes!” The two of you do The little teenage girl excited jump up and down action, and Miles grins. “Happy for you, Gwen, but can you please give me my girlfriend back, my hand is cold,” he says, motioning to the hand you abandoned to talk to Gwen. You and Gwen look at each other, rolling your eyes as you slip your hand back into his. Gwen glances at her watch. “Fine, I have to go anyways. Oh, I’ll see you two tomorrow at Hobie’s, right?”

“You know it,” Miles says, and she grins. “Great! Well, see you two later!” Gwen says, opening up a portal to her world and stepping through. You look at Miles. “So, what do you wanna do now?” you ask, and he shrugs. “Guess it’s just gonna be us hanging out. How tragic,” Miles says with a small smile on his face, and you shake your head. “Maybe I should see if there’s any museum or rich person I can steal from,” you tease, and he rolls his eyes. “Ha. Ha,” he says, and you squeeze his hand. The two of you make your way to one of the common rooms, but before you can even sit down you hear someone call out Miles’ name.

You both turn your heads in the direction it came from and a new Spider-Woman lands beside the two of you. She takes her mask off, and your eyes get big. It’s you. “(Y/n)? like Earth 42, (Y/n)?” he asks, and you nod. “Yeah! This is weird, right? I think it’s a little weird.”

“Uh, what’s weird is you’re me,” you say, pointing at you. “Oh! You fixed it!” 42 you says, high-fiving Miles. “I told you it’s weird, didn’t I?” Miles asks you, and you nod. He’d told you about how he was sent to an alternate universe with no Spider-Man and how he met himself there. And in doing so, met the you of that world, too. Now you’re looking at her… but he never mentioned she was Spider-Woman. But you gather he  also didn’t know she was Spider-Woman by the way he motions to her suit. “When did… this happen?”

“The day you arrived and then promptly left, actually,” you say, “so about two weeks ago. You remember how Miles and Aaron went to Alchemax? Yeah, well, apparently they were developing a new spider similar to the spider that bit you, and it crawled into Miles’ duffle bag he had. He and I were sleeping in his room, and it crawled out, and he got up to go get water or something and it crawled over to me and bit me. Found it the next morning.”

“Oh? And you’re already here?” Miles asks, and you nod. “After we realized, which, by the way, absolutely fucking wild. You can heal overnight? That caught everyone off guard. Ms. Morales thought she was the next coming of Jesus Christ for a second, but anyway, after we figured out I had similar abilities to you, that Miguel dude showed up and offered me one of these little watches. He said he was happy this world had a Spider-Person now, but when he saw Miles, he did a whole ass double take and then muttered how he ‘can’t escape this kid’ in Spanish. Miles, of course, responded also in Spanish, and then he looked stressed and just left,” you explain, and Miles laughs. Even when he wasn’t around, he was plaguing Miguel with his existence in multiple universes. “Yeah, sorry for not warning you but he hates me.”

“We picked up on that,” you say, and then you look over at you. “Okay. time for me to be weirded out, why do I have an outfit that looks like Miles’ Prowler outfit?” you ask, and you shrug. “I’m Black Cat.”

“Also, she and Miles of your world are insanely intelligent engineers, inventors, and designers. Looks like they think the same way, too,” Miles says, wrapping his arm around you and looking at you proudly. “Oh! Do you wanna go see him? I told him the first thing I’d do is look for you and make sure you didn’t fuck up with me. And! The two of us have started to fix up New York! I’m sure he’d be happy to see you,” 42 you says, starting to fiddle with her watch. “Hell yeah! Totally, you okay with that, amor?”

“Of course. I’d like to meet this other Miles, maybe exchange some engineering ideas if his suit seems half as cool as you hyped it up to be,” you say, and 42 you grins to herself. You knew that he’d be able to figure it out, but it’s still so nice and refreshing seeing the Miles who was so distracted and in his head genuinely looking and feeling better with you by his side. The portal pulls up, and you motion the two of you to follow. You do, and end up in what looks exactly like Miles’ room, except instead of art supplies and sketches of Spider-Man stuff, it’s more geared towards technology and sketches for gauntlets. Of course, there’s now a mix of that with Spider-Woman sketches and ideas, but the other Miles’ blueprints and designed are what catch your eye immediately. They look very similar to yours, and you can’t help but read some of the notes on the pages. “Vibranium? Where the fuck did he get vibranium…” you mumble to yourself, and 42 you looks at the both of you. “Ms. Morales isn’t home, so we can be as vocal about our identities as we like. She does know about me, but not Miles still. Figured it would be fine for her to know about my shit but Miles is a little more… complicated,” you say, opening the door. 42 Miles turns his head. “Ay, ma, who you talking to?”

“Miles,” you say, motioning that 1610 Miles is back. “Que pasa, hermano?” 1610 Miles asks, and he and Miles dap each other up. You wave, and 42 Miles smiles at you. “Hola, preciosa,” he says, winking at you. Your Miles wraps his arm around you. “Woah, there, bro, that (Y/n) might is your girl. This (Y/n) is my girl” he says, kissing your temple. You smile a bit, and 42 Miles puts his hands up in surrender. “I may be your girl, but I do wanna talk to you,” you point at 42 Miles, “about the notes about a vibranium gauntlet design. Where the hell are you getting vibranium and how does it react with the PVC piping you used to on the fingers?” 1610 Miles shakes his head, and 42 Miles smirks. “You get it?” he asks, and you nod. “Oh, I get it. Now explain.”

“Ella lo consigue,” he says, turning to his (Y/n) who rolls her eyes. “Got the vibranium from a job about a week ago, no one was using it, so,” he shrugs, “decided it belonged to me.”

“Where?”

“Avengers Tower.”

“Shut up. How hard are their security systems?”

“Hard if you ain’t smart,” he says, and you nod. “Should be simple then.”

“Stop… stop planning on breaking into Avengers Tower in front of me, amor,” 1610 Miles says, and 42 you sigh. “Yeah, babe, same here. You know I’m gonna have to stop people from doing that shit now,” you mumble, as both 1610 you and 42 Miles roll your eyes. “It’s my job,” 1610 you and 42 Miles say at the same time. “It’s ours too!” 1610 Miles and 42 you say before Miles processes that the Avengers are on your Earth. “Wait, you have the Avengers here?” Miles asks 42 (Y/n), and you nod. “Yeah.”

“Why haven’t they fixed New York?”

“Oh, do your Avengers care unless it’s a world-ending event? What’s that like?” you ask him, and he scoffs. “That… is actually very correct. They are totally not like that,” Miles says, and you sigh. “This Spider-Woman shit is a lot of responsibility.”

“I hear that,” Miles grumbles, as the two of them watch 1610 you and 42 Miles discussing their tactics on how they break into places and comparing gadgets. Miles can’t help but think that it’s funny how ending up in the wrong universe gave him some new friends and helped him get the girl who has always been the girl he wanted, even if he was a little slow with it. But it also caused him so much distress, almost made him die, and showed him an alternate reality of how his life may have ended up.

Man, this multiverse shit is confusing.  

───────────────────────────────

『 his girl tag list 』

@agustdeeyaa​ @akemiixx01​ @angeli-fucking-cat @avatar-lover* @camilleverreault @cherriebat @dani111* @darlingdontwe @denuparxoume @eciipsedpoet @eitaababe​ @em711 @gwennesy @hana-1235 @hana-yuri @hunnybunny78* @imaginarydreams​ @inluvwithneteyam​ @itzmeme​ @jonathanthor​ @kaaylvst​ @kdbsr-h* @kezibear​ @kikookii​ @kingsmanperfecthartwin​ @korehiiime​ @laurszd​ @laylasbunbunny​ @lazyotakuofficial​ @mama-2001​ @miggyoharaswife​ @mividaasi​ @nightshxdex​ @notplutos* @p3rf3ct4ng3l​ @papichulo120627​ @po55um​ @ptsmplekaramele​ @realityshifter111​ @rksses​ @scarletrosesposts​ @silly-norman​ @simp4miguell​ @shoyofroyoyoyo​ @shxxnz​ @snixx2088​ @soy-garbage​ @sp1derm4nluver​ @staravity​ @stevenknightmarc​ @storm-enika* @sukisprettyface​ @sunshinesetsstuff* @sweetheartlizzie07​ @sweetteyam​ @talkyoongitome​ @tanchosanke​ @tenaciousduckpoetry​ @thatonehjpstan​ @unforgettable420​ @violettathewriter​ @whoisgami​ @yasfrommiles​ @yourfavstalker25789* @zenxvii​

『 itsv/atsv tag list 』

@1eonk @autismnation @briannaxox @em711​ @februarybluues​ @fennecspage* @fiannee​ @hearts4hobie​ @kitsunna4​ @lovefks​ @luvvrgirll​ @mintkookiess​ @parkerpresentz​ @peyingbills* @smuuchies* @soseoulol​ @stoic0utlaws​ @swaqlover* @tes-conscience​ @zombie-catz​

*if you are italicized - i am unable to tag you for whatever reason, feel free to reach out and see if we can fix the issue

if you wish to be on either tag list, reach out and let me know! thank you to everyone for the support!🖤

───────────────────────────────

[outoftheseine]

- THOMAS SHELBY FIC RECS PART 2 -

alexa, play jealous girl by lana del rey | note: some fics are 18+ so minors DNI. be aware of canon trigger warnings (blood, violence, death, guns, etc)

main masterlist | part one

SERIES - MULTI-CHAPTERS

the royal wedding of small heath • thomas shelby x fem!reader part 2

↳ by @sneakyblinders (fluff, slightly explicit)

protection • thomas shelby x reader

↳ by @writers-hes (angst, death, mentions of abuse)

romantic escape | romantic capture • thomas shelby x fem!reader

↳ by @anonymooseforever007 (fluff, slight angst, overprotective!thomas)

immune to his charms • thomas shelby x american!reader

↳ by @readyouforfilth (love their banter so far, can't wait for updates)

happy birthday, my love • dad!thomas shelby x reader

↳ by @teenwolf-theoriginals (so so so fluffy)

safe with me • thomas shelby x reader

↳ by @kgficz

a man with a reputation • thomas shelby x reader

↳ by @kadwrites (arranged marriage trope)

your house | our home • thomas shelby x wife!reader

↳ by @vintunnavaa (angst, fluff, mentions of infidelity, looved it)

the cigarette girl • thomas shelby x reader

↳ by @huntingingoodwill (very angsty, thomas is mean)

ONE-SHOTS - BLURBS - HC'S

i got you • thomas shelby x reader

↳ by @madame-wilsonn (panic attacks, hurt/comfort, mentions of a loved one's death, fluff)

gentle love • thomas shelby x wife!reader

by @vintunnavaa (fluff)

what could've been • thomas shelby x reader

↳ by @toms-cherry-trees (angst)

love is sweeter than vengeance • thomas shelby x fem!reader

↳ by @pherelesytsia (angst, blood, death)

the secret garden • thomas shelby x reader

↳ by @celticmelody (very angsty, domestic violence, blood)

the layers of thomas shelby • thomas shelby x fem!reader

↳ by @theonewiththefanfics (angst, mild fluff)

november • thomas shelby x reader

↳ by @moral-terpitude (fluff, a little angst)

you reap what you sow • thomas shelby x reader

↳ by @springsteens (mentions of abortion, angst, fluff)

ain't she sweet • thomas shelby x reader

↳ by @look-at-the-soul (angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, injuries)

love will keep you up all night • thomas shelby x reader

↳ by @look-at-the-soul (very fluffy)

girl dad • thomas shelby x reader

↳ by @runnning-outof-time (fluff, fluff, fluff)

men with blue eyes and dark hair • thomas shelby x reader

↳ by @dandelionprints (angst, blood, name calling, fluff)

little you's and i's • thomas shelby x reader

↳ by @multific (fluff)

a small mishap • thomas shelby x reader

↳ by @gypsy-girl-08 (mention of violence, injuries, fluff)

thomas shelby as a father • thomas shelby x reader

↳ by @fanficwrit3r (very fluffy)

wailing teapots • thomas shelby x reader

↳ by @oddaodd (angst but happy ending, mentions of abuse)

as if you are still here • thomas shelby x reader

↳ by @speckledemerald (so. much. angst)

do you get déjà vu • thomas shelby x fem!reader

↳ by @calummss (fluff and humour)

venus rising • thomas shelby x fem!reader

↳ by @ay0nha (angst, this one is 🤌)

the sapphire ring • thomas shelby x reader

↳ by @kitixie (angst, but fluff)

the brother that always wins • thomas shelby x reader

↳ by @runnning-outof-time (fluff)

business and dates • thomas shelby x fem!reader

↳ by @princessofmarvel (fluff and slight angst)