#Grits after an Abortion

[ladywellcare111]

Can i eat Grits after an Abortion for Fast Recovery

Can i eat Grits after an Abortion for Fast Recovery #Can #i #eat #Grits #after #an #Abortion #for #Fast #Recovery #grits,shrimp #and #grits,grits #recipe,how #to #make #grits,cheese #grits,easy #grits,shrimp #and #grits #recipe,how #to #cook #grits,easy

Eating grits after an abortion for fast recovery, which is easy to digest and provides carbohydrates, fiber, and essential nutrients. They can be a good source of energy during the recovery period. 1. What are Grits? Grits are a breakfast dish prepared by cooking coarsely ground cornmeal into a porridge-like consistency. They are a staple food in Southern United States cuisine, commonly enjoyed…

[dilatorywriting]

Monster Mayhem: Donkeys & Dragons

Gender Neutral Reader x Malleus Draconia Word Count: 3.0k

Summary: In which your friends are idiots who think gallivanting around a haunted castle surrounded by lava is a great idea. And then there's a dragon.

ie. Or, I watched Shrek this afternoon and could not stop thinking about the memes of the Prefect being Donkey and Malleus as the Dragon.

[PART 1] [PART 2] [PART 3] [PART 4] [EPILOGUE]

‘Treasure beyond your wildest dreams!’ Ace said.

‘Knowledge long since lost to time!’ Deuce corrected.

‘Yeah, okay, but what is it,’ you asked.

And neither of them had an answer.

Abandoned castles suspended over a sea of bubbling lava were not your preferred holiday destination. You’d told Ace this several times. You’d begged, pleaded, to please just be normal for once. But noooo. Both the snarky, ginger, bastard and the other half of his singular brain cell had apparently decided that suicide ala boiling rocks sounded like a perfectly lovely plan for your Saturday evening.

“I’m just saying,” you huffed as the rope bridge swung worryingly beneath your feet, “taverns are a thing. Faires. Market runs. Casual side quests that won’t wind up with us being flambeed alive.”

“But there’s treasure!” Ace complained, the muddled light off the lava below illuminating his pout in a way that made it look especially punchable. “I heard there’s this really awesome magical sword! Or maybe it was a shield or something—”

“Or something,” you grit out. “What if it’s a book, huh? You can’t even read.”

“We can try!” Deuce returned, a spark of that familiar determination zipping through his blue eyes.

“Or we can sell it,” Ace said, which was certainly the more likely option of the two.

One of the rickety, wooden, slats cracked beneath the low heel of your boot and tumbled down into the lava below. Maybe it hit the gurgling pool of death with a hiss, or a whump, or some other cool sound. But all you could hear was the ringing in your ears.

“Oh my god. I’m going to die.”

“I mean, maybe,” Ace shrugged. “But at least you’ll have a cool new sword propped up at your grave or something.”

You managed to make it all the way to the other side of the horrible death bridge without plummeting to your doom. Except now you were standing at the foot an equally horrifying castle. It was massive—grand on a scale that seemed entirely impossible for something constructed in the heart of a volcano. Its dozens of ebony spires clawed at the sky. The walls crawled with grey ivy and thickets of thorns so dense that you couldn’t see even the barest hint of brick beneath. It looked evil in the way that cursed tombs felt evil—eternal, and still, and oppressive. Like a creature in its own right rather than just an agglomeration of black stone.

Ace drew his sword and Deuce readied his axe. You sighed and plucked at the strings of your stupid fucking lute, and wished once more that you’d had the foresight all those moons ago to take the cushy internship position Lord Crewel had tried to offer you. But, no. You’d wanted to be an adventurer.

The massive double doors of the entrance swung open with an eerie groan. A pair of stern looking gargoyles stood guard as the three of you cautiously made your way into the castle. You swore you could feel their eyes following you—that you’d seen them flex jagged claws into their stone perches in an aborted attempt to dive after you.

The inside of the looming fortress was no more welcoming than out. Dark, emerald, stained glass windows lined the walls—smothering any of the warmer light from the volcano and tinting the entire hall a sickly green-grey. The stone floors and walls were elaborately carved with the faded stories of dynasties long since passed, but what had once surely been immaculate craftsmanship had shifted and cracked with age—crushing floors into tight slopes and littering already narrow walkways with heavy debris.

“We just have to find the tallest tower,” Ace hummed, swiping at a few dangling trails of thorns with the blunted edge of his blade. “And then the highest room in that.”

“The treasure is never in the highest room in the tallest tower,” you complained. “You just heard that in a drinking song once.”

“Is that true?” Deuce frowned, looking terribly betrayed.

“No way!” Ace snipped. “I told you! An old crone read my fortune in her bone dice, and she said to always check the highest room in the tallest tower! Because that’s where I’d find my greatest treasure!”

“Maybe the greatest treasure is the friends we’ve made along the way?” Deuce suggested helpfully.

“No.”

So you split off from a grouchy Ace and dejected Deuce to try and find some stairs. Every room in this stupid castle was swimming in so many shadows that you could hardly tell right from left, let alone if there were any kinds of secret doors or passageways that may lead to an equally secret tower. The chamber you’d found yourself in now was gigantic, and each tentative step you took echoed discordantly through the ashy gloom. You kicked miserably at a loose rock and it skittered off into the darkness with a dull thunk. And then something… odd, began to happen. That darkness began to move—to rise and unfurl like a great set of wings on a beast. And—oh. Oh no.

“Would you look at that,” Ace whistled under his breath, neck craned all the way back as he squinted at what was most definitely the tallest of all the towers this creepy castle had to offer. “Guess what, nonbelievers. I found the—”

“DRAGON!”

Whoosh went the great swathe of emerald fire as it exploded down the barren hallway and nipped at your heels. You dove out into the open courtyard just in time to avoid being roasted alive, and the gargantuan monster behind you let out a roar fit to shake the earth. A quick tuck-and-roll left you crouched behind a fallen pillar, and the dragon’s bright, green, glower turned on you and your garbage hiding spot with a rumbling snarl. Its rows of sharp, white, teeth closing just above your head—missing its mark by barely a hair’s width.

“Gotcha!” Deuce snarled, his armored fists dragging the dragon away by its tail. Or, well, tried to. Because the dragon was a hundred feet long at least, and your blue haired friend probably looked like nothing more than a pesky rat darting between its feet. It turned and snapped at him irritably, taking a great, big, step forward in a bid to get a firmer stance to attack. You threw yourself in the other direction to avoid being trampled.

“Go!” Ace called, charging in from the other side. “Quick!”

Because at the end of the day, they were still both your brave, tanky, warrior, friends. And you were just a very, very, squishy bard who really would not fare well against a particularly motivated goose, let alone a dragon. So you skidded through the rubble and onto your feet, and started to sprint back into the castle’s halls—hoping maybe you’d be able to find a bit more cover.

There was a great clatter, and both Ace and Deuce yelped. You looked back hurriedly to see the pair of them clutching onto the dragon’s tail for dear life as it whipped them back and forth through the ash and debris cluttering the ground. With one, final, great, sweep, the dragon pitched them into the air and sent them careening through the roof of that ‘tallest tower.’ You muttered a hasty incantation and the sparkling outlines of soft feathers danced along your fingers. You hoped you weren’t too far. You were probably too goddamn far. But you hummed frantically under your breath nonetheless and entreated your middling magic to give them a soft landing.

And then there was another wave of green hellfire raining down over your head and you turned and ran.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck—

Even if you’d been a champion sprinter, there was little good it would have done you against a beast whose stride was longer than you were tall. You made it back into some hall or other, and into another cavernous room, and then you were pinned into a corner—the dragon looming over you like a vengeful wraith come to take its due.

It was gigantic. Probably the biggest creature you’d ever seen. And it was sleek—all lithe muscle and glossy rows of black scales that glittered oddly in the dull, grey, light. Its wings spread wide behind it, spanning the entirety of the vast chamber. They looked like the sort of wings that could stir up a hurricane. The curling horns atop its head seemed sharp enough to gore a man or twenty, and the purple crests lining its skull were tapered down flat in a way that reminded you a bit deliriously of a pissy cat pinning its ears back before it swatted at you.

Its lips curled back over pointed canines as it snarled at you, and you were showered in a swathe of hot sparks.

“Oh, what large teeth you have,” you squeaked, and when the dragon dipped closer to bellow into your face, your reeled back with a splutter. “I—I mean white, sparkling, teeth!” you rattled, nearly incoherent. The dragon’s snout twitched away, almost like you’d startled it. “I mean, I’m sure you hear this all the time from your food, but—wow! Just! Very lovely! Definitely the prettiest smile I’ll ever be eaten by!”

Slowly it lowered its great head, and you could see the neon glare from its narrowed eyes.

“Not that you have to eat me,” you added hurriedly, hoping to whatever Gods could hear you that your smart mouth could finally be useful for more than just talking circles around assholes in bars or weaseling your friends out of shitty contracts. “I’d very much like not to be eaten. But all the same, we did intrude in your home—and it’s definitely a very nice home—so I’d totally get it. And I guess if I did have to die today, knowing that my life would be in the hands of something so magnificent is certainly reassuring.”

The dragon seemed to preen a bit at that. You could see the sharp crests beneath its horns soften as tension bled from the beast’s posture. It ducked in close again, and this time you felt a sharp pull of air rush past your cheeks as it sniffed you. Its nostrils were the size your head—bigger even, maybe. You didn’t want to think about it, but the dry heat of its breath puffing into your face made the entire thing a bit hard to ignore.  

“Did I mention what a charming home you have?” you rambled on. “Very aesthetic. The gargoyles at the gate were a lovely touch.”

The dragon made a low, warbling, noise in its throat that wasn’t quite a growl, but wasn’t particularly… reassuring, either. It made the hair on the back of your neck stand on end.

It ducked away—not far, just enough to reach one of the large, carved, walls at the outskirts of the room. Its long neck slithered out before pausing pointedly over an archway. It took you a long moment to realize it was gesturing to something. Another gargoyle from the looks of things—this one almost entirely crumbled away under the strains of time. You could just barely make out the shape of its square jaw and taloned fingers.

You nodded so hard you nearly gave yourself whiplash.

“Yes! I see! Very beautiful! Such fine craftsmanship!”

The dragon cooed at you. Swear on your life and all the money in your back packet. An actual, honest to God, coo. Fuck, maybe you’d managed to charm your way out of imminent dismemberment and death after all.

It ambled closer once again, a curiosity lighting its eyes and warming those neon irises into something that was less poisonous-hell-fire and more mellow-evening-in-the-forest.

Amidst all the rippling waves of ebony scales, your eyes caught on the smallest smear of crimson. Just a touch of red—right along the spikes of its tail. Carefully, cautiously, slower than molasses, you stepped forward with your hands raised. You whispered a handful of familiar words under your breath and your palms glowed fuzzy and blue. Dragons were supposed to be inherently magical, right? So this one would certainly understand that the string of syllables you’d babbled out were good, and helpful, and not at all a provocation. The dragon was looking down at you with lidded eyes, its gaze a bit unfocused. You gulped.

“I’m sorry my friends messed with your tail,” you apologized, gingerly holding your fingers out to hover over the abrasions without actually touching. “They were just trying to protect me. If—if that makes it any better.” The minuscule wound began to knit itself back together neatly beneath the pulses of your magic. “I do tend to need a lot of protecting—I’m not much a warrior, if that wasn’t completely obvious by the everything about me—so I can’t really blame them for being a bit gung-ho about it.”

After a moment or two, the scratches had faded back into solid, matte, black and you drew back with a content hum.

“There! All fixed!” You gave your most winning smile. Please don’t eat me, your brain chanted on endless repeat. Please don’t eat me please don’t eat me please don’t eat me—

The dragon reared back and settled on its haunches with another heavy puff of sweltering breath. You could feel the heat of it prickling all the way up your arms. After a long, long, moment of silent consideration, the dragon leaned forward again and rumbled deep in its chest. When you only stood there, properly petrified, it huffed again and bumped its nose against your sternum, nearly toppling you over.

“I don’t—” you started, nervous. “I’m sorry. I don’t really get what you’re trying to say.”

With another sigh that sounded entirely too put upon, the dragon lowered its great head. The air itself seemed to grow heavy against your shoulders, and you could taste the cloying bitterness of strong magics on the back of your tongue. Black miasma oozed from beneath the dragon’s talons and melted along its scales. The caustic scent of ash and petrichor burned along your nostrils, and you had to pinch your eyes shut and cover your nose to keep from coughing. You managed to sneak a peek past your fingers just in time to watch the shadowed outline of the beast collapse. And out of that puddle of black goo emerged a man­. He was tall and lithe, just as the dragon had been, with glowing green eyes that were terribly familiar. They were framed with thick, dark, lashes and sat perfectly on a face that was nearly too handsome to be human (well, it really wasn’t human you supposed, so that little tidbit probably accounted for said inhuman beauty well enough). Recognizable eyes and stature or no, the curling horns atop his head would have sealed the deal plenty well enough on their own.

He shook off the shadows twining around his ankles with a lazy twist of the hand and then turned to you with a curious little hum.

And holy fuck Mister Dragon apparently had no sense of shame, or maybe just no qualms about social niceties and practicalities, because his human self was wearing about just as many clothes as his lizard form had been.

You squeezed your eyes shut with a squeak, and then double covered them with your hands for good measure.

A chuckle rolled through the air—as dark and pleasantly rich as the finest of chocolates. And then there was a clawed finger beneath your chin, tilting your head back, and back, and back until you were at least half-way sure it would probably be safe to open your eyes again without infringing on his decency.

“You are fascinating, Child of Man,” it—he—hummed, low in his throat. His thumb dragged down to hook beneath the curve of your jaw and support the finger tucked up under your chin. “And it’s been so, very, long since I’ve been fascinated by anything.”

“Uh,” you replied, like a perfectly functional human being.

The dragon’s lips curled up over his pointed teeth—still just as sharp and white as they had been when he’d been so much bigger and scalier.

“I think I’d like to keep you,” he said with a nod to himself, as casually as one may talk about picking up extra groceries from the market.

“Uh,” you said again.

“You did mention that you needed protecting,” he continued, tapping a clawed finger against his own chin. The small smile quirking his lips twisted into something smug. “And that is certainly something at which I would excel.”

Your head was swimming.

“I—I mean. I’m honored that you—that… you—” You couldn’t even think the words, let alone get them past your brain and out of your mouth. You cleared your throat and fought to keep your eyes level with his clavicle and nowhere else. “D-Don’t you think you’re moving a bit fast?” you laughed nervously. “I mean, I’m sure my friends will probably be on their way back down soon—and—I mean, we haven’t even introduced ourselves yet. I don’t even know your name.”

He blinked, slow and serpentine.

“Oh. I suppose you wouldn’t.” He canted his head to the side, long strands of that inky black hair of his spilling across his shoulder. An amused sort of grin worked its way along his mouth. “Dragons are not keen to give out our true names so readily, but you seem like a clever one. Tell me—what do you think I’m called then, hmm?”

You glanced up quickly at the horns atop his head and couldn’t help yourself.

“Tsunotarou?”

He let out a bark of laughter that seemed to shake the walls.

“Oh,” he trilled, looking positively delighted. The hand not curled beneath your chin reached down to snag your own, and he brought your wrist up to his lips. You could feel the imprints of his canines against the soft skin there. “I’ll definitely be keeping you.”

[futterurl]

Hii do you do angsty smut? I’m craving angst & smut for Josh futturman . Love your first work here btw ❤️

tysm anon i fucking LOVE angst and smut mixed. literally two in one combo. i got u :b apologies if this wasnt what u were looking for!!

WARNINGS: angst, bleeding, pretty graphic, smut (mdni!), oral(f!receiving), p in v, creampie, afab reader

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you clutched your side, agony hitting every inch of your body. getting shot in your side wasn’t how you thought this mission was gonna go.

it was supposed to be simple: have everyone eat the Kronish balls, save the day, yada-yada. in and out. that wasn’t the case, however, when everyone who wasn’t borderline poisoned by the kronish balls turned out to be bionic.

josh wasn’t looking behind himself, not seeing a bionic creeping up to him at a quick pace with a knife in hand. you ran as fast as you could, trying to tell him to watch out.

you pushed josh out of the way, causing the bionic to stab you right in the side. the pain hit immediately, agonizing pain. you doubled over, wanting to remove the piece of steel. you knew this would only make it worse. you had to keep it in, at least until you were able to get somewhere safe.

“shit.” tiger panicked, seeing you on the ground, clutching your torso for dear life. you looked up at her with weak eyes, coughing up spurts of blood.

“gotta. got’ get help.” you tried to speak as hard as you could without exerting too much effort. she was able to pick you up and avoid the bionics, which wolf was going crazy with.

“guys! abort the mission. s’ in critical condition!” tiger yelled at josh and wolf, seeing their expressions drop as they saw her holding you, borderline limp in her arms. as they fended off the last of the bionics, they raced over to see you, crying and tired.

“fuck, fuck, this is my fault, fuck.” josh started talking at 100 miles an hour.

“this is nobody’s fault. someone get a goddamn car and bring us home.” wolf yelled. they all raced over to the car they took, tiger slamming on the gas the second you all piled in, josh now gently bringing you into the back.

“fuck, hurts s’ bad, fuck.” you grit through your teeth, hand bloody from holding onto your side. josh had propped you up against the car window. he kept his hand right on top of yours, whispering endless strands of “i’m sorry” and “this is my fault” through tears. this was the last thing he wanted to do, especially to the girl he loved, even if she didn’t know.

you were so selfless, you took a fucking knife to the torso for him. he owed you his fucking life, if you were okay after this, that is. he was gonna make sure you were okay. he clung onto your other hand and held onto it for dear life.

in just minutes, tiger was stopping the car in front of josh’s house. josh took you into his arms, racing up to his room, flat out ignoring his parents.

he laid you onto his bed, propping you up high with a good amount of pillows.

“i have a first aid kit in my bathroom. go get it. it’s in the cabinet.” he yelled at tiger and wolf. he couldn’t stay one second away from you. not like this.

wolf ran to get it, coming back in mere seconds. he had a wet rag. “we gotta take the knife out and put this over it immediately.” he panted.

“take my hand. this might hurt.” josh offered, holding out his hand to you, which you took into yours with ease.

“one, two, three”

tiger removed the knife, to which wolf covered you with the wet rag. you screamed and wailed as you crushed josh’s hand with yours. you had never experienced that amount of pain in your entire life.

“the worst is over. you did it.” tiger tried to ease your worries, offering you painkillers in the first aid kit wolf had brought.

“fuck. still hurts s’ fucking bad, fuck.” you silently cried. this felt like torture. you felt like you were going to puke.

“can you guys give us some privacy please? sorry, she’s overwhelmed and i know how to help her.” josh said, looking at tiger and wolf. “can you guys go talk to my parents? tell them we’re all good?”

they got the signal. they quickly left and shut the door behind them.

josh looked at you. “fuck, i’m so sorry. this is all my fault. i didn’t want you to get hurt like this, i’m so sorry…” he started to tear up.

you caressed his face. “it’s okay, josh. it wasn’t your fault, nothing you could’ve done. i’m still alive, aren’t i?”

“i know, but it shouldn’t be you with the fucking knife in your side.” he replied. he was really worried about you, his heart racing. he didn’t want you to be hurt. at all. he’d gladly take a knife for you for this to be overwith. for you to not be in any more pain.

“it’s okay, really. i jumped in.” you yawned, starting to get tired.

“okay, okay.” he wasn’t gonna argue with you anymore. “is there anything i can do for you?”

you squeezed his hand. “go to sleep with me for awhile?” you asked in a hushed tone.

nothing would’ve made him happier. he couldn’t be away from you, not now, not ever. he wanted to make sure that you’d be safe. with him. in his arms.

“of course. i..i’ll stay here with you. as long as you need.” he took a few pillows from under you, letting you lay down, he laying down next to you. you cuddled up to him a bit, making him blush. thank god the light was dimmed low.

“thank you…” you drifted off as you muttered those words. josh looked down at you, watching you fall into a deep sleep. he couldn’t keep his eyes off you. even after dying, you still looked so fucking perfect. how?

why would you take a knife for me? he asked himself, over and over. i hate seeing you like this.

the last thing he wanted to do was to see you in pain, and now he saw you in pure agony, on his behalf. he felt lime such a shitty person. the least he could do is lay with you.

he wouldn’t admit that was what he secretly wanted all along. he caressed your cheek before laying his head down, joining you in a peaceful slumber.

.

.

.

you spent the next couple days attached to josh like you two were conjoined at the hip. he was constantly there for your every need, whether that be for water, food, painkillers, anything.

you were healing up nicely. sure, you were still in pain, but it was significantly less than what it originally was. having josh by your side helped a lot.

you two were laying in his bed, when the painkillers sort of wore off. you winced.

“you okay?” he asked, concern in his voice.

“yeah, just hurts a bit.” you responded.

“you need anything? i can get it.” he offered.

“no, josh, really, it’s fine.” josh had been there for you at your every need, you were starting to feel bad. it felt like he was being a servant for you.

“i don’t want you to be in pain though.” he looked lost in thought. it looked like he wanted to say something.

“is there something on your mind, josh?” you asked.

“uh..uh, kind of. you ever have something on your mind but you don’t wanna say it because you don’t know if it’ll ruin something but you really don’t know what reaction you’ll get-” he started to talk faster and faster as he talked more and more.

“josh, we’ve known each other for what, how many years? we’ve talked about anything and everything. you can talk to me.” you propped yourself up to look at him.

he looked nervous. well, he always looked nervous. this time, however, he looked super nervous. something was on his mind.

"i was just gonna say, um, that, uh, i know a way to make you feel better...but, uh, it's kinda weird...yeah." he started stammering over his words.

"what is it, josh?" you asked. did he just bite his lip?

"i...i could make you...y'know..." he looked from your face down to your body, back up to you.

"make me what?" your heart started beating ever so slightly faster. might he be alluding to...?

"i...i could make you...make you cum. i know it's not a painkiller or anything, but it might take your mind off stuff. it's stupid, i..i should stop talking now. i shouldn't have said that. it's stupid. i'm sorry-"

you cut him off by putting your hand gently under his jaw and kissing him passionately. you started to grasp at his hair, holding it in fistfulls.

once your lips disconnected, you started breathing heavily. "josh, i'd love that. please. really." you never thought he'd ever ask you to do anything like this.

"really? am i dreaming?" he asked, rubbing your forearm gently.

"no. please, josh. make me feel good." you pleaded. now that the idea was out there, you were dead set on this. you didn't want anyone but him.

he got on top of you, starting to kiss your lips, your cheeks, your jawline, your neck. everything. it felt perfect. you could already feel your focus on your pain being subsided to this.

he lowered himself, settling in between your thighs, rubbing your hips. he held the ends of your shirt.

"can...can i see how it's doing first? just to check? don't wanna make it worse." he played with the hem of your shirt.

"yeah, yes. do it." you responded.

he lifted up your shirt to your ribcages, examining your bandages. it still looked pretty nasty, but it had certainly healed a lot since a few days ago.

"fuck...i'm still so, so sorry. i really am." he started to get a bit teary eyed while tenderly rubbing the skin by your bandages, careful to not get too close to where it would hurt.

"josh, really, it's okay. it happens. please. i don't want you to feel bad about this. it really is okay." you scratched at his hair.

"okay, okay...m'sorry. lemme make it up to you." he pressed a kiss to your stomach as he unzipped your shorts. he pulled them down slowly, not wanting to make your body jolt or be in any more pain that it was already in. he lost his breath, looking at you in just your shirt and panties. he still couldn't believe it.

"you...you okay?" you asked.

"y-yeah. i'm great. just...can't believe this is happening. you're so beautiful." he lay his head on one of your thighs, giving it a light kiss. that made you shudder. you didn't realize your thighs were that sensitive.

"thank you, thank you..." you started to mumble, becoming a bit nervous.

josh sensed your nerves. "you know, you don't have to let me do this, if you don't want me to. i know it's very up and personal."

"no, i really do, it's just...i'm just...nervous, is all. just...go slow please." you asked.

he played with the hems of your panties. "don't worry, i'll go as slow as you need." he pressed a kiss to your hip bones. "would you...would you mind if i took these off?"

"please. take them off." you were starting to get desperate.

he slowly eased them down your legs, getting a glimpse of your glistening pussy. he felt his eyes widen.

"can i...can i make you feel good?" he asked, pressing a kiss on your pubic bone.

"please, josh. want you to make me feel good so badly." you were practically begging at this point.

he lowered his head just a bit, propping himself truly inbetween your thighs, licking a stripe up your slit. you shuddered, new to the sensation. it felt weird, but in a good way.

"that feel okay?" he asked.

"yes, josh, for the love of god, please...more." you begged.

his tongue rested on your clit, rubbing it with the wet muscle. this sent shivers down your spine. it rubbed back and forth on the tiny area. you let out a moan, back starting to arch off the bed.

"shit...feels s'good josh, oh my god." you moaned, him drinking up your moans.

his lips attached themselves around your clit and just sucked. this sent all sorts of waves of pleasure through you. you pulled at his hair as he sucked at your clit. he ran his tongue in circles around the sensitive bud. had he ever done this before?

his tongue ran down your cunt, entering your tight hole with a moan from you. his thumb snuck up to your clit, not giving it a break as he rubbed tight circles around it.

"feels t' good, holy shit..." you were becoming putty in his hands as he tongue fucked you.

"you taste s' fucking good." he moaned into your pussy as his thumb became even faster around your clit, using your slick as lube. "love every part of you, fuck."

it didn't help that he was practically groaning into your cunt as he went down on you, letting out little whimpers and moans into you.

he heard you start to get louder and louder. he knew you were getting close to your release. his head went back up to your clit, giving it even more stimulation.

"josh...so close, oh my god..." your hips were starting to slightly buck up into his mouth.

"i know, pretty girl, not gonna stop until you cum down my fucking throat." he pleaded, urging you as he sopped at your clit, constantly hitting the bundle of nerves. your thighs got tighter around his head.

"i...oh my god...i think i'm gonna..." you started to pant hard, getting lost in the pleasure.

"c'mon. let it out. cum in my mouth. please. make me happy and cum on me. wanna make you feel so fucking good." he said in between licks.

one of them in particular make the tight band forming in your stomach snap, you finally getting that sweet, sweet release as you moan incoherent babbles to josh, as his tongue slowly eased at your cunt.

once you came down from your high, he started to rub little circles around your hips again. "you okay?" he asked.

"fuck...that was really fucking good, josh. oh my god." you panted as he peppered your stomach in kisses.

"good, m' glad." he rubbed the skin close to your bandage. "did i do anything to make it hurt any more?" he asked, worry etching on his eyebrows.

"no, it's all fine...i feel really good right now." you looked down at him, his face a mess of saliva and your slick. that was hot.

"good." he came up a little bit, you getting a peak at his erection standing through his pants.

"do you...do you want me to take care of that?" you asked, alluding to something more.

he caught his breath. "uh..are-are you sure? i know you just...y'know. you sure you want to?"

"please, josh. i want you to fuck me." you had never felt so desperate than you did right now. you needed him.

"i don't know if this is gonna hurt you. if it does, tell me and we're done." he said, getting out of his pants, his erection standing up in his boxers. your eyes widened. you couldn't believe he was going to be inside you.

"thank you josh, i will." you pulled him in to a kiss, your hand traveling down to his boxers, lightly gripping at his clothed cock. he let out a whimper.

"that feel good?" you asked.

"yes, fuck yes that felt good. but this is about you, not me. gonna make you feel good again. promise." he pulled away as he swiped down his boxers, freeing his girthy erection.

he positioned himself, sitting up on his knees, pulling one of your legs over his shoulder, alligning his cock with your dripping cunt. he ran his tip over your clit, you both shuddering.

"i..i'm gonna put it in now, okay?" he asked for permission, hands gently holding onto your hips, careful not to hurt you with the pressure. "i'll go slow, i promise."

"please." you whimpered.

he pressed it at your entrance, his tip slowly going inside you. he let out a shudder as he traced his thumbs back and forth on your thighs, trying to ease your nerves.

"fuck, oh my god. only have the tip in but it feels s' fucking good. you're so tight. fuck." he started to become a whimpering mess.

he slowly pushed his hips forward, entering you even more, at such a slow pace to make sure you weren't in any pain. sure, you had done this before, you told him, but it had been some time since. the last thing he wanted to do was make you hurt down there too.

"put the rest in josh, please." you whimpered.

he obliged, slowly bottoming out. all the sensations hit him at once: your tight, sopping cunt squeezing his cock. he knew he wouldn't last long.

"god, you're so tight, holy shit, feels so fucking good." he wailed, praising you as he caressed your hips. "you good?"

you nodded. you felt so full, it felt amazing. he looked at you with care and concern, like you were the only person in the world right then. it was perfect. he was doing all this for you.

"please start moving. feels good." you pleaded.

he nodded furiously, taking an experimental thrust into you, to which you both moaned out to. he was constantly letting out strings of "oh god" and "fuck" into the room as he started to grip your thigh.

he started to get into a motion, him pistoning in and out of you at a quick pace. your tight gummy walls pulled him in with every thrust, his cock hitting every sensitive spot inside you with every thrust.

"oh my god, you feel so good. love this pussy so much, holy shit." he was practically worshipping you at this point as his hips drove into yours, you letting out moans in response.

one of his hands found itself at your cunt, his thumb starting to bully your clit in tight circles, you letting out a loud moan in response.

"josh, getting close, oh my god. fuck!" you pleaded for him. his thumb around your clit started to move even faster as his hips drove into you, hitting every spot.

"gonna cum soon, please cum with me." he pleaded in between moans, hips moving even faster. you broke down into a moaning mess as you felt another orgasm coming.

"you're so hot, holy shit. wanna fuck you like this forever. wanna get lost in this pussy. please. want you to come on my cock over and over again. shit." he let out rambles as he started to reach his peak.

these words let you to your second orgasm, your cunt becoming even tighter around his cock as you moaned as loud as possible, yelling his name. your cunt squeezing him made him come undone, cumming inside you.

he kept thrusting into you, riding out both of your highs, until you came down. he put your leg down, him slowly pulling out and laying down on you, being careful to not lay down on your bandage.

"that...that felt so good josh, oh my god." you started to play with his hair and rubbing his back.

"good. m' glad. i really wanted to make you feel good." his head lay on one of your breasts, paying attention to your breathing pattern.

"you..you really helped. i feel really good right now. thank you." you squeezed him into a hug.

he put one of his arms around you, enjoying the warmth of your body. "i'll always be here for you, i owe it to you. i'll stick bt your side, no matter what.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

a/n: womp womp sry if that was kinda mid (im a loser if u couldnt tell)

[miniwheat77]

Give ‘em hell. Pt.2(Captain Price x Reader.)

!CW! NSFW, Angst, Smut, pregnant reader, birth, unprotected sex, so sweet you’ll cry.

Part 1

I put as much thought into this as I possibly could. I hope enjoy.

Someone did ask about part 2, here’s that :)

Once you and John had gotten dressed, you knew it would be a fight to get out of there and to the exfil point. Captain Price called for help in the early hours of the morning, and they came as soon as they could. He let you sleep in as much as he could, knowing that your body would be more exhausted than his.

After the short conversation you had shared together, you’d fallen back asleep. He watched as you slept, so peacefully despite the shitty situation you’d been in. He was worried. The both of you would potentially have a child together, this would take away from your jobs, from your lives. It would ruin your chances of meeting someone your age and living a peaceful life with them. You wouldn’t want to be with someone like him, you had a large age gap. You had so much potential. He didn’t want you to feel like you would waste your time with someone like him. He was quiet as the both of you hiked to the exfil point. You were exhausted and sore. You had a million things going through your head, just as he did. You were stressed, nervous. Everything. When you reached the exfil helicopter, you sighed in relief. These last 24 hours have been eventful. Everything that had happened, should have happened in some kind of sci-fi/romance book or movie. It didn’t seem like something that could happen. Especially not to you.

When you returned to base, the both of you were berated with questions. What happened? Are you injured? Why was there a building lit on fire? Why were you both silent on the radios? Captain Price had to come up with something. Telling them some story about being held hostage.

When everyone finally laid off, he took you with him to see Laswell. She would know what to do. She asked a lot of questions. Luckily Captain Price had the paperwork, it gave her more insight, within the span of an hour or so, she’d been in contact with an agent from the CDC, someone who specializes in drugs like this. They knew what to do. “John, can I speak to Y/N in private?” He looks at you, seeing the nervousness in your eyes. Tears gathering at the waterline. You were nervous. He was too. He nods his head, standing up. He waits just outside the door, but unfortunately can’t hear anything. “Since you and Captain Price destroyed all of the evidence, there’s nothing else for us to collect to see what the lasting effects of this could be. You’ve both submitted blood, and hopefully that will give us enough. But in the chance it’s not… there’s only one more option.” She sighs.

“Yeah? And that is?” You ask.

“The fetus.”

“I’m sorry?”

Laswell bites her lip. “You’re pregnant Y/N. That’s why you’re cured. There’s a fetus in your body, and the drugs are still it in.” Your mouth goes dry, eyes starting to water. “You wanted to abort this child anyways, right?” She asks. “What? No.” Your body is starting to shiver in panic. You don’t want this. “Y/N. You can’t have this baby. You have no idea what you’ll be getting yourself into. John doesn’t want this baby, it was merely by chance that this happened to the both of you.” You shove your chair back away from her desk, the feet making an awful screeching sound along the floor. You slam it forward, tears starting down your face. Upon hearing the commotion, John opens the door. Just in time for you to stare daggers at Laswell. “Fuck you.” You growl. You storm past John, rushing down the hallway, wiping your eyes. “What the hell did you say to her?” He asks. “The truth.”

“And that is?”

“The CDC needs that fetus for testing John. She’s delusional, thinking she could have some ulterior life with this.” Laswell knows she’s made a mistake when John starts to grit his teeth. “That child, is none of your concern. It’s not anybody’s property, it won’t be used for testing, and she doesn’t have to do anything she doesn’t want to do. If you want to find out what that stuff is so badly, go sort through the burnt rubble of the building it came out of.” He seethes. His words are laced with venom, and Laswell can’t believe he’d have taken your side. He rushes out of her office to find you, and when he finally does, you’re upset. He sits next to you, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you into him. “It’s okay.”

“Do you want me to do it?” You look up at him.

Your face shatters his heart right in his chest. Teary, puffy eyes. Your nose and cheeks have turned red from you crying. “Of course not.” He sighs. You swallow down another sob. “Y/N.” He sighs. He grasps your hand in his. “I want you to do whatever your heart tells you to do. Not what you think is right.” He squeezes your hand. “If you want to keep this child, than you do it. You don’t let them persuade you or pull you in any direction you don’t trust.” He breathes. “What do you want me to do?” You sniffle. “I want you to do what you want to do, but if you’re asking my opinion, or what I would do.” He bites his lip slightly. “I hope you’ll keep it. I hope you’ll give me the opportunity to be the dad I never got to be. I hope that.. in some way, we’ll be able to make it work.” He laughs. He knows he’s delusional. You’ll never go for it. “But I know you’re young, and I know you don’t see yourself with someone like me. And that’s okay, I want you to do what you want. No matter what. And I’ll support you every step of the way.”

You’ve got your hands wrapped around his neck, taking him off guard in just a second. Your lips are on his. He pulls you into his lap, wrapping his arms around waist and pulling you tighter to him. “I think you deserve to be a dad.” You look at him. He smiles. He can feel tears in his eyes, but he blinks them away. “I think you’re just saying that.” You laugh, looking down. “It’s true. And I want you to know that I wouldn’t cheat you out of this just because I’m scared. I am scared. But you’ll be a great dad. And.. if you think for a second I’d wish for something different, to be with someone my age or under different circumstances, you’re wrong.” You mumble. He chooses to say nothing. He give himself a minute to really let what you’ve said sink in, sting him to the core.

He pulls you back into him, not caring if anyone happens to pass by.

—

“Y/N. No.” He breathes. “John. I can’t miss this. If I miss one more mission, they’ll know what’s going on.” You seethe. You’re trying to be quiet. He pulled you into his room for this.

“Y/N. You are pregnant. I’m saying no.” He breathes. He picks up his radio, and turns his back to you so that you can’t snatch it out of his hand. “Y/N isn’t feeling well, she won’t be accompanying everyone for this mission.” He announces. You stand there, unimpressed. The fight you have put up isn’t going to be enough, and you know it. “You don’t get to tell me what to do John.” You breathe. “Y/N. This isn’t about you.” He breathes. “Yes it is!” You raise your voice. “It’s my baby too goddamnit!” You flinch as he yells at you. “It’s my baby too. And I care about you okay? These last couple months have been nothing short of stressful and you’re the only goddamn person here keeping me sane. I love you, and I love this baby. I don’t want you out there on the field anymore and if I have to, I’ll stop lying about it. I’ll tell them you’re pregnant, and you won’t be able to go anyways.” He breathes. His chest is heaving, and you’re stunned.

Your eyes are wide, lips slightly parted. It takes him a second to calm down enough to try to apologize. “I’m.. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to raise my voice at you.”

“You… you love me?” You ask. He swallows hard, only just now realizing what he’s said. He sighs. “Yes. I love you.” He slides his hat off. He’s still in his full gear from earlier. You’re in complete shock, and he knows he’s fucked up. It was too soon. “I’m sorry- I shouldn’t have said that.” He breathes. He’s starting to panic, he didn’t want to scare you off. “I love you too, John.” Your admission is small, it takes him by surprise. He can’t believe his ears. The way that he’s staring at you, it’s pure need. You can feel the intensity between the both of you, and whatever god put you both here, you wanted to thank them. A hiccup leaves your lips, knees feeling weak as he creeps closer. “John.” You whimper. He closes the gap between the both of you, knowing exactly what you need. Being a little more rough than he intends as he pushes you back up into the wall behind you. His lips move against yours fervently. Kissing you like you’re about to turn to dust right in his hands. He’s panting when he pulls away, attacking your neck. He holds your shirt tightly, pressing his forehead to yours. His eyes are screwed shut tightly, knuckles turning white from the grasp he has on you. “I love you. I fucking love you, Y/N Y/L/N. I will do whatever it takes to keep the both of you safe, until I die. I swear to god.” He breathes. He lets go of your shirt with one of his hands. Pushing his hand up your shirt, feeling the slight bump that’s begun to form. Tears spill from your eyes, how the hell did you end up here?

“Make love to me John.” You pant.

He wastes not even a second, lifting you up and laying you down onto his bed. He’s tearing off his gear as fast as he possibly can, not even bothering to see if the door is locked. He doesn’t care anymore. The only thing he even gives a shit about anymore is you and his baby. When he slides into you, your freeze, the air leaving your lungs. You didn’t realize just how much you had missed it. Your eyes filled with tears again, and you clawed at his back, taking in a sharp gasp with every deep thrust he took into you. Each one showing you exactly what you meant to him. Proving everything he’s just said 100% correct. He loved you, and he was going to show you just how much. You’ve got a hand wrapped in his hair, head tilted back into his pillow. Your legs are wrapped around his back and he’s panting into you, his room feels at least 20 degrees hotter.

The both of you have beat red, hot sweaty skin. Teary eyes. His dog tag dangles in your face, rattling as he thrusts deep inside of you. He buries his face into the crook of your neck, breathing hard. “I love you.” He breathes. “I love you too John.” A gasp leaves your lips as he thrusts a bit harder. “So goddamn much.” He breathes. His teeth are gritted, he needs his body on yours. If he wasn’t the weight holding you down, surely you’d float away. He was Captain John Price, he didn’t deserve nothing like this. No happy stress-free life. No happy ever after with a baby, and a woman who loves him. He deserved nightmares and flashbacks. He deserved anti-depressants that kept him sane, he deserved to take ambien just to help him sleep at night, to stop the constant screaming, smell of burning flesh from his brain. He didn’t deserve to feel comfortable or good. He didn’t deserve to have a baby that called him Dad, someone he could take care of and spoil. Someone he could treat ten folds better than he was ever treated as a child.

He holds back his tears, but you can’t. He kisses them away as he makes love to you, keeping his thrusts steady, you deserved to feel good. After all of the stress and discomfort. You deserved to be underneath him, letting him worship you. “You’re so beautiful. So fucking pretty.” He breathes. You’re clutching at his sides, and he groans as he feels you clenching around him. “John- I’m going to-“ you pant. You cup his cheeks with your hands, pulling him down into you. You kiss him hard as you cum, reaching your high. You moan into his lips, the only thing keeping you grounded is the scratch of his mustache. He screws his eyes shut, deepening the kiss when he reaches his own high, holding himself up with one hand, holding your jaw a little harder than he intends. So that he can kiss you hard, so that you couldn’t shy away from him. He needs you to know what you mean to him. You gasp into his mouth when you feel his warmth filling you, painting your walls. He keeps you still, when he finally pulls away from you, it’s only for a second, so he can lay next to you. Pulling you into him again. He pulls the blanket over the both of you.

Later that same night, he’s watching you as you’re getting dinner. You’ve told him over and over again, don’t make it look obvious but the protective side of him just can’t. You’re carrying his baby, he watches you like a hawk. Even when you don’t know it. “Cap, have you got a crush on her something?” Gaz laughs. John forgets he’s even there. He’s so focused on you. “Uh.. no. Of course not.” He laughs. “I don’t believe that for a second.” He laughs. “Yeah, even I’ve seen it. You watch her nonstop.” Soap laughs, taking a bite of his food. “No.. it’s not like that.” He mumbles. “Than what’s it like?” He asks. Everyone quiets immediately as you sit down at the same table. Right next to John. “Hey, Y/N. Are you sparring tomorrow?” Another solider asks. “Oh.. um. No unfortunately not.” You mumble. “Why not? You haven’t sparred with anyone in months.” She complains. “Yeah, you haven’t gone on any missions either, you keep saying you’re sick.” You sigh, getting annoyed with everyone bugging you. “Come on, you need to spar with us more or you’re going to get out of shape.”

“I can’t spar with you. Not anyone.” You mumble. “Oh come on, why not?”

“Because I’m 4 months pregnant.” You say it louder than anyone expects and she jumps a little bit. Everyone is staring at you wide eyed, you roll your eyes, standing up and walking away. “Um.. she didn’t mean to be so aggressive. You know.. hormones and whatnot.” Captain Price tries to console the girl you’ve just blown up on. Although he doesn’t really care how she feels. “Wait. Why aren’t you surprised, you knew?” Gaz asks. “Of course I knew, it’s mine.” The words have left his mouth before he even has time to think about it. Flinching when he realizes. “Look.. it’s a long story. We’ll have a meeting on Monday.” He mumbles. He picks up the both of your trays of food, walking away to find you. Everyone is still stunned, too shocked to move or say anything for a few minutes. “Holy shit. Did I just hear that right?” Gaz laughs. He’s still in complete shock. “Believe so.” Soap laughs. “Cap is going to be a dad.” He smiles.

“Hey..” John smiles when he sees you. “I was mean wasn’t I?” You mumble, tears gathering in your eyes. “Ah, I’m sure she understands Y/N. Nothing to get worked up about. But you and I definitely have some explaining to do.” He raises his eyebrows, smiling. You smile at him. Taking the tray from his hands. “S’alright sweetheart. Nothing to worry about.” He sits on the edge of the bed, passing you a plastic fork. He’s always trying to get you to eat, and when you like something, he offers you his. Saying he doesn’t want it or doesn’t like it. Even if he does, just so that he can see you smile. You are eating for two anyways. He doesn’t mind.

After that Monday morning, everyone is kind to you. They heard about the mission, what had gone wrong. Everything. You’re still on base for the time being, until everything gets settled. You apologized to everyone for your outburst, but of course they understood. They liked watching you and their Captain, even if it was a bit awkward at first. They liked watching him open things for you, stopping you when you were overdoing it. He caught you standing up on a step stool, and they couldn’t help but laugh as he scolded you like a small child, reaching up for something. He got you anything you asked for, he was kind to you.

He always gave you your favorite things, and when it came to MRE’s, he always gave you his vanilla pound cake. Which resulted in everyone giving you their vanilla pound cake. When Soap passed you his for the first time, you smile at him. And before you knew it, there were 3 more packages getting placed onto the table. “Gonna be one happy baby huh?” Soap smiles. You blushed and took them, John helping you open each of them.

Anytime Soap was around you, he’d gently fist bump your growing belly. Mumbling on about how “real soon he’d be able to fist bump your baby for real.”

It was a beautiful thing really. Until you had to leave the base of course. You’d hidden your pregnancy for long enough.

—

When the day comes, you’re drenched in sweat. Your eyes are heavy and tired and you can hear crying. The sweetest sound you’ve ever heard. When they pass you your baby for the first time. You can’t help it as the tears start to spill from your eyes. John watches teary eyed too, determined to not let them fall. But the moment his son is in his arms, he loses it. Turning his back to everyone as the tears start to spill from his eyes. His son is perfect, absolutely amazing. John nearly melts when he wraps his little hand around his finger.

Once they take your son and get him all cleaned up, leaving the both of you alone. The last thing you expect happens.

A knock at your door before it opens. “Hope everyone is decent!” You hear Soap call as quietly as he can for you to still hear. You smile when you see everyone coming in. The rest of task force 141, your brothers. John’s brothers. The best people you ever have had the pleasure of being around. “Had to convince everyone to let us get off base to come see ya.” Soap smiles. “We’re all sanitized and clean by the way, we wouldn’t have come in otherwise. Ghost even prayed his mask.” You smile. “You want to hold him?” You offer to Gaz, who’s standing by your bedside. “Oh.. uh. Sure.” John stands up to help you. Letting Gaz sit down in his spot before passing him the little baby. “Damn, you’re kinda heavy for being brand new.” Gaz smiles, the little baby sighing in his arms. “Must be all that pound cake huh?” He smiles. You roll your eyes.

They each take turns holding him, and he starts to get a little fussy right as John is about to pass him to Ghost, and you can sense him getting a little nervous, but the moment he’s in Ghost’s arms, he relaxes. “He likes you, lad.” John smiles. He grasps hold of Simons finger, like he had with John, and Simons eyes widen. “Damn.” He mumbles. “I’m not giving him back now, he’s mine.” Simon jokes. You smile.

“Well. What’s it like huh?” Gaz asks. “What?”

“Being a little family?” He smiles. “It’s uh.. it’s pretty cool.” John smiles. “She did amazing, I don’t know anyone can handle that.” You roll your eyes. “Didn’t have much of a choice.” You laugh.

After visiting for a couple hours, and everyone is gone, John is sitting near your bedside. You’re holding onto your son, tired eyes. He grasps your hand in his, placing a kiss on the top of it. “You’re a great mum.” He smiles. “You’re gonna be a great Dad.” You giggle. “I love you.” He mumbles. “I love you too, John.”

[corazondebeskar-reads]

nobody is coming to save you

Din Djarin x f!reader

originally for Febuwhump 2024 Day 14 - blood-stained tiles | Febuwhump masterlist

words: 1.4k

summary: You get caught by a Mandalorian bounty hunter after fleeing your marriage.

-- am I really a Din fic writer if I don't do a "reader is a bounty" story?

warnings: ambiguous/open ending (I may return to this one...), reader attempts to negotiate for her life, discussions of pregnancy/abortion/menstrual cycles (reader had an abortion, it's discussed without detail, do NOT come at me with discourse I will not engage anyway), mentions of blood, allusions to abuse

dividers by @saradika-graphics

“Nobody is coming to save you. Get up.” 

The words fell flat through the distortion of his helmet. Was it pity? Amusement? Disgust? He wasn’t wrong, though. The crowd that had suffocated the market lane moments before had mostly cleared in the wake of the Mandalorian. 

He stalks over to where you’re still sprawled on the ground. It didn’t seem urgent to get up, to make it easier for him. With a huge gloved hand digging into your bicep, he pulls. 

You go limp. You’re not going to help him, and you’re fairly confident he doesn’t have authorization to kill or seriously harm you. 

You’re vindicated when he holsters the pistol, not that it’s a pleasant victory. He cuffs your wrists in front of your stomach and then simply hoists you over his shoulder. 

“Where’s the cargo?” he asks. 

This close, you can almost hear the grit of his real voice beneath the electronics. 

You mean to ignore him, but his question is a thread that needs pulling. “What cargo?”

“He said you stole something from him.” 

His words churn your stomach like rancid Bantha. That worm. “Well, you’ve got it,” you say bluntly. 

He doesn’t question it, and you assume he’s clocked the ostentatious jewelry as the target. Trev always did like you shiny, whether with gemstones or tears. 

He’s probably a little rougher with you than he should be, given that you’re not running anymore. But he’s a bit kriffed over the whole situation. He only took the bounty because the price was so high — but not being allowed to carbon freeze the bounty was almost not worth it. 

But the client wanted his pretty little wife back without the side effects, and he was willing to compensate for it. He had said she could be restrained or gagged as needed. Had said Din would probably want to since the “bitch never shut up.”

It wasn’t his job to give a shit, so he didn’t. He did figure the client’s name would come across a puck sooner rather than later, though. Whatever he was peddling to afford this had the man under severe paranoia. 

He drops you to your feet at the bottom of the ladder and nudges you with the barrel of the pistol. “Climb up and wait. Don’t touch anything.”

He expects an argument, given that you both know the blaster is mostly a farce. He’d be willing to take a cut on the fee if you tried anything, though. A bolt to the foot wouldn’t kill you.

But you don’t. You climb in silence, with him close enough behind that your bodies overlap. You’re acutely aware of his helmet’s proximity to your ass, and he’s acutely aware that it’s been too long since he paid a visit to a brothel. 

He doesn’t manhandle you once he crests the platform to the cockpit; just jabs a finger in the direction of the seat to the left of the pilot’s chair. It sits slightly behind, the viewport partially obscured. He separates the cuffs and magnetizes them to the arms of the chair. 

The engines rumble to life once he’s seated, switches flicked, and buttons pressed in the wake of his deft fingers. He doesn’t speak a word to you.

When Karga answers the comm, he interrupts the man’s pleasantries to get right to the point. “I’m confirming the status of the bounty as requested. She’s alive and in custody.” 

“Excellent, excellent; I knew you’d make quick work of it, Mando,” Karga says, clapping his hands together. The holo flickers. “The client has requested that you avoid hyperspace travel upon your return.”

“What?” Din snaps.

“There’s extra compensation in it for you, of course.” 

“That’ll take eight standard days,” Din gripes.

“Your expenses will be covered, as well. Food, fuel, any lodging.” 

“Fine,” Din says and closes the line. He sits in silence for a moment, sifting through the new information, before he stands abruptly and turns to you.

“You’re pregnant,” he says bluntly. 

You dither about how to respond. In the end, you don’t. He can’t be trusted. So you purse your lips and look away.

No one needs to know that the first thing you did when you got far enough away was fork over one of your bracelets for a termination at a no-questions-asked clinic. They had been kind, if not overworked and undersupplied. 

“That’s what you stole, isn’t it? His baby?”

You don’t say anything, but you don’t back down from his gaze, either. His baby. The phrasing sets off so many warning bells it’s like a ship-wide alert. 

Din’s first instinct is anger. It’s too close to his own gaping wound, too close to where Grogu lives with Luke Skywalker, a man who hadn’t even given Din his name before taking his kid. And yeah, he’s supposed to feel like he did the right thing, but his son is gone, and it doesn’t feel like the right thing. Not at all.

He looks at you and wonders how you could be so cruel.

It doesn’t last, though. He’s seen enough to know the way this story usually goes. So, instead, he looks you over and sighs. “I’ll see what we can do for other accommodations,” he says, a loose hand gesturing to the cuffs. 

“Thank you,” you say, though you don’t feel very thankful at all. But you know a little politeness to your captor goes a long way. You know that like you know how to breathe.

It works until it doesn’t. On the fourth day, you wake up at the inn he had agreed to for the night and smell iron, and you know the ruse is up. You try to sneak to the fresher but quickly realize it doesn’t matter. You have nothing to hold back the blood, anyway.

You sit in your soiled panties on the cold metal tile and resign yourself to free bleed until he inevitably wakes and finds you.

You don’t wait long.

“We’re not far from a clinic,” he says cautiously, from where he leans against the doorframe. 

“Don’t need one,” you mumble, looking anywhere but him. It’s bad enough that you couldn’t come up with an explanation—knowing you’ve bled through enough that he can see it is on another level. 

“You don’t know that,” he says with what you think he thinks is compassion. “There might still be something they can do.”

The truth flickers across your face for only a moment, but it’s long enough for him to catch on. 

“It’s your cycle,” he says, flat and loyal to his thoughts. 

You nod. No use lying now. 

“Were you ever pregnant?”

“Yes.” Your voice is clipped, your face pulled sharp. 

“How long since?”

“Two weeks after I got away. Six before you found me.”

Two months. You had made it two terrifying months on your own. And now, thanks to this monster, you were being dragged right back. 

Trev had to have spent a fortune on this bounty. You feel feverish at the thought, a cold sweat creeping across your spine. And when he finds out you’re not pregnant…

Wait. 

“You know, you won’t get your money,” you blurt, hardening your eyes as you stare him down, shoulders squared. 

“I will. Whatever happened to you isn’t my problem.”

“No, you won’t,” you say, taking a breath before jumping in front of the proverbial blaster. “Not after you were so rough when you captured me, and I lost the baby.”

His head snaps to you. “What did you say?”

“When you found me. You tackled me, knocked me to the ground, and attacked me. The trauma was too much, and—“

And he has you pinned up against the wall where you sit, a hand around your neck. “You really think this is a smart idea?”

“Go ahead,” you hiss through his grip. “Leave marks.”

He lets go immediately, seething. His gloves creak as his fists tighten around nothing. 

“What if we can work something out?”

“I don’t negotiate with quarry. What’s stopping me from putting you in the freezer now?”

“My jewelry,” you say in a rush. His threat isn’t idle; you can feel its wrath as if his hand never left your throat. “It has to be worth at least as much as he offered. Tell him there was a complication, send him the ring, and you can have the rest.”

He doesn’t respond; just storms off. You, of course, stay put.

[nostalgiacauseitstrendy]

Unexpected Delivery- Kabal x F!Reader

So I had an idea of a reader who gets unexpectedly pregnant by Kabal and potential interactions the reader might have with other kombatants as a result of them finding out they're pregnant.

Warnings: swearing, mentions of blood, bodily functions, abortion thoughts.

Background:

Y/n is a kombatant, morally grey. Grew up in the south side of Chicago, living vagrantly and poor. Pick your own skills/abilities. Y/n is sometimes on the side of good, sometimes not. Y/n interacts with the Black Dragon faction every now and then for quick missions for quick pay, although she is not a dedicated member (merc; she doesn't like killing unnecessarily). Y/n and Kabal have been dating and getting busy for the past 10 months (and its poorly kept secret, everyone knows). Also (b/c this is my story, fight me) you are really close to Mileena. Y/n realizes Mileena is just misunderstood and just wants to be accepted and loved :) (this is relevant later).

Story:

"Fuck, fuck!" y/n paced in her bathroom what seemed like an eternity before shakily picking up the third and final pregnancy test off the side of their bathtub.

The two lines flipped Y/n's denial back on its head. Y/n was pregnant, and she had suspected so for a couple of weeks. Frequent urination, body aches, sore nips- all the alarms went off for Y/n, but those parallel pink lines struck like a ton of bricks. Was it worth telling Kabal? Should she just terminate? How far along was she? Y/n had to lean against the sink as these thoughts made her woozy.

Y/n unlocked her phone and began to type a long message to the speedster, but selected it all and deleted it. Y/n was lost in infinite possibilities. She would have to stop doing runs for the Black Dragon. What about Kabal? Y/n did not want their child to be exposed to any of the criminal syndicate, especially...Kano.

The words though, their child rung in Y/n's head, immediately spurring a flurry of butterflies in her stomach. She imagined Kabal with a goofy grin, speeding around with their child. She knew from the few times he's spoke on it, he values family and wants a big family of his own. She imagined their little family watching nerdy movies like Star Wars or Ninja Mime...

Y/n swattted at the air as to physically dismiss her thoughts. She had a mission today and that came first. She decided if she was going to tell Kabal, it would be after she completed this mission.

...

Y/n had to pick up some packages for the Black Dragon. Minus an excessive amount of stealth, this should have been a straight-forward and easy mission. All Y/n had to do was bust open the back of the truck and steal the two smallest boxes. Y/n drew a ragged breath before engaging. Looking through the poorly lit truck, she found the two smallest boxes surrounded by piles of larger boxes keeping those two in place. What are in the boxes? Who knows, Y/n does not ask, as she likes to keep some emotional investment apart from her despicable position. She does this for money, not for shits and giggles.

Reminiscing on her days homeless on the streets of Chicago, Y/n quickly moved the larger boxes before snatching the two and taking off. Despite her speedy pace, Y/n was not as fast as she normally would be, knowing damn well why. This cost her, however, as gunfire began to ring out. Y/n dashed off as fast as she could, but took a bullet near her lower abdomen. Y/n screeched in pain, but also fear- what about her baby?

Y/n gritted her teeth and kept running as fast she could, bleeding out in the process. Y/n reached the Black Dragon compound after 10 minutes of running. As she pushed the doors open, she drew a ragged breath, and the floor began to speed towards her. Everything went black.

...

Y/n groaned and winced, perceiving the bright lights of the infirmary through her eyelids. Realization hit Y/n like a ton of bricks, however, and she sat quickly and violently upright. Y/n let out a grunt before taking in her surroundings. As she quickly surveyed the room, her eyes met with a mask all too familiar. In a millisecond he was at her bedside, speaking 100 miles per hour. All Y/n could make out is "what the fuck happened?" "I'll never let you go on a mission alone again." "Those fuckers are going to pay..." Y/n drowned out Kabal's stammering once she saw a medic.

Staring at y/n, y/n asked the head medic, in merely a whimper, "how is my baby?" Dumbfounded, but lightly amused, Kabal said "I'm fine but what the hell happened to you? Are you okay?" Y/n would have laughed had not the situation been dire.

"The bullet just barely missed the babies. We ran some tests, from we can tell, the babies are healthy for three months." Holy shit, three months? BABIES? PLURAL?

Although he had a mask on, you knew Kabal was blank. For what felt like years, he did not say a word. Then, merely a pained whisper, Kabal asked, "why didn't you tell me?"

"I planned to tell you right after my mission. I legitimately found out this morning. I was still processing it myself."

Kabal sat quietly, before walking away. "Kabal, wai-," he was already gone. Tears began to form in the corners of your eyes. Was he just going to throw everything away? Just leave just like that? All the crying and the morphine began to takeover, and Y/n began to unwillingly drift off.

When she awoke, she was at her apartment, in her bed. Pacing in the living room, was the speedster. As rare as it could be, he was unmasked and in a plain white tee and black sweatpants. Besides intimate moments, Y/n did not see this casual side often. Kabal was known to be ashamed of his disfigurement. To Y/n, however, the burns meant nothing at all. You loved that man with every fiber of your being.

Kabal heard the sheets slightly ruffle and looked to see Y/n awake and dashed over. Staring down for a moment, is soft brown eyes met yours, vulnerability painted over them. "The doctor said its twins, said we'd know the gender in two more months." Kabal saying "we" was a relief, calming your heart rate and the warmth running up your throat. Y/n swallowed back the potential nervous vomit before stating, "I thought you were going to leave me."

Kabal flinched slightly, as though you'd physically punched him. "Why would I ever do that? Y/n...although sooner than expected, this is always wanted. A peaceful life, loving kids, loving wife..if you are offering me that, I would never pass it up."

Y/n was about to reply before you stopped. Wife? You involuntarily smiled and blushed at the idea before verbalizing that exact question, "Wife?"

Kabal smiled before getting up and speeding around to your side of the bed, digging in his pocket.

"I know I am bottom-feeder, a nobody." His brows furrowed for a moment, but then his face softened. "But you make me feel like I am somebody, Y/n. I forget the monster I see in the mirror every morning. You love me like no one has ever loved me, Y/n. There is nothing I want more to spend the rest of my life with you and this family we're making. Will you marry me, Y/n?" The beautiful black and diamond ring sparkled brightly.

Of course you said yes.

Interactions:

Kano: "Don't think just cause Kabal knocked ya up I am givin either of ya a break."

Y/N: "Wouldn't expect anything less, cue ball."

Kano: "Just for that, I am goin to make sure ya suffer."

-

Kano: "I gotta ask, is Kabal too fast in bed?"

Y/n: "Drop it."

Kano: "Ill take that as a yes."

-

Kano: "Don't think I am giving you paternity leave."

Kabal: "I'm taking permanent leave."

Kano: "In a body bag. Shame ya kids will be without a daddy."

-

Sindel: "So you let that bottom-feeder weaken you with a child."

Y/n: "Here I was, going to ask you for any pregnancy tips."

Sindel (disheartened): "Edenian pregnancies are different than Earthrealmers but, make the speedster give you backrubs."

Y/n: "Noted."

-

Y/n: "I gotta ask, any pregnancy tips?"

Sonya (face softens): "You're not going to like it but, low-strain exercise will actually help."

Y/n: "You're right, I didn't like that."

-

Sonya: "You better treat Y/n like a damn princess."

Kabal: "Yes, madam bootlicker." *sarcastically salutes*

Sonya: *sigh* "I tried, Y/n."

-

Sonya: "I don't know what Y/n sees in you."

Kabal: "At least Y/n didn't bang Johnny."

Sonya: "Now ya done it."

-

Cassie Cage: "Please tell me you're having a gender reveal party."

Y/n: "Maybe...."

Cassie Cage: "PLEASE let me plan it. Please."

-

Kabal: *regretfully* "Any advice on being a father?"

Johnny Cage: "Oh my god so first....When I first...you gotta be prepared for...'"*endless rambling*

Kabal: "I shouldn't have asked."

-

Johnny Cage: "So, finally settling down, eh?"

Kabal: "Choose your words carefully, Cage."

Johnny Cage: "Congrats."

Kabal: "That was surprisingly..genuine."

-

Kabal: "I am not going to make my kids watch your trash movies, Cage."

Johnny Cage: "C'mon, they're fun for the whole family!"

Kabal: "I don't want to fry their brains that early."

-

Y/n: "Look, I can pick anyone for Godmother, you can pick anyone for Godfather."

Kabal: "Deal. No quips about who I pick though."

Y/n: "Same goes for me."

-

Mileena: "Dearest Y/n."

Y/n: "I have to ask you something." *explains what a Godmother is* "Would you like to be the Godmother of my twins?"

Mileena: *tearfully runs and hugs you, no fight ensues, match ends in immediate friendship*

-

Kabal: "MILEENA? Are you serious?"

Y/n: "Like Erron is any better?"

Kabal: "She will eat them!"

Y/n: "You said no quips."

[ofstoriesandstardust]

tale untold (b.r.b.)

a/n: yeah i don’t have a good explanation for this one. not all of this was my evil genius, i do owe some of it to @struggling-with-delia​

summary: Rebel reflects. 

main masterlist | top gun: maverick masterlist | same mistakes-verse

warnings: pregnancy scare, fears of an unwanted pregnancy, birth control, missed periods, mentions of an abortion, mentions of sex, at no time is she ever pregnant, swearing, this one isn’t going to be everyone’s cup of tea

word count: 2.1k

You knew better than to be as careless as you had been. 

You’d long since known, ever since you decided you didn’t want kids, that you had to be careful when it came to seeking pleasure through sex. It was something you didn’t really enjoy anyways, meaningless hook-ups not boding well with you, and you’d decided a while ago to get off the pill, it creating problems for your body that were much easier solved by just getting off of it completely. 

Still, when you’d gotten together with Bradley, you knew it was important you were smart about this. You nor Bradley were in any position to be having kids right now.

And you had tried to be smart, but getting re-prescribed the pill had been more of a process than you originally anticipated, the base doctor making you go in circles before he would approve it. 

All it took was Bradley’s inability to keep his hands to himself one night and a heated make out session for you to risk it. 

What were the odds, right?

The odd’s it seemed, were pretty good. 

Not in your favor, one might say. 

I think I might be pregnant. 

The words swim on the screen through unshed tears as Bradley stands next to you. 

“It’s going to be okay, honey. Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out, okay?” He says, offering you his hand. You just look at him, worrying your bottom lip underneath your teeth. 

“Rebel?” The sound of your best friend’s voice echoes through the Bradshaw home. 

“In the bathroom.” Rooster calls, his eyes never leaving yours. 

“You’re a dead man, Bradshaw.” 

You both raise your heads to see Hangman, who’s smirking at Bradley like this is the funniest thing he’s heard all week. 

To him, it probably is. 

A girl with mommy issues he’s done nothing but bicker with since the day he met her getting knocked up by a guy she had only recently reconciled with after almost two decades is probably the highlight of his week. 

If he could, he’d probably sit back with a bowl of popcorn and watch the free entertainment. 

“What are you doing here, Bagman?” Rooster asks, a hint of irritation in his tone. 

“He was with me when Rebel texted me.” Coyote says, pushing the blonde out of the door frame. “Have you taken a pregnancy test yet?” 

You shake your head. 

“Then why are you freaking?” Hangman snorts, earning him a pointed glare from your best friend. 

The front door opens again, followed by the shouting of Phoenix’s voice. She appears in the doorway with Bob a few minutes later, a CVS bag in hand. 

“Okay, admittedly I wasn’t sure which ones were considered the most accurate so I bought you three different brands, just to be sure.” She glances up from where she’s rifling through the bag. “Bagman, why are you here?” 

“My presence was specifically requested.”

“No the fuck it was not.” Bradley says through gritted teeth. 

Coyote rolls his eyes. “He was with me when I got her text.” 

You groan, head falling as you reach up to rub your temples. 

“Rebel, chill. If you don’t want it, just get an abortion.” Hangman says nonchalantly, and even though you aren’t looking at him, you can practically see the shrug of his shoulders. 

“Have you... have you guys talked about anything like that?” Bob asks cautiously. 

“Obviously not, Bobby.” Hangman responds. “Otherwise they wouldn’t be in this predicament.” 

“But if you had a kid, oh, I could be an uncle!” Coyote exclaims, prompting another groan as your fingers press harder into your temple. 

“Yeah, but her career would essentially be over. A kid would change everything.” 

Phoenix’s words sit heavy on you, knowing how many female pilots have left on maternity leave and been pushed out. It’s a man’s world you were living in and you had known it since you were young. 

“What about my career?” Rooster exclaims. 

“You’re a man.” She deadpans. 

“Okay!” You nearly shout, voice hoarse and strained. “None of you are helping so please for the love of Christ can you get out so I can pee on the fucking stick?”

Everyone stares at you for a minute before Bob spurs into action, shooing everyone out of the bathroom before leaving with a quiet, “I hope you get the result you want.” 

You take a shaky sigh before running your hands through your hair. You take another minute, the anxiety swimming in your stomach before you stand up, grabbing one of the tests. 

After taking all three of the tests and washing your hands, you set a timer on your phone. You resume your seat on the edge of the bathtub, hands clasped in front of you as you grow more anxious by the minute. 

If you were pregnant, you were not having this kid. 

The thought that there could be an unborn fetus growing inside of you right now makes you nauseous as you try to remember to breath in through your nose and out through your mouth. 

You weren't meant to be a mother, weren’t cut out for it. You had known for years now that you would never have kids of your own. 

As crass as Hangman had been, you probably would get an abortion if that test was positive. 

The thought of giving birth, of the risks and complications, of having to take the time off of work to bring this baby to term, the weight gain and the hormones, the contractions and cravings, even if you gave it up for adoption, sounded like it’d be worse than a fork in the eye. Worse than several forks in the eye. 

And there was the added layer of not knowing what Bradley would do. Would he be angry with you for not wanting to keep it? Would he leave? 

Your Dad would probably be angry with you for being so reckless and careless about this, for making the same mistakes he had made that had brought you into this world. 

It was all too much, too overwhelming. 

You didn’t even have your own mother to turn to and lean on for support. 

The thought of your mother makes your chest feel tight as you suddenly wonder if this is how she had felt when she took the test. If this is how she had felt her whole pregnancy. If this suffocating, drowning feeling at the thought of being a mother had been what she felt through her whole pregnancy, of the first two years of your life, you think, for the first time in your life, you might finally understand why she left. 

The timer rings out, cutting off your train of thought. You take a shaky breath, standing from the bathtub as you steady yourself to look at the tests. 

Negative

Every single one of them were negative. You let out a choked laugh, relief bringing you to you knees as you slowly sink down to the cool tile of the bathroom floor. 

You would probably still have to go to the doctor, just to be certain, but this was a good sign. A good start. 

Tears rolls down your cheeks before you can stop them, the relief too much to bear. 

You sit there for a while more before there’s a soft knock on the door, almost unsure. “Honey?” He calls. “I’m going to come in, if that’s okay.” 

The bathroom door opens slowly, Bradley peeking his head in. He softens at the sight of you on the floor, tear stains on your cheeks as he glances at the test. 

“Upset?” 

You shake your head, wiping some of the tears away. “Relieved.” 

He nods, crouching down to sit next to you before shifting you to pull you into his lap. Your head rests on his shoulder as his arms wrap around your waist. 

“You’re probably just stressed honey. The last few months have been hard on everyone, but especially you. And you haven’t been eating properly and taking care of yourself like you should.” He says with a soft squeeze of your hip. “Those two combined probably explain the missed period and the nausea.” 

You shrug, knowing he’s probably right. 

“Bradley, I don’t want kids.” 

“Okay.” 

You lift your head to look him in the eyes. “No, I mean I don't want kids ever.” 

Yet again, there is that patient and simple “Okay.” 

It’s infuriating. 

Before you can create a snarky comment about just what he's throwing away by being with you, he takes your chin in his hand. “Honey, I’m never going to force you to do something you don’t want to. If that test was positive and you wanted that kid, I’d be all for us keeping it. If you wanted to get an abortion, I’d support that too. As far as kids go, I’m entirely neutral. What’s more important to me is your happiness and how I can support you best so that we stay together.”

“Sure, you say that now, but in a couple years down the road, you’re going to feel differently.” 

“No.” He says firmly. “No, I won’t. I want to be with you. I love you. And I’d love our kid if we had one together but I would love a life without them just as much. We have spent too many years apart for me to sacrifice it all now that I have it.” 

“You’re going to end up resenting me for this.” You mutter, earning a shake of his head. 

“Absolutely not. We can get a dog or something if it’s so important to you. But the not having kids doesn’t change my mind about you. Plus, you forget I’ve known you since you were in diapers. You’ve never really wanted children. I knew what I was getting into.” 

You sigh as he lets your chin go, leaning over to press a soft kiss to your lips. He shifts some of your hair to press a soft kiss to the shell of your ear. 

“You’re just going to have to trust me.” 

-

Bradley’s chest vibrates agains your back as he laughs at the Scooby-Doo cartoon on screen. Buddy’s curled up at your feet, a heavy ring on your finger holding the weight of the promise of forever. 

This, what you have with Bradley, is forever. He’s been making that promise to you since the day the two of you got together. 

Still, the memory is there. 

It carries a heavy weight of its own, the fear that had lingered. 

The two of you hadn’t had any more scares since that one, you’d made sure of it. But the fear of what you were denying Bradley had stayed. It was a fear the two of you had had raw, honest conversations about and you’d had to learnt to trust him when he said that he felt like he wasn’t missing out by being with you, that he was perfectly content not having kids of his own. 

“Do you remember when we had that pregnancy scare?” 

Bradley huffs out a laugh, his chest vibrating again.

“Of course I do, Coyote was practically building a nursery in his mind before you ever even took a test.”

It’s quiet for a moment as you piece the words together. 

“I’ll never forgive my Mom.” You whisper. Bradley shifts against your back, propping himself up. Your eyes are still trained on the young crew, tracking down the masked man behind the ghost. 

“But for one moment, just one, I understood her.” 

You sit up before Bradley has a chance to even process the words, earning a raise of Buddy’s head. You smile down at the dog. “C’mon Buddy, it’s time for bed.” 

You walk up the stairs with the dog, getting ready for to turn in for the night as Bradley follows you. It’s silent, Bradley not saying anything as the two of you get ready for bed. Even after the two of you have turned off the lights and climbed up under the covers, Bradley doesn’t say anything. He just pulls you close, your dog wedged between the two of you at your feet. 

He runs his fingers through your hair as you hear the AC kick in, reminding you of the summer heat existing outside these walls. 

Only after minutes more with just the hum of the air conditioning unit and the steady breathing of your golden retriever, does Bradley speak. 

“I love you sweetheart.” He whispers, shifting slightly to press a kiss to your collarbone. You smile, even though he can’t see it. 

There’s that promise again, the promise to always love you, to never leave. 

“I know.” You respond quietly. “I love you too.” 

And that’s your promise to him, that you’ll accept his love and return it all the same. 

[rxgirlie]

The Verdict- Chapter Nine

Pairing: Vincent Renzi x OFC

Warnings: familial trauma, abortion, medical procedures, medical terminology, discussions of birth control, protesting.

A/N: this chapter is extremely dark and heavy. if you have any trauma regarding abortion or subjects tied to it, please message me and i will give you a TLDR. i swore i would never, ever write anything like this but you guys asked for drama, and now you’re getting it. Also huge shoutout to @melancholicmelanin for being my beta. My elite employee.

Grumbling quietly in the back of the Uber, Leah, with all the politeness she could muster, requested the driver to keep driving. She recognized the neighborhood's landmarks, recalling specific apartments and details from her recent walks with Vincent to and from her current destination. The driver, growing increasingly impatient with Leah's distracted directions, muttered frustrations in French, navigating the streets aimlessly as Leah anxiously scanned her surroundings, hoping for a familiar sight.

"Stop!" Leah's sudden command made the driver slam on the brakes.

Quickly exiting the vehicle, Leah made sure to proceed towards her due diligence of tipping the poor man. Tapping away at her phone in a hurry, she overpaid the driver before giving a forced smile through gritted teeth.

"Thank you," she called out while crossing the street, "Uh, merci!"

Spotting a familiar figure smoking on the terrace above, beckoning her like an old friend, Leah hastened towards the door. Joan, draped in a silk robe, welcomed her inside with an understanding gaze.

"I had nowhere else to go," Leah confessed.

"Come inside," Joan ushered Leah through the foyer and into a cozy sitting room that Leah hadn't noticed during the party.

"What happened?" Joan asked, her concern evident. "Is Vincent okay? Are you okay?"

She sat down, gesturing for Leah to take a seat.

"Yeah," Leah shook her head, "No, I don't know?"

She sighed, "I, uh, left the restaurant in a rush after I saw, uh, well, Vincent and Sandra clearly having a moment. I left my bag with all its contents, and I didn't have anywhere else to go," she explained. "I'm sorry for ambushing you."

“A moment?,” Joan questioned, “What do you mean?”

Leah sighed heavily again. “He was holding her and caressing her,” Leah, visibly upset, said while wringing her hands, “And she touched his face, caressing his cheeks, and they just stared at one another.”

Leah’s voice cracked as she continued, “And I know that type of look,” Leah stopped long enough to wipe her tear stained cheeks, “I’ve been on the receiving end of that look.”

"I feared this would happen," Joan paused to grab a cigarette from the case on the coffee table and lit it. "History repeating itself."

Leah shrugged and sank back into the couch. "What the hell am I supposed to do?"

Joan nonchalantly flicked her ashes into a chic ashtray on the side table. "Do you want some tea?"

Confused by the sudden change of topic, Leah nodded.

"How do you take it?" Joan inquired.

Leah chuckled wryly. "I never drank tea until I came here, so however Vincent makes it is how I've been taking it."

“Black tea with honey and milk, I think?” Leah suggested, “That’s how he taught me.”

_______________________________________

An hour passed as Leah and Joan delved into discussions about what Leah should have done, could have done, and would do.

"You kept Vincent from his father, and yet, you're telling me that I should be honest with Vincent, disregarding everything I saw back at the restaurant," Leah sighed, closing her eyes. "Are you telling me to be honest with him because you have an emotional stake in this or because you think it's the right thing to do?"

"Vincent's father was a pickpocket by trade and a drunk by hobby," Joan explained. "I was twenty when I had Vincent, and I went back to Ireland to tell him about Vincent a year or so later, only to find out he'd knocked up the bartender at the local bar." Joan continued, "For months, we robbed, partied, and lived off Guinness until we were finally caught. I was arrested, deported, and found to be pregnant at the very last minute."

Joan lit a cigarette and pointed a finger at Leah. "So don't draw comparisons from me."

"But it's hard not to when you're telling me all these things," Leah said. "The only difference is I'm thirty-two, Vincent is forty-two, and I live on an entirely different continent," Leah stated, continuing, "We're old enough and established enough to have a child, but that doesn't necessarily mean we should."

"It's your right to choose," Joan said, “Even Vincent will tell you that.”

Joan lit another cigarette and pointed at Leah. "It's not my place to tell him about the child, nor is it my burden to bear," she continued. "But keep in mind that he is not some fly-by-night, piece of shit who's going to move on and pick up the pieces when you fly out of here." She ashed the cigarette, and Leah made a mental note that this is where Vincent must have inherited his chain-smoking gene. "He is going to be right where you left him, loving you all the same."

"See, the thing is," Joan inhaled sharply. "Sandra never loved Vincent back," she explained. "Maybe platonically, sure, but he fell hard, and I think he is now seeing what he lost but also what he has gained. You love him back. That’s the difference."

Leah shook her head, wiping a stray tear from her cheek. "But is that enough?"

Joan smiled sadly at her. "Is anything ever enough, lovely Leah?"

_________________________________________

For an hour, Vincent walked around Paris with an overpriced Prada bag in his grip. Leah had felt guilty the day she bought it, telling him about the people starving and the wars being fought around them. She expressed how selfish and materialistic she felt, but she didn't plan on being the richest person in the cemetery when she died. She intended to spend what she could while she still had a pulse. Vincent liked the way she rationalized the purchase and stood happily behind her with his hands clasped behind his back as the attendant took her on a guided trip through the store.

On this particular night, Vincent longed for the simplicity of those first few weeks they'd spent together. As he searched the streets of Paris as if she might jump out and surprise him around any corner, like the entire thing was one big joke, he wished he had never met her. Quickly banishing that thought from his mind, he realized it was a blatant lie. Convinced she had moved on in New York City, perhaps with the old flame she had mentioned weeks ago in a wine-fueled confession during one of their many midnight chats, he wondered why he continued to want her the way he did.

Then, as his phone vibrated and he squinted to read the brightened screen, a text from his mother read, "She's with me. Go home."

“Why is she there?” He texted back, walking aimlessly in the direction he had been going.

His phone vibrated again and he quickly opened the chat, “Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to.”

Vincent scoffed, forever humbled by his mother, and headed in the direction of her apartment.

_________________________________________

"Vincent, don't come in here to start an argument," his mother warned as she opened the door and gestured for him to enter. "And wipe that smirk off your face."

He complied silently, knowing well that his mother was not one to be swayed in an argument.

She closed the door behind him, tightening her robe around her before pointing a finger at his chest. "Do not wake her up."

He took a step back, raising his eyebrows. "She's at my mother's house."

Joan nodded firmly. "My house, my rules." With that, she turned and walked away, throwing a final warning over her shoulder. "You better not wake me or Tim."

He chuckled to himself, shaking his head in disbelief as his mother disappeared from view.

Taking a deep breath, he navigated through the dimly lit apartment, finally reaching the sitting room where Leah lay curled up on the couch. He let her bag slip out of his grip, the sound of it hitting the floor breaking the silence. Leah jolted awake, gasping, her eyes darting around the room in a panic as she struggled to orient herself.

"I thought I was supposed to be the one mad here," she remarked, sitting up and pulling a throw blanket around her shoulders.

"You chose to come here?" He inquired, a mix of confusion and frustration in his voice. "Why?"

Leah shrugged, a hint of defiance in her demeanor as she shook her head. "Where else was I supposed to go?" she retorted, her tone sharp.

"Leah, you should have gone home," He ran a flustered hand through his hair, turning to face her. "You shouldn't have run away from me," he chastised.

"Home is over three thousand miles away, Vincent," she retorted sharply. "What did you expect me to do?" Her voice cracked with emotion. "Stay and watch that? Put yourself in my shoes for once."

He shook his head, starting to pace. "What you witnessed was two people closing a chapter and moving on."

She scoffed, her tone laced with sarcasm. "Sure, call it that," she said, rolling her eyes as she locked eyes with him. "Maybe next week I'll walk into your apartment and find you fucking her, and we can label it as 'grief therapy.'"

He let out a heavy sigh, his gaze shifting to the ceiling. "What happened to you in New York?" He inquired once more.

She abruptly rose from the couch, pulling the throw tighter around her shoulders.

"I finally came to my senses," she declared, her eyes fixed on the Parisian street beyond the sliding glass door.

"Do you mind sharing, because I can't read your mind?" he asked, moving to stand beside her, both looking out onto the same street.

Leah met his gaze, tears welling up in her eyes. "That you're in love with her," she confessed, her voice trembling. "And I'm in love with you." Wiping away the tears hastily, she continued, "I came here to explore international law, to step out of my comfort zone, but I can't even tell you a single thing about French law because all I've been is a puppet on a string. I've played second fiddle to the ice queen of the Alps because you're so deeply in love with her, Vincent." A sob escaped her, and she quickly muffled it, torn between shame and fear of waking Vincent's mother.

"I don't even know you," she shook her head, a sense of resignation washing over her. "This should never have gone this far," she admitted, closing her eyes. "And I don't share. I refuse to play second fiddle to anyone," she declared.

Vincent chuckled incredulously. "There it is, that American brashness, always rearing its head when things don't go your way."

She let out a sarcastic laugh. "It seems to be a recurring theme, doesn't it? You never miss a chance to remind me of my Americanness." She tilted her head and met his gaze. "You'll eventually scold me for not learning French, one of us will jump out of a window, and history will repeat itself."

"What are you even talking about?" Vincent's face registered bewilderment as he spoke softly, mindful not to disturb his sleeping mother. "Have you thought this through? What's gotten into you?" he inquired.

"It's hard not to dwell on it after what I heard during the case," she sniffled, her voice tinged with distress. "That USB file is haunting me in the most unsettling ways."

"I may be many things," he reached out to touch Leah's shoulder, gently turning her to face him, "But I am not Samuel, and you are not Sandra," he reassured her. "You could speak an alien language, and I would still be in love with you just the same."

She nodded, resting her heavy head in the space between Vincent's shoulder and neck, surrendering, if only for one night.

_________________________________________

Leah had made up her mind before she had actually made up her mind. It was a familiar pattern, reminiscent of her second year of law school when she found herself with two different guys, rotating between them over a span of six months. She walked quietly into the Joan Malin Health Center, the same place that had been the center of protests the week before, causing chaos in the already bustling streets of Brooklyn. With Kate beside her, she completed the necessary paperwork, underwent an exam and ultrasound that they both averted their gazes from, and with a swift IV placement, she drifted off into unconsciousness. Sometime later, she awoke in a sterile, brightly lit room with Kate faithfully by her side. On the way home, Kate grabbed some pizza for both of them, a decision they both wholeheartedly agreed was the best choice, including the one Leah had made earlier in the day. Maybe it had been more emotionally charged that day, Leah couldn’t recall in the moment. Had it been that easy? Had she not felt anything?

It had been about eight years since that day, Leah estimated, as the Uber dropped her off in the sixth arrondissement, her former residence before moving in with Vincent. She pondered whether she would have even made the trip to Paris if she had become a mother back then. Would she have pursued a career in law? Pushing aside these thoughts, she relied on Google Maps to navigate the streets, drawing closer to the address provided by an associate of Le Planning Familial. The associate had promptly responded to her email late at night, providing her with a list of names and locations, allowing her the autonomy to choose where she wished to seek treatment.

Upon her arrival, she took a deep breath before entering the multilevel practice. After riding the elevator to the correct floor, she promptly checked in, grateful that the receptionist spoke English. She didn't want any additional challenges that morning, so she chose a seat far away from the other women waiting to be seen.

It seemed like hours had passed before her name was called, and she was ushered into what appeared to be a doctor's office. They meticulously reviewed her medical history, discussed the procedure, and outlined the pre- and post-procedure protocols. He recommended contraceptive devices to her, to which Leah declined for obvious reasons, not thinking of any sort of future outside of this building, this room. Adoption, she explained, wasn’t even an option to put on the table. Dr. Shah, as he introduced himself, noticed Leah's nervousness as he sighed and leaned on both elbows, studying her.

"It's not too late to change your mind," he offered sympathetically.

"It's not that," Leah shook her head. "I'm just trying not to vomit all over your desk." She placed her shaking hands under her thighs.

“Here,” he stood up and guided Leah out into the hallway, leading her to an exam room down the hall. Opening the door and flicking on the lights, Leah blinked a few times at their harshness.

“Get on the table and make yourself comfortable,” he requested.

Feeling cautious, Leah followed his instructions and settled onto the table, accepting the blanket he offered her.

As he exited the room, Leah took a moment to observe her surroundings. She glanced out the window, taking in the view of the city, and noticed the various pieces of art adorning the walls. Among them, she spotted delicate peonies painted to blend in with the earth-toned decor. If they were placed there for relaxation purposes, they most definitely were not working in Leah’s favor.

Leah picked up her phone and quickly FaceTimed Kate, whose blurred face came into focus after a few rings.

"Was I normal the day I had my abortion?" Leah asked without preamble.

"Leah," Kate began, looking around, "No warning at all?"

Looking past Leah, she asked, "Where are you?"

Leah sighed, "I'm at a clinic in France."

Leah watched as she walked into her office, sighing heavily as Kate sat at her desk, her numerous accolades and photos scattered on the shelves behind her. "What the fuck? I told you to come home, and we would take care of it."

"Was I normal that day?" Leah asked again.

"No," Kate shook her head. "You were shaking like a leaf the entire time, throwing up multiple times, and could barely sit still in that dirty waiting room."

"And those protesters," Kate rolled her eyes, "Their pamphlets were everywhere in the lobby."

Leah let out a shaky breath. "Why don't I remember any of that?"

"Because memory is tricky," Kate offered. "Come home, sissy cat, and we will take care of this."

A nurse knocked on the door and entered the room, carrying materials and a tablet. Leah motioned for Kate to wait, placing the phone beside her. The nurse offered Leah a kind smile, urging her to sit up as she tied a tourniquet around her arm. Nervously, Leah pulled back. "I'm not ready for the procedure, and I don't want general anesthesia. I have no one that can be here with me to take me home.”

"Not yet," the nurse comforted her. "I'm just going to start an IV filled with saline, give you some nausea medication, and medication for anxiety."

"I'll take it all," Leah relaxed and allowed the nurse to do her job. Within minutes, she felt calmer, a little lighter than she had in weeks. Following the nurse's instructions to undress from the waist down, a challenging task that Leah managed one-handed due to the IV placement.

"Are you okay?" Kate questioned as Leah picked up the phone again.

Leah shook her head. "Yes, no, maybe?" She closed her eyes. "I messed up big time, Kate."

"I gotta go, I can hear them discussing my case outside the door," Leah rushed out.

"I love you, sissy cat, and I'll love any little baby you have." Kate blew her a kiss and hung up the phone.

The doctor entered a few minutes later, wheeling an ultrasound cart in behind him. “Feeling better?” He asked, and Leah nodded. “As best as I can, given the situation.”

A few quiet moments passed between them as he set up the machine and had Leah lie back. The same song and dance as before: feet in the stirrups, the cold probe, warm gel, deep pressure. Leah wanted to make a joke about the French being prickly, about how kind and attentive they had been to her, but she quickly realized that was expected of people in their field.

"Once again, an IUD would be a great choice for you. I just want you to know all your options," Dr. Shah said, glancing up at Leah before turning back to the monitor.

"I know it looks like I'm a dumbass American who came to France for fun and got more than she bargained for," Leah sat up and locked eyes with the doctor, "but I took a Plan B and started birth control and still ended up in this situation."

The nurse placed a reassuring hand on Leah's shoulder. "We don't judge here."

“Mesure environ six semaines et cinq jours,” The doctor spoke to the nurse, who tapped on the tablet, nodding as he continued the exam.

And there it was: the steady beat of a drum, the galloping of horse hooves, the steady ticking of a wristwatch under a pillow. Leah thrummed her fingers along the exam table, keeping time with the rhythm, finding comfort in it as she closed her eyes, immersing herself in it.

The doctor looked up at her, his eyes on her dancing fingers, then back to her face. “Are you sure you want to proceed?”

Taglist:

@weakling-grace

@bibistatic

[ohtobeleah]

Oh please don’t hurt us too bad Leah. Terms of Endearment is just so good! It’s like a bad car accident that you can’t look away from.

Welp—oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit. I don’t think you’re gonna like this one then anon because shit just keeps spinning out of control. Here’s some Jake Seresin angst so I get get the tension out of my system. As always here the Terms Of Endearment Masterlist

Warnings: Domestic Violence, control issues, a intense verbal confrontation between Jake and reader. Mentions of abortion.

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

Jake Seresin wasn’t the type of person who had a lot of regrets in life. He firmly believed that every step he took was one filled with purpose and intention. Although he didn’t believe in a lot of things like the great beyond, religion like his parents did or little green men who roamed the galaxy, he did believe in the power of fate. He believed that everything was supposed to happen for a reason, good or bad. Whatever may come, whatever challenges he needed to face, whatever adversity he needed to overcome—he did so with the understanding that it was meant to play out whatever way it did. 

But if you asked Jake Seresin if he still believed in fate and destiny and purpose and if you were meant to have been caught up with Jaidyn Zeus Dolan? Jake would say that it was his biggest mistake not to have pulled you out before you got too entangled in the web of unfortunate events that would transpire. He would say that it was his own fault that you experienced everything you did in that relationship because he was the one that introduced you, set it up, and left you in his care. 

Jake Seresin would say that wasn’t fate. He’d say he failed you as a friend, as a brother. He failed to notice the signs even if they were written clear as fucking day right in front of him. He failed to see that if you stayed with Jaidyn Dolan your fate would be one that ended six feet under—and that was a fate Jake couldn’t possibly accept. 

“Thanks for letting me tag along.” Jake bumped into your side as you walked down the path towards your home. “Still can’t believe you’re pregnant.” He chuckled softly at the thought of you, his best friend, being a mother. “God you’ll be such a good mum Fe.” Your smile quickly faded when you noticed a few white trash bags on the curb right out the front of your house. Jake noticed too, frowning as you both approached them. You tore into one harpzaradly before coming to the realisation. 

“These are my clothes?” You mumbled as fury and fire ripped through your soul. “That Motherfucker.” You huffed out as you grabbed the bags. Collecting them all before dumping them by the front door. 

“I’ll take that chair if you don’t want it?” Jake tried to make a light-hearted jab at the recliner that had been thrown out next to the clothes that were just dumped into bags on the curb. He wasn’t all that sure what was going on as he followed you inside. He knew enough though that it couldn’t have been too good. You’d told him Jaidyn wasn’t all that keen on having this baby. That he’d asked you to get an abortion the second you told him you were pregnant. 

“Fucking Jaidyn, God.” It was coming out in mumbles as you gritted your teeth. Storming through the house till your font Jaidyn in the kitchen. “Hey—!” You shoved at his back, pushing him forward into the countertop before he turned around with an expression you knew all too well. He was about to have a go at you—only he stopped and balled his fist at his side when he’d seen Jake standing in the middle of the arch way. 

“What the fuck?” He settled with, he was always good at hiding the bruises he’d give you. Never in plain sight. He was calculated and strategic. He wouldn’t start hitting you wherever he could get a welp of pain from you until well after Odette was born. Until Jake was stationed in North Island. Until he’d separated you from everyone who ever gave a shit about you. 

“You put my shit on the fucking curb?” You raised your voice, feeling confident enough to confront him while Jake was here. You knew Jaidyn wouldn’t try it with him around. No. He’d just wait until later when you two were alone. “This is my home!” You reminded him, shoving him again, only this time he played pretend and stumbled back as if you’d actually been strong enough to force him back. 

“The fuck Fe!” Jaidyn retaliated as he looked over to where Jake stood idly by. “You see the way she fucking acts man, it’s psychotic.” 

“You can’t fucking do that!” You yelled, it was on for young and old now as you lunged at him, smacking his back and kicking him wherever you could. You knew that you’d get it later—but god you felt empowered with Jake's presence. 

“Yeah well— I want you fucking out!” Jaidyn shouted back as he dropped down and picked you up. Lifting you over his shoulder as you kicked and screamed and balled your first to slam against his back. 

“This is my house!” You sobbed. “I live here!” You screamed. “I live here! This is my fucking house!” It was falling out of you like a mantra of pleas. 

“Okay easy, easy easy easy—“ Jake saw that now was the right time to intervene. He knew you and Jaidyn had been having some issues but he’d never seen it play out before him. He loved you, how could he not when you were his sister? but he’d known Jaidyn for a good few years before the academy. They played lacrosse together in senior year of high school. Seeing two of his closest friends go at it like a pack of wild dogs wasn’t on his most recent bingo card. 

“I own this house!” You cried out. Tears flowing freely from your waterline. 

“Easy!” Jake interrupted as he grabbed you from Jaidyn's shoulder, pulling you back as Jaidyn stepped back with his hands up near his head in surrender. 

“The title is in my name!” You reminded Jaidyn. You probably shouldn’t have done that, later that same month he put the house on the market after forging your signature. 

“I’m not letting you live here! Not until I know you got that goddamn abortion! No fucking way—“ Jakes heart skipped a beat and not in a good way. More in the way of an aneurysm. Holding you against his chest, you tried to lunge forward but Jake's grip only tightened. 

“FUCK YOU!!” You spat. You could see the blood lust in Jaidyn's eyes. He was going throttle you later. 

“Look at you!” He shouted back. “All right? You’re fucking pathetic! You need to take a fucking personally god damn inventory!”

“Did you just say inve—you?” Jake saw his moment and he took it. Letting you go as he stepped in front of you. “You AA people are all the same, you want a goddamn parade because you stand in front of the other alcoholics and state the galactic obvious.” It was probably a dog shot to bring up Jaidyn's personal issues with alcoholism but Jake knew his mate was stepping over the line as well. “It’s the very definition of narcissism man—so will you please take a drink and shut the fuck up.” 

“Fuck up—!” You hissed over Jake's shoulder before he side eyed you. 

“Get to a clinic.” Jaidyn shook his head. “Before your shit gets moldy.” 

“Listen man.” Jake had really had enough at this point. “I’m not gonna get involved in your personal problems but don’t talk to her that way.” Taking a few strides toward Jaidyn, Jake balled his fist. “You talk to her that way again and I hear about it? You're done for.” 

Jaidyn Dolan knew at that moment he had to segregate you from your friends, from Jake specifically. He beat you black and blue that very night in all the places that could be hidden. He threatened Jake too—said if you ever told him a word, a single peep, he’d have no problem cutting his throttle cable. You knew he wasn’t bluffing. 

So you said.

Nothing. 

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

Bradley sat with his back against Jake's front door. His head lulled a little to the side as he fought off the urge to just close his eyes for a few moments. He couldn’t though, not with you and Odette sleeping on the mattress Bradley had helped you drag down stairs into the living room. It felt like he’d just taken it back up--but having you down stairs was the easier, more appropriate choice in terms of safety. 

He watched as you slept, Jake's baseball bat in his hand. Thinking of all the ways someone could try and get into the house. Bradley knew sometimes the lock on the front door didn’t work properly, so he decided that to give you an extra sense of comfort and protection he’d sit with his back against it for a while. That was four hours ago. Ever since he’d noticed you’d fallen asleep hugging your daughter tight, he hadn’t moved. He couldn’t. 

Bradley Bradshaw was a tired man, he was so tired that he’d started falling asleep for a few minutes at a time before jolting awake when he realised he’d allowed himself to drift off. He was so tired in fact that he hadn’t heard the back door unlock, open and then close quietly. He didn’t hear the footsteps coming closer to the living room and he definitely didn’t feel the presence looming above him. 

“Bradshaw—“ Jake whispered as he kicked his best friend softly. “Get up man the fuck you doin against the damn door?” Jake smirked as Bradley jolted awake, snoring out a gasp as he came to. 

“Holy shit how long was I out for?” Bradley looked over at where you and Dot slept soundly. Blankets and pillows sprawled around you both. “Fuck—“ 

“Long enough for me to come through the back door unannounced—“ Jake sighed, his eyes never leaving the space in the living room you had turned into a makeshift bedroom. “She get to sleep easily?” 

“Not really, said she was gonna stay up but I think when Dot went down Fe pretty much just gave in.” Bradley explained as he stood, rubbing his eyes as he yawned. “I think her body just told her to quit.” Rooster knew that if you could fight off the urge to sleep you would have. But you were emotionally exhausted. “You got here quicker than I thought you would? What’s the time like two in the morning?” 

“Three—“ Jake was quick to correct. “I was on the first flight out of Austin.” Silence lingered between the two aviators for a brief moment as they watched you and your daughter co-sleep. The hold you had on her was laced in fear rather than comfort, afraid that if for a second you let go she’d be stolen from you. Taken. “So my cars fucked is it?” 

“Oh yeah big time, complete write-off man.” Rooster smirked, tapping Jake on the shoulder softly as he pressed his lips together in a gentle nod. “He did a bang up job that's for sure.” 

“Fuck, I don't even know what we're gonna do Bradshaw.” Jake sighed as he made his way into the kitchen, rubbing his tired eyes as he made a straight shot for the fridge. “You want a beer?” 

“Beer sounds fantastic right now.” It was weird to think about how far Bradley and Jakes friendship had come. They’d always known of each other—ever since their first encounter at TopGun. They weren’t inherently friendly towards one another, it always seemed to be easier to argue despite their many similarities than to admit they had nothing to really fight over. None of that mattered though when Jake had saved Bradley's life. He’d done it without hesitation either. Against orders, against everything all of his superior officers were telling him. Hangman however, couldn’t leave Rooster and Maverick to just die, especially when he could do something to help. Ever since? They’d been two peas in a damn pod. Jake was convinced he’d do it again if he had to, because now Bradley Bradshaw had a family. A girl who would mourn his death and a daughter who’d cry for him every night. “Thanks.” Bradley took the crisp beer bottle Jake held out for him with a soft smile while Jake pretended to ignore the swelling, cuts and bruises that littered the expanse of Roosters knuckles. 

“So what exactly are we gonna do about this guy?” Although he hadnt slept, Jake was determined to talk it over with Rooster, to make sure they were on the same page. There was nothing more important to either of them than keeping you and your daughter safe. 

“I already warned him that if he even looked in their direction he’d be breathing through a feeding tube.” Wiggling his knuckles as he sat down at the same dining table Jake had nearly caught you and Rooster fucking on, Rooster took a sip of his beer, sighing as the amber liquid soothed his temperature. “But considering the circumstances I'm sure it only made him all the more mad.” 

“Yeah no kidding asshat.” Jake groaned as he joined Rooster at the table. “You know I remember this one time where Fe had asked me to go with her to one of her early ultrasounds for Dot before she was even well, Dot.” Bradley could already see the anxiety and pain riddling his friend, listening as Jake took another sip of his beer before licking his lips clean. “Jaidyn didn't even want her to have her, threw all her shit out onto the curb while we were out and I didn't even take that as a sign that something could have been wrong.” Shrugging his shoulders, Jake settled into the quietness as he turned his head to see if you were still sleeping, you were. “I mean, how fucked up is that?” Jake shook his head, disappointed in himself. “And then before I knew it she was just MIA, gone.” Again he shrugged his shoulders, only this time he looked back at Rooster who still sat across from his listening intently. “I thought maybe she wanted space to live her own life? I mean we lived in each other's pockets our entire lives, so it made sense that because she was a new mum she'd want her own space with her family.” 

“He shut her out?” Bradley filled the drowning silence as Jake nodded in response, holding back his own tears. 

“Yep, and I never second guessed it until it was too late.” 

“It wasn't your fault.” For the few minutes neither Jake nor Bradley hadn’t been watching where you and dot were sleeping, you’d woken up to the sound of faint mumbling coming from the dining room. “You can't blame yourself for the crap I put up with Jake, that's the dumbest thing I've ever heard you say.” You were sleepy, yawning as you spoke as your feet took in the the direction of where Jake sat. He was on his feet in seconds with arms held wide for you to walk straight into his warm embrace.

If there was one thing Braldey Bradhsaw knew for sure it's that there wasn't a single thing Jake wouldn't do for you. Watching as you accepted the warm embrace from the man who'd taken you in as his own sister. The two of you went deeper than the ink beneath the skin of your tattoos. And although you didn't share the same blood he was your brother and you loved him that's the truth. You were living different lives, heaven only knew, but if you made it back with all your fingers and your toes, come five years or twenty years, you'd come back together like nothing ever changed–things would always stay the same. If you were dying on your knees, Jake would be the one to rescue you. If you were drowning in the sea, he’d give you his lungs so you could breathe. 

“Hi–” You mumbled into his chest, pulling away after a few moments to look up as Jake looked down at you, he was trying so hard not to cry. His bottom lip quivering. “Okay, no, don't you cry because then i'll cry and then before you know it Bradshaws gonna be inconsolable and–” 

“Woah!” Bradley gasped as he threw his hands up in surrender. “Don't bring me into this!” It made you smile as he let go of Jake and made your way over to Bradley, taking a seat on his lap as he kissed your cheek softly. “Sorry if we woke you mamma–” 

“Its all good–” Your heart did a leap inside your chest at the term of endearment that fell effortlessly from Rooster's lips as he kissed the juncture of your neck, leaving small goosebumps in his wake. “Dont think ill be getting much for a while anyway.” 

“We’re gonna take care of it Y/n you don’t gotta worry about it alright.” Frowning, you looked  at Jake from across the table, giggling as you leaned into Roosters chest. 

“You sound like your in the fucking mob Hangman ease up.” 

“I already punched the dude so if he’s stupid enough to try something after that then he’s really not that bright.” 

“Yeah well.” Reaching out for Bradley’s beer, you took a quick sip before pressing your lips together. “You two never got to see the pleasure in that animal's eyes when he was caving my skull in.” The memory was yours and yours alone to bear the burden of. “So I highly doubt your warning would have done anything Bradley.” Turning to kiss his forehead. “No offense—but I really do think it would have been easier to just run than to stick around like sitting ducks.” 

“Sorry, what did you just say?” Jake sat up a little straighter. “When was that ever an option?” Maybe it was just the exhaustion taking, but that comment lit a fuse inside Jake.

“Jake—“ Bradley warned as you caught the sight of your daughter walking towards you. She’d woken up not long after your warmth had disappeared—dragging her comfort blanket behind her as she sucked on her thumb with tired eyes. “Now's not the time man come on.” 

“You were just gonna leave?” Ignoring Roosters warnings, Jake pressed on in his questioning as you got up to tend to Dot. Scooping her up in your arms as you stood at the head of the table. Rocking side to side to hopefully get her back to sleep before she was awake long enough to stay awake. “You were just gonna pack up and high tail it out of here like you haven’t made a life here?” 

“Well, I was prepared to go with—“ Bradley added under his breath before Jake sent him a deadly glare. 

“I don’t think I need to go into heavy detail about why that thought crossed my mind—“ You hissed. “But I’m not going anywhere, so just, drop it? Alright?” You were tired, that much was easy to tell, but tensions were starting to run high as the three of you tried to process the unimaginable. “I ran to protect my daughter once and I’d do it again if I had to and you don’t get to judge me for a second if I chose to do that you arrogant son of a bitch.” 

“Running away from your problems doesn’t make them go away.” Jake hissed as he finished his beer, standing from his place at the table as Rooster stood to stand between you. “Just makes them bigger, prolongs the inevitable.”

“Well in my case the inevitable is ending up six feet under or becoming another statistic in some domestic violence case study at some prestigious university somewhere!” You’d begun to raise your voice, so much so in fact you’d startled a sleepy Odette enough for her to start crying. 

“Here baby—“ Bradley cooed as you handed her over. “I got you.” Stepping out of the way so you and Jake could hash it out like adults. “You’re alright.” Rocking side to side as he worked to soothe the little girl. “Hangman, I’d back off if I were you, we’re all tired.” 

“Fuck up Bradhsaw you were just gonna run off with her!” Jake spat as he turned around to run his hands through his hair, taking a deep breath before he said something he’d regret. “You know what? I never should have gotten you involved in this crap!” Jake was just tired—he hadn’t slept since Christmas Eve and even then it was a shitty five or so hours. “I should have kept my mouth shut when Penny called about Jaidyn showing up at the bar—!” 

“What?” You frowned in confusion as silence fell throughout the house. Odette's soft sobs were the only thing that could be heard. “You knew he was here? In North island?” You tried to put the prices of the puzzle together as Jake stood there with wide eyes not knowing what to say after letting the fan of worms spill on the floor. “And you didn’t think to tell me?” 

“Rooster? Take Dot outside.” Jake asked, Rooster nodded as he took a few steps towards the front door but you were quick to race around in front of him, sliding on the hardwood floor in your soaks. 

“Take my daughter anywhere without my goddamn permission and I’ll fuck you up Bradley—that’s a goddamn promise!” 

“Y/n, I’m just gonna take her and sit on the porch swing alright?” Rooster knew you were just projecting your anxieties into the world, this whole thing was all too much for you to handle. “I’m not taking her anywhere, I’ll be right outside the door.” 

“No, no, don't you take my baby away from me.” It was the tears in your eyes that reminded Bradley how broken you really were. Reaching your arms out to take Dot back. Holding her as tight as you could as you sobbed. “Did you know?” Through painful heartbroken sobs, anguish laced your voice. “Did you know he was here and you didn't think to tell me?” 

Bradley didn’t know what to say, he’d only ever done what he was told to do by the one person who he thought knew you the best. Looking over his shoulder at Jake who stood there in disbelief at the scene he’d caused. 

“I just wanted you to have a good Christmas Y/n.“

“Oh god—“ cupping your mouth as you shook your head to muffle your sobs. “I can’t believe you two didn’t tell me.”

“Y/n—“ Jake thought it was a good a time as any to interrupt to try and de-escalate the situation he had accidentally caused. “Bradshaw was just doing what I told him to do.” 

“Oh good!” You raised your brows and you scoffed back Roosters way as he stood before you. “So you’d jump off a bridge if Jake asked you to as well would you?” 

“I don’t know what you want me to do here Fe, I’m just trying to protect you.” Rooster wasn’t going to argue with you and he most certainly wasn’t about to fight or tell you how to feel about this entire situation. After all it was your ex and you knew better than both him and Jake combined about just how far he’d go. You had every right to be lashing out. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but I thought I’d have a chance to after Christmas at least? I didn’t expect he’d try to run us off the road—“

“He’s a psychopath Rooster, what the fuck were you expecting huh? That he’d give you time to sit down and break the news to me gently?” It was then you turned your attention back to Jake, stalking forward as you pointed his way. “And you, you fucking left me!” Jake flinched at your words as your venom hit his skin. “You left me when I was at my fucking lowest so how god damn dare you try play some version of a saving grace when you and I both know the only reason why you let me stay here in the first place was to help your guilty conscience sleep a little easier at night!” 

“That’s not true and you know it!” Jake spat back as Dot cried a little louder in your arms at the shouting that was echoing off the walls. “You know that isn’t true—“ 

“You left me to rot! YOU LEFT ME BEHIND!” The tears weren’t stopping for either of you, Dot was a mess when Bradley finally had enough and took Odette from you again. He just held her against his chest, rocking her and cooing sweet nothings into her ear to settle her as you and Jake went back and forth. “You knew what he was doing to me and you still left me there with no support system Jake! God I couldn’t imagine where I’d fucking be right now if he didn’t drag us to California for a casino party with his buddies.” 

“I didn’t know.” You saw the way Jake gritted his teeth, you saw the way he clenched his jaw and balled his first in anger, not at you but at himself. “I didn’t know what he was doing to you!” 

“Yeah? Is that still the web you wanna spin?” You scoffed as a pained laugh escaped. “That day you told me you’d been chosen for some special detachment, you still think I gave myself that back eye?” Jakes cringed at the thought. He knew something was wrong, he just hadn’t put two and two together. “Or do you remember that you were the one who drove me to the hospital? Held my hand and stayed by my side as I gave literal birth to the daughter he never wanted a bar of?”

“You did that?” Bradley interrupted as tensions slightly died down. “Jake, that’s—“ 

“It was supposed to be Jaidyn, but he was too busy watching the cubs game.” You hadn’t stopped looking at Jake as he walked towards you. “I’d been in labour for a few hours by the time Jake showed up—she almost came out in the car.” 

“Listen to me you little shit.” You hated that Jake was three months older than you. “I know I fucked up alright?” He smiled softly, cupping your face as he tried your tears with the pads of his thumbs. “I know I should have done more to protect you but that’s what I’m doing now.” 

“I don't think you know what he’s really capable of.” 

“He doesn’t know the lengths we’d go to protect you Y/n.” Bradley was quick to add as she stepped a little closer. Jake stepped back to hand you over to the only man he trusted to love you the way you deserved to be loved. “He’s got no idea what I’d do for you, or Hangman.” 

You had to take a moment to breathe, take in your surroundings and just calm down. Shutting your eyes as you inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. 

“I’m sorry I yelled at you, both of you.” 

“You don’t have to apologise.” Jake shook his head, reaching out to take Odette from Rooster. She’d settled down when she saw you had started to as well. The second Bradley’s arms were free of your daughter, he was opening them for you. “We’re sorry we didn’t tell you the moment we knew he was in town, in retrospect? It should have been the first thing we did.” Bradley nodded in agreement as you hugged him tight. 

“I think I need to go to bed, I’m just exhausted—emotionally and physically.” Bradley looked at Jake over your shoulder as he kissed the top of your head. Jake just nodded, gesturing his chin in the direction of the living room . 

“Come on, let’s go get some rest, pretty girl.” 

“Jake? You okay to take Dot?” You asked as you turned around in Bradley’s arms. It wasn’t necessarily a question you needed to ask because you knew that the answer was always yes. But as Jake nodded, you felt a little better for asking anyway. 

“She can sleep with me, I got her—just please for the love of god get some fucking rest before you blow our heads off.” 

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

“Okay do you want Banana pancakes or cereal?” The next morning was a lot quieter in the Seresin x temporary Y/l/n Household. Odette and Jake had woken up just after you and Bradley. Rooster was still waking up, lying between the sheets on the mattress in the living room after you’d made your way upstairs to have a shower and freshen up after the absolute horror show that last night had become. 

“Pancakes.” Dot smiled brightly at her uncle as he placed her into her highchair. Kissing her forehead softly as he tickled her underarms gently, forcing a giggle from her that was the purest sound he’d ever heard. “Dop it, Dop it!” She squealed as Rooster made his way into the kitchen, walking in the see Jake stirring up your daughter. 

“You gonna offer me pancakes as well?” Rooster teased as he walked by and gave Dot a kiss on the cheek. “Morning bubba.” He cooed, ruffing her hair up as he made his way over to the coffee pot. The kitchen in Jake Seresin's house was definitely the hub of the household. 

“Do you not have a home to go to or something Bradshaw?” Jake teased back, reaching into the cupboard to fetch the box of pancake mix. “I don't remember offering you a permanent bed and breakfast package?” 

“Funny you mention it, I'm planning on going home today.” He hadn’t actually been home in a few days, and even before that for a few days he had been sleeping with you in your room at Jakes. Braldey had been spending way too much time in Jakes for walls than his own. He knew he had washing to do and lawn maintenance to keep up on. There was definitely a load of dishes that still sat dirty in the sink and a load in the dishwasher that needed to be unpacked. 

“Don't let the front door hit you on the way out bro.” Bradley smirked to himself as he let that bro that slipped from Jake's lips slide. Pouring himself a coffee and absentmindedly pouring Jake a cup too. “You gonna ask Fe to go with you or?” 

“I was thinking she may want a little space today, but I'll see what she's up to and if she wants to come over she's welcome.” It wasn't that Bradley didn't want to spend every waking second with you, but he knew if he left to tend to his own home today that you'd still be safe with Jake. “She seemed a little calmer this morning though, guess the whole thing kinda rattled her huh?” 

“Oh yeah, big time.” Jake chuckled as he poured the dry mixture into a mixing bowl, tossing Bradley a banana to cut up for Dot. “I've seen her get worked up before but last night was a whole other level, she terrified.” 

“Guess she's got a right to be when this guys as unpredictable as she says he is.” 

“Tooster can I pwease have some nanna?” Dot asked as politely as she could from her highchair, watching as Bradley cut the potassium rich fruit into small bite size pieces before scooping it up and placing it right onto the highchair table. No bowl required because he knew she was just gonna make a mess anyway. 

“Oh course you can darlin’.” 

“Hey Tooster can you pass me the milk?” Jake snickered to himself as Bradley opened the fridge and passed Jake the oat milk, a faint singing coming from the upstairs bathroom as he did so. “I heard her playing the Joanas Brothers before, year three thousand.” Jake added as he watched Bradley smile and look up with a questioning look. “She mentioned having and everything shower.” 

“The fuck is an everything shower?” Braldey asked as he heard you singing a little louder, laughing to himself as he sipped his coffee. 

“Something she does when she needs a full reset I guess? Shaves, washes her hair, does a face mask, tans, leaves my bathroom looking like some back alley spa." Jake shook his head as he mixed the pancake mixture. “I'm not kidding, bet you ten bucks she's up there with a face mask on using her hairbrush as a microphone, used to do the same thing whenever she’d stay at mine on the weekends before my mum decided she was a little too much to handle.” 

“Ten bucks huh?” Rooster smirked against his coffee cup, downing the caffeine before placing the now empty mug on the kitchen bench. “Be right back.” 

Rooster missed every second step as he barrelled up the stairs, heading straight for the bathroom he could hear you singing in. the door slightly ajar in case Dot needed something. 

“I can buy myself flowers–” You sang to yourself as you painted your face with the cooling mint mud mask. “Write my name in the sand–” Bradley smiled against the door for a moment, thinking to himself if he should even bother interrupting. “Talk to myself for hours–!” You got a little louder, a little prouder with your singing, tone deaf as ever but you weren't singing to a crowded arena, just little old you. “Say things you don't understand.” Bradley gently pushed the door open, you saw it on the corner of the mirror as you finished off applying your mask. A towel wrapped tightly around your body after your very refreshing shower. “I can take myself dancing–” Bradley just smiled, watching as you locked eyes with him through the mirror and grabbed your hairbrush.  “And I can hold my own hand–!” It was night and day to the side of you Bradley had seen last night, he much preferred you like this. Dancing, singing, smiling and loving yourself. You had every right to be scared though and he loved you either way. 

Turning around to grab Rooster by the wrist, you pulled him further into the bathroom, urging him to dance with you as you turned up the music you’d been blasting through your speaker. Spinning around in Bradley's arms as he swayed with you and kissed your neck, he knew you weren't singing to him, but to your ex. You deserved love, but first you had to learn to love yourself first.

“Yeah, I can love me better than, you can.”

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

Tags: @a-serene-place-to-be @lilyevanswhore @thescarletknight2014 @blindedbythelightt t @averyhotchner @emma8895eb @blairfox04 @caitsymichelle13 @oxxolovemelikeyoudooxxo @teacupsandtopgun @aemondssiut @feltonswifesworld87 @akalei349 @notjustsomeblonde @americaarse

[sixhours]

Chapter 2 - The Ghosts of Babylon

Series Chapter Index | Read on AO3 | Complete

Rating: Explicit, 18+, here be smut and violence Series tags: Joel Miller x You, Joel Miller x Reader, Joel & Ellie, mostly follows canon, LGBTQ+ characters, y/n is bi/pan, y/n is ~45, violence, pregnancy, abortion, medical trauma, emotional trauma, panic attacks, sex work, suicide, smut, slow burn, angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, romance, no use of y/n, reader has longish hair, Joel can lift you, smallish age gap (~11 years), I've probably forgotten some so please let me know <3

~*~

Boston QZ March 2024

You were one of the lucky ones.

After the initial outbreak and the chaos that followed, you were protected, ushered into a covered military caravan and housed in relative safety. You were only a resident, but your medical experience made you valuable. Most doctors had been infected in the early hours.

Most of them hadn’t run.

If you had been anyone else, you think you would have been shot. Instead, the military sent you to the quarantine zone in Boston, and you were drafted into FEDRA without ever having signed your name on the line.

Your cowardice in the face of danger was your saving grace, and you will never let yourself forget it.

You’re six years into the pandemic when you’re summoned to the colonel’s office for a special request. FEDRA wants you to travel to a sparsely populated territory outside the QZ and embed yourself there, do threat assessments, and send the intel back to your higher-ups. They frame it as an outreach program for recruitment and a means to get ahead of terrorist threats, but you understand the unspoken implications.

They want you to be a spy.

You protest, but it’s a half-hearted attempt. You know they aren’t offering you a choice.

You train for combat and survival. You learn how to shoot, how to run, how to fight, and how to hide. And then FEDRA packs you up and sends you off into the wilderness of what used to be Pennsylvania, joining a small outpost east of Pittsburgh. There are no terrorist threats to be found, only starving, freezing civilians, hordes of infected, and so much desperation.

You return, six months older and with only a few bruises, so they send you out again. And again. And again.

As it turns out, you make a good soldier. You don’t ask what FEDRA does with the information you find, and they don’t tell you.

On your fourth mission, you come back with more than bruises. The burgh of Everglade, forty miles north of a ruined Jacksonville, Florida, wasn’t as welcoming as you would have hoped. You’d been savagely beaten and sent back to Boston, less weapons and supplies, a walking warning.

Don’t fuck with us, FEDRA.

But there’s a hard seed of grit in you that felt fair was fair, that you deserved whatever punishment you got. You sutured your gashes, reset your broken nose, and took your next assignment.

~*~

By the time Joel Miller and Ellie Williams are staggering across the Jackson threshold for the second time, in the spring of 2024, you’re opening the door of your Boston QZ apartment to a man in weathered FEDRA fatigues.

“Hey,” he says, barely meeting your eyes. “Waller wants to see you.”

“When?”

“0800 hours.”

“Fine,” you say. He doesn’t respond, lingering in the doorway until you’re forced to ask, “Anything else?”

He ducks his head. “Got any plans tonight?”

“I do if you have the money.”

Unsurprisingly, FEDRA doesn’t pay well–doctor, spy, or shit-shoveler. But you’ve found other ways to get by.

The man– a boy, really , you think–reaches into his pocket and pulls out a crumpled stack of ration cards. You take your time counting them before pocketing the payment and stepping aside to let him enter.

His hands are on you before you can finish closing the door, greedy and wanting. You let him push you up against the wall, tipping your head to give him access to your neck, already tuning out his gasps and moans and clumsy thrusts.

~*~

Afterward, he’s panting on your mattress, and you’re fumbling on the nightstand for a lighter.

“You know those things’ll kill you,” he mumbles.

“Fascinating,” you respond dryly, finding the lighter and putting the cigarette to your lips. You allow yourself one long, slow inhale. You hold the smoky air in your lungs as long as you can, savoring that first and only hit, before tamping the cigarette out and rolling it up in a piece of foil for later. “You can go.”

You feel his hand slide over your ass and you flinch away, standing and gathering your clothes from the floor.

“C’mon, baby. I gave you extra.”

“Yeah, and you shorted me five last time. Go.”

He growls. “Fuckin’ bitch.”

You ignore this, slipping a clean-enough tank top over your head, pulling on your jeans, and heading for the kitchen. You’re putting a kettle of water on the hot plate when you hear the metallic snick of a blade behind you.

You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.

You tense, listening, waiting, until you feel the hint of a blade at the side of your throat.

“How about you suck me off next time and we’ll call it even,” he whispers, breath hot in your ear.

You dive to one side, wrapping the man’s arm with your own, knocking the knife away. It skitters across the floor, lost under the radiator. Your left hand grips the man’s wrist and pulls it back as you slam your right hand into his shoulder, forcing him down against the counter. You twist his arm until you imagine you can hear the tendons creaking.

The man screams in pain and surprise. “Whoa no shit I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m fucking sorry don’t–”

You slam your full body weight against him and twist his arm back and up with a sharp snap , his wrist giving under your practiced hands. Another scream, this one feral, as you release the man’s arm.

“You broke my fucking wrist you fucking cunt!”

“Fuck off or I’ll break the other one,” you pant, shoving him toward the door.

“You’ll fucking hang for this!”

“Yeah?” you spit. “You say one word and I’ll make sure your dick never touches another girl in this QZ because it’ll be sitting in a jar on my fucking desk.”

He sneers, but there’s no threat in it. He slouches backward with an angry sob, cradling his broken hand and fumbling with the door, all the while trying to keep his eyes trained on you.

You lock the door behind him and slide the deadbolt home with unnecessary force. 

Fuck.

~*~

Colonel Waller doesn’t look up at you when you enter his office, his greeting just a single word.

“Wyoming.”

You frown. You’ve never been west of Ohio.

“We lost an asset in Utah. Fireflies.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah. ‘Shit’ is about the shape of it,” he sighs, finally looking up from his paperwork. “We had someone in KC but they’ve gone radio silent. We assume the worst.”

“So…I take it the target’s in Wyoming?”

He nods. “We suspect several Fireflies are holed up in a town called Jackson. It’s big,” he continues, sliding you a sheaf of folded maps across the desk. “Our scouts…haven’t made out so well.”

“How many came back?”

He looks at you blankly.

None.

“We need to know how many warm bodies, how much firepower, do they have patrols and when, are they collaborating with anyone else in the area. We need–”

“I got it,” you say, pocketing the map, an aching exhaustion deep in your gut. “When?”

“There’s a supply run headed west tomorrow. You’ll camp with them until KC, then make your way in on foot. We expect radio contact every six weeks; if we don’t hear anything by then–”

“You’ll assume I’m dead,” you finish.

He interlocks his fingers. “Any questions?”

You shake your head.

He nods and goes back to his work. “Dismissed.”

[liminsendhelp]

Don't pet the flea cat

Price×f!reader

Tags: slight description of reader (chubby, muscular, strong, denying gender as a concept), possibly slightly sociopathic/autistic reader, profanity, denial of authority, evil scientist on the way to becoming. tags and warns are the same as in the last post, srry, I don't have time to make it more civilized and readable. Enjoy

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4.

Feck, the next Si thing is gonna be called "coming undone" cos I like korn and I'm funny. just saying

It was decided to start tomorrow.

After breakfast. Which you and Price would attend together. You sleep off the night, decide to skip the rewashing of your bones from a bunch of failed abortion victims smoking at the wall opposite. The thought of talking to them makes your stomach turn. It's disgusting.

At seven in the morning, you're standing at the gym door waiting for Price. You have a huge tracksuit. It's black, it's old, but it's intact. You brought it for the occasion. The lucky one when you'd have to participate in experiments and you didn't want to sacrifice normal clothes for stinky rodents. You end up using it for the same thing.

You hear footsteps at the end of the corridor. "I agreed to this so I could go through the archives. Not to get military training." "And yet. You're here. That's gratifying."

Half an hour. Half an hour of warm-up, treadmill leading to exercise, baffled breathing, and endless sweat. He asks if you need to rest twice. But, God, you just smile and refuse to take any extra indulgences. He's already treating you almost gently. It's infuriating. You're not that weak.

So you grit your teeth and do what you have to do. For the sake of it, you push yourself with workouts at night, and days when some crappy scientific "War and Peace" can only be read while doing push-ups.

"Ever lifted anything?" "Only people." "Weight?" "Last one was three months ago. I was carrying some bloke in my arms. Five kilos bigger than me." You know you're digging yourself a deeper hole than you need to. But really, it doesn't seem like a test, just a regular workout together. Price is calm, attentive and strong. In his wrinkles you see traces of history. There's an skies in his eyes. You wait for your judgement. Your tongue tastes like blood, your throat is sore. You can barely keep your breathing steady without seeming even weaker. Pryce's gaze stops at your neck, the accelerated pulsation of a vein under your skin. "Rest." "I…"

A heavy hand covers your shoulder. A slight push, and you're sitting on a bench with a bottle of water. Wanted to test, now patronising? You blink, blatantly expressing your outrage.

"Don't be stubborn, you can't stand up straight." "Make a nasty joke yourself, I'm tired." You say finally, opening the bottle.

He hums, stepping away to finish his workout without exhausted you. In the couple of days you've known him, it's become strangely easy to imagine the curve of his mouth beneath his silly beard. No. His t-shirt is scuffed up. His body is hairy, too. Ugh. Even that fucking snail trail is straight and… Better than yours. That's not jealousy.

"Ghost." You drop it after a couple of sips. "Always knew how to surprise me."

Changing weights on the barbell. Heavier, heavier, and heavier. You find yourself not wanting to pull more answers out of him, content with fatigue and the sight of someone else's strength. Imagining yourself as an emperor is much easier, watching a gladiator. Enough. Scratching your lower lip with your teeth, you sigh and leave for the shower.

"Wait by the stairs when you get out."

You raise your thumb in the air without turning around.

Seven minutes and twenty-five seconds later, you're standing, washed, dried, and changed. You share a locker with a nice girl who has agreed to give you her number (phone number too) for the nice bonus of three cigarettes. That way you don't have to go through the annoying process of having your name confidentiality violated. Retreating to the stairwell, you open the door to observe but not be observed. Hidden in the shadows of the lower stairwell, next to the mops and a couple of buckets. You wait in silence for him for the fifteen minutes that remain before you leave for the enemy camp. This would all be a lot easier if he were at least a medic. That's what you've been thinking about for hours now. And it's awful. It's disgusting. You know you're falling in love before you're ready to admit it.

For what? That intelligent look in his eyes? How soft he seems compared to everyone else here? Like a boulder amongst the shards of glass and metal. For a little patience and understanding. No, medic's too soft. You'd have less trouble with your feelings if he was a serial killer. A maniac. But he's not crazy. You feel the humming walls of empty space echoing inside his soul. Price seems like a good man, even as Captain. And the fact that he's good at separating himself from himself doesn't let you relax for a second.

Overdeveloped emotional intelligence scares the hell out of you. Because it means he sees you, too. Like that's not a turn-on. Anyway.

He'll be leaving to play hide-and-seek with death in about a month. Official word is that your downsized staff will be moved to new quarters in about three months. Remodelled. Who do they think you are? You signed so many agreements during the transition, there's no doubt something's brewing. On your first day at the base, you joked that they wanted to organise you into a science underground. Dr Moon didn't laugh. So one month, and you'll never meet again. Until then, your only purpose is research.

Ghost didn't eat. Not in front of you. Two days passed. The first interviewees were Soap and Gaz. They were on the list of those whom Price himself was prepared to provide as interviewees. The night before the third day, you did go out for a smoke. It was unbearable.

Five interviews. Three on the first day. Unfocussed answers, half-friendly, half-professional atmosphere. You filled in the blanks not only with the obligatory material, but also with voluntary additions. You had their medical records on hand in printed form. Folders of examinations from the past years. You asked, and only one of them confessed to having lied in the last year. His arm was still sore from the wound. The others were silent. Their incredulity was forgivable. It was only fair, considering you'd still be going through their files as meticulously as possible. Or maybe you wouldn't. Ordinary blokes, nothing criminal. They've all got morals twisted in the same inhumane way that any military man has. Something about duty, about calling, about wanting to help people. Their good intentions were just an assumption. The stupid cruel jokes they allowed themselves while you watched them that evening said more than necessary. Ordinary blokes, ordinary brutes, ordinary dogs. On the second day, Gaz and Soap happened. You don't see Kyle as "Gaz." He's more of a beagle with the intelligence of a parrot (in a good way). Perhaps because of your prior acquaintance, he finds himself a little more relaxed in your company. And allows himself to deny you a look at his medical records. What the fuck. Fuck. You don't smile, just nod, knowing you'll be going back to his files anyway. But, you're willing to do the favour and consider the other candidates first in your work. You pray to your luck that Soap doesn't turn out to be that smart. Unfortunately, luck responds by making him just incredibly annoying. He's joking. No. He tells shit jokes. And not the fatherly type, oh, all the ones that crawl out of Johnny's mouth and fall in a gooey mass at your feet - vulgar, filth.

"That's why you're not married." "How do you figure?" "All your jokes are from porn."

So you're annoyed. Soap has poured such a flood of information on you about every wounding he's done that you're left in no doubt - he's just messing with you. And you have to sit through mountains of reports and thoughts, trying to piece together in intervals the scraps of callus masses that have stuck to your efforts at systematisation. At three o'clock in the morning you pull your petrified arse off the chair and go for a smoke.

So, the wall opposite the wall of smokers. This time, they don't stare at you when they notice you. You're just waved at. Don't get mad. Let them get you emotional once, and you've already lost. You spend a second forming your mask, before walking up to the group with a wry grin. "There she is, the captain's mutt." "Envy is bad, poopsie." You're tired enough from hours on the job not to make any sudden fist movements towards his unbroken nose. Especially since the soldier behind him is already slapping his backside and hissing about how he's going to kick his arse for treating a woman like that. "I meant the wag!" "Fine, so you think before you say shit, hm?" "That's what everyone's talking 'bout!" "About the fact that I'm his…" You take the cigarette out of your mouth, and exhale the smoke downwards without taking your eyes off the joker. The light in your hand is aimed precisely at him. He's silent. "Come on." He's silent. "Come on, keep going." He sighs and scratches the back of his head. You take another puff as the soldier picks up the excuses.

"You mean that rumour I'm his girlfriend?"

A spit in the sky. Exactly at the star. The soldier coughs it up crumpled.

"Well, or fucking him, you can phrase it however you like." "Stop it!" "What's so confusing to you? Quite possible conclusions. It's 'k. You need to amuse yourself. So, keep talking." You take another puff, this time exhaling the smoke exactly into his face. He tolerates it. "You don't think I'm in any kind of relationship with him, do you?" "Sat down with him the first day you were seen together, driving around, fraternising with his crew."

"Standing out, then. Coming out of nowhere, doing whatever I want, talking to people you'd be scared to look at, let alone breathe next to." You cluck and shake your head in feigned sympathy. "And the only option to achieve all that appeal is sex. Am I understanding this logic correctly? And since I'm someone's… mutt, I can't be touched or Daddy will come and fuck you after he rips those uniform trousers, hmm?"

He snaps, says something, but you cut it off with such a disappointed sigh that the soldier immediately thinks of his mother. "I'm leaving. I'm late to pee in the corners and ask for a bone." You say and you bark unemotionally. You didn't think it would start so soon. Well, if it does, it'll be quicker for those idiots to finish all the rumours. Or they'll finally decide you two are together. You weren't going to deny it, you weren't going to change their minds. That would only convince them you were right.

In training, you feel as drained as possible, still completing all the exercises. You don't leave early, as you've done the last two days, but stay, watching Price for a while. He clearly senses that a question is about to follow. You decide not to leave him waiting for long. "Are you married?" "No." Looking still equally thoughtful, you nod. Your lips tighten, your fingers drumming on the bottle cap. "Would you say that your attitude towards me is different from the others on the base?" You say as he finishes the set. "Yes." Short questions, as if you're interrogating him. "Should I be wary of your groupies?" "Are there precedents already?" "Oh, more. There's already a nickname."

About an hour earlier, just before you leave, you're caught by Dr Moon, who doesn't bother to hide her smirk calling you 'Captainess'. Adorable.

"Mutt, Captainess." "They're bored." "Same opinion."

He walks over to the bench you're sitting on, wiping his face with a towel. You hand him a bottle of water. "On the other hand, if they think you're a little more important, will make contact sooner." You raise an eyebrow. "When you come to interview them, I mean."

Of course he's got it all figured out from the start. You have a sneaking suspicion that your reputation might be playing backwards. Or it's just another test. Sometimes you thought your paranoia was taking too important a position in the decision-making battles. But, if you go straight and ask now, would it be… even more suspicious and straightforward than it is now? It's silly, but you say nothing, nodding, going off to separate showers with Price and not thinking about the scrambling anxiety.

Ghost is, again, not eating. He's not with his team twenty-four hours a day, yet he's almost always with them, as if he doesn't think he can fight them off. Not as a guard dog, but as a piece of the puzzle. Except he feels the urge to complete their picture, or does he just not want to feel lost?

You cross out the questions on the sheet again, knowing it's futile. Idiotic. Why the fuck did he say yes? Fuck.

You're not nervous, but Ghost can't help but inspire caustic respect for his strength and stealth. "Totally unlike me," you lie to yourself. It's easy to recognise a mortal possessive when you're the same. When the place of emptiness is taken by something, that something only comes back out gutted. After the last time, you try to stay away from anyone. And all that understanding, respect, keeps you from asking the same annoying questions. You've managed to interview everyone left behind. A reduced list of questions, a learned tactic. Habit. That part of you, laying fallow, covered in the dust of reclusive work, takes root in the top layers of the mask. Sociality, that's it. Ghost is late. You sense it even before he doesn't show up in the appointed frame of time. The sun hasn't yet had time to roll down the axis definitively. You don't switch on the overhead lights, letting the natural light do its job. So far, there's plenty of it. A depressing sight really. But soon, pretty soon, the night will be stretched out for most of the day. Mid-autumn, after all.

When Ghost comes in, you're standing against the wall, making yourself some tea. Not bagged, but real, leafy tea. That's the third reason the rank and file co-operate with you. A handful of insults, a couple of cigarettes, a pinch of good tea. You notice that all the tension around you goes down. You, too, become a piece of the mosaic in this picture. So, in the warmth of the passing day, you mutter a simple tune, adding thyme to a large mug.

Ghost watches, appreciating the immediacy, the humanity of that soft and inner, beyond the shell. It is as if there is no threat, no limits to the room. There is only warmth, steam from the hot tea, and even the sunlit dust stops, afraid to leave the moment of peace. And you stand, making your delicious tea. Settled, at home for a second, completely unafraid. Like a snail getting a new shell. Like you've always been here.

Something, inside, in a cut for the soul, where he doesn't dismiss the possibility of foolish and civil happiness (if not for himself, then for his loved ones), quietly clicks.

Not a maniac, just a lost girl.

The dust specks still drift in the air the same way, the light framing the artistic shagginess of your hair. Nothing changes for a second, three, ten, and then Ghost sees your ears rise, your back tense, your humming quieten. You don't look away from the window where you've been staring at the ant milling about for the last minute. But you let him know you know, as if he hadn't noticed it himself.

"Do?" You lift your mug of tea. "Do." The door closes behind him.

When he leaves, you're devastated. Because, he really did answer questions. But you can't take any of this into work. It's too much revelation and secrecy. It's too much revelation and secrecy. Ghost almost put his cards in your hands, willingly. Another test? No. Is this how your relationship with Price affects your reputation? There's two empty mugs in the corner, next to the sink. You don't wash them, so you can keep the confirmation of his ghostly presence and the story you'll take to your grave.

[kybercrystals94]

Focus Up

Read here on Ao3!

Angspril 2024 | Day 15 | Prompt 15: Confrontation

Rated: G | Words: 816 | Summary: A training exercise doesn't end the way the siblings expected. | Character Focus: Omega, Hunter, Echo

Slight content warning...someone gets a bloody nose.

“Focus up, Omega!” Echo calls from the sidelines when Omega’s gaze drifts again to the sparkling white beach and frothing surf. 

Omega turns her head to look at Echo and misses Hunter’s quick sweeping motion that knocks her legs out from under her, sending her sprawling forward across the soft, silty ground. Pushing herself up, Omega spits out a mouthful of grit. “That isn’t fair,” she growls, “Echo distracted me.” 

“You distracted yourself,” Hunter chides gently. “Do you think your enemies will wait for you to be focused before they strike?” 

“No,” Omega huffs, rolling over into a sitting position. “But why do we have to train today? I’ve never been on a beach before, and Wrecker promised he’d show me how to build sandcastles.” 

Hunter smiles at her and holds out a hand. “There’ll be time for fun after training. C’mon, let’s go again.” 

Omega takes his hand and Hunter hauls her up to her feet.

“Get in position,” Hunter says.

Halfheartedly, Omega changes her stance. Hunter adjusts her left elbow and right shoulder, and lightly kicks the heel of her boot to make her bring her foot up. “Good. Now bend your knees a little more, keep your center of gravity low.” 

“Will my enemies wait for me to get into position?” Omega snarks irritably. 

Omega is slightly annoyed when Hunter chooses endless patience instead of reacting. “With enough practice, getting into position will be second nature.” 

Once her brother is satisfied with her posture, he stands in front of her, slipping into his own familiar placement. “Start!” 

Omega is a flurry of frustrated movement, going through the maneuvers she’s been taught while Hunter easily blocks each strike. With a surge of adrenaline, Omega decides to try something different, wanting to catch Hunter off guard. She goes for an uppercut, which Hunter starts to block; however, she aborts the movement just before making contact and dives for his knees. Hunter isn’t ready for the sudden attack, and is nearly toppled; however, he moves to recover his balance. As he disentangles himself from Omega’s grip, his knee comes up and catches her hard in the nose. 

Omega lets out an involuntary yelp of pain, her vision going black for a moment as her body registers the blow. Falling back, she cups her hands over her nose, already leaking blood. She isn’t crying, but tears run down her face and blur the image of Hunter kneeling in front of her. 

“Move your hands, let me see,” his voice is saying over the roaring in her ears. She gives a tiny shake of her head, but Hunter gets more insistent. “I need to check if it’s broken, Omega.”

 Gingerly, Omega lowers her hands, being careful not to touch them against her clothes. Not that it matters with blood dribbling down her chin and neck. 

Hunter inspects the damage, gently prodding the cartilage. “Doesn’t seem to be broken. That’s good. Here, lean forward a bit and pinch here.” He guides one of her hands up to do as he says. “Echo’s getting a cold pack.”

Omega groans, closing her eyes as tears continue to escape without her permission. “I’m not crying,” she tells him, her voice sounding funny with her nose plugged. 

“I know you’re not,” Hunter soothes, patting her shoulder. 

“That’s one way to get out of training for the day,” Echo’s voice says beside her. 

Something soft and chilled presses lightly against the bridge of her nose. Omega hisses in surprise. “I didn’t do this on purpose!” she protests weakly. 

“We know, kid,” Hunter says. “And good job. You almost got me there.”

Echo chuckles. “Getting an injury during training is like a right of passage.”

“Yeah, sorry about that, Omega,” Hunter mumbles. 

Omega grins behind her hands, peeking one eye open to look at Hunter. “But I almost knocked you down? Really?” 

“You should’ve seen his face,” Echo says. “If I had taken a holo, we would’ve gotten a good laugh out of that for years to come. I guess we’ll just have to settle for describing it in great detail to Wrecker and Tech later.” 

Hunter frowns over Omega’s shoulder where Echo is situated. Omega giggles, the pain and tears of her injury nearly forgotten. 

<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

Omega adjusts Eva’s left elbow and right shoulder. She nudges Eva’s heel to prompt her to shift forward. “There,” Omega whispers. “Keep your knees bent. Good.” 

“This will help us to fight?” Eva whispers. 

Omega can’t train these children as her brothers trained her. She can’t teach them to throw a punch, or hold a blaster, or how to avoid detection. However, she can give them a foundation, as small as it might be. She can teach them to slip into position until it’s second nature, until her brothers find them and rescue them. 

Smiling grimly, Omega puts a reassuring hand on little Eva’s shoulder. “It’s a start.”

END

@the-little-moment and @just-here-with-my-thoughts 😱 This is the halfway mark??? YAY! Go team!! 15 more angsty prompts to go 😇

(Make sure to check out all of our stories this month for ultimate heartbreak!)

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Tag List: @followthepurrgil @isthereanechoinhere96 @amorfista @mooncommlink @arctrooper69 @nagyanna424 @groguandthebadbatch @proteatook @ezras-left-thumb @merkitty49

[puddle-nerd]

Can't Keep My Hands to Myself

Summary: “Baby?” You shot him a coy grin back and he sat back slightly, spreading his legs.

Prompt #1 (Hand Jobs) for my submission for LunasKinktober2023 - (Human Jake / Female Human Reader)

𖥸 · ─────── · 𖥸 · ─────── · 𖥸

Story Tags: No use of y/n, Yes they’re both eighteen! Hand Jobs, Pre-Movie, Pre-Marines, Human Jake/Human Reader, Young Adult Horny Shenanigans, Blow Jobs

You were supposed to be studying for your finals so you and Jake could finally graduate high school and while he had a plan to join the Marines right after graduation before his nineteenth birthday, you were going the route of college to try and figure out your life that way. You knew that with the separate ways of life, you probably wouldn’t see Jake after graduation but you would enjoy him while you could. Your mother was in the kitchen of your apartment while the two of you were sitting at the dining table around the corner, out of sight unless she moved over to the pantry, which she surreptitiously did every now and again to watch you two to make sure you were behaving. She didn’t trust you not to fuck like horny rabbits, always needing to chaperone everything the two of you or having you promise to have a chaperone if you were going out somewhere. Despite the fact that you were eighteen now, officially. Had been for three weeks.

Talk about ‘helicopter parent’.

Your mother wanted you to be a clean, little virgin when you married in the Christian church of her choosing when you were in your mid to late twenties. If only she knew what you and Jake had gotten up to. In his car. In his apartment. In your apartment. At school in the locker room. In the breakroom at your afterschool job. At the movie theater.

And you were feeling frisky.

Here.

Right now.

Reaching over with your non-dominant hand to your boyfriend’s crotch, you palmed him through the front of his jeans. Jake’s spine stiffened in the seat next to you and he shot you a surprised smirk, brow raised. “Baby?” You shot him a coy grin back and he sat back slightly, spreading his legs, accusing, “Horny little thing.” He sighed as you reached for his belt and tugged it loose, unbuttoning him and sliding your hand beneath the waist of his underwear. Swallowing, he glanced up towards the kitchen and then shot you another leer, breathing through his nose so he didn’t moan from your touch.

“You complaining on me, Marine?” you tease him.

“N—no, no ma’am,” he stuttered.

He whimpered when you pulled your hand back, watching as you licked your palm, spitting in it for good measure before grasping him again. He tried not to jerk his hips up into your touch but you could see the pleasure moving over his face as you moved over him.

Up and down, you moved your hand.

“Fuck, baby,” he whispered, his hips twitching as he held himself back from rutting up into your hand like a horny animal. “A little firmer… please?” You tightened your grip around him, his moan confirmation of his enjoyment. He could fuck you good and hard later when he got you alone and show his appreciation for you much better in the back of his car or in his bed.

Eat you out before he buried himself as deep as he could go inside of you.

When you slid your hand off his shaft and cupped his balls, he grunted, gritting his teeth, leaning back further, spreading his legs wider, hips giving aborted little jerks up into your hand. His breath was coming in short pants, as he whined quietly, trying not to draw your mother’s attention. “God, baby, you’re gonna make me cum if you keep doing this.” He gasped as you tightened your grip on him, brow furrowing, hips jerking noticeably, cock straining as it leaked from the tip.

Suddenly the vid comm rang in the kitchen and the two of you froze at the sharp noise cutting through the quiet.

“It’s your Aunt Karen,” your mother called out. “I’m going to take this in my room. You two behave, you hear me?” You smirked, replying, “Yeah, we’ll be good.” You squeezed your boyfriend’s balls teasingly. He choked on a grunt, giving you a pleading look. You both heard your mother walk away and you shifted your chair back, sinking down onto the carpet. You shuffled around to kneel between your boyfriend’s thighs and glanced up at him with a salacious smirk. “We’ll be really, really good.”

Jake met your gaze, grunting, “Yeah, you gonna be my good girl, baby?”

He cut off with a gasp as you grasp the base of his thick shaft and suck his cock into your mouth, looking up to meet his gaze. The thrill of being caught, the stimulation from before and now the lascivious look of you meeting his gaze while sucking on his cock underneath your dining table, and he was cumming, grunting your name and sliding his fingers through your hair, thighs shaking as you swallowed his spunk.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, baby, yes,” he grunted, eyes squeezing closed.

You grinned, wet and needy but satisfied from getting your boyfriend off successfully with your mother none the wiser. You crawled out from under the table and resumed sitting in your chair. “You can thank me later,” you tease, and turn back to the books you were supposed to be studying out of.

And just in time too.

Your mother came out of the kitchen, her bedroom being on the other side, and shook her head, rambling about how your Aunt Karen was checking herself back into rehab and other such family drama. And she was none the wiser to your and your boyfriend’s illicit activities.

𖥸 · ─────── · 𖥸 · ─────── · 𖥸

Originally Posted: 01 October 2023

Word Count: 912

Author's Note: So, this is my very first original Tumblr post so please forgive me if there's some editing issues or I have to go back and reformat things. Unfortunately, there won't be 31 posts but I'll get around to making a master list once I post a few of my pieces. Until then, can also read it on AO3.

Happy Kiktober, everyone!

[koipalm]

sv inuyasha au

“...Maybe you should have waited before barging in.”

“How was I to know!?” Shen Yuan screams from his high perch. His foot slips and he scrambles for a better grip on the rock as Liu Qingge makes an aborted motion forward. He’s currently hanging from a ledge, where a particularly pecky raven demon had dropped him after seeing him in her nest. What, it wasn’t his fault he was there, was it? It was just that one of the little chicks was going to swallow one of the jewel shards and he wanted to get there before it transformed!! Liu Qingge and Luo Binghe might not have had any qualms against killing a baby, but he very much did, thank you!! His morals haven’t deserted him completely yet!!!!

Nevertheless, he’s left hanging from an increasingly perilous ridge as his skirt flutters in the wind. Really, that’s just the cherry on top, huh? Not only is Binghe off fighting the engorged mother Raven (who just had to inhale the Jewel shard) so he can’t jump up and grab him, but he’s going to be flashing Liu Qingge of all people. Ah, what a fantastic day.

Looking down, he can see Liu Qingge averting his gaze hastily, probably in disgust. Shen Yuan promises it’s not his fault, okay?? His sister bribed him into cosplaying for her before he came here, and it’s not like he has another change of clothes on him!!

Visibly gritting his teeth, Liu Qingge shouts up at him without looking, “You’re going to have to jump!”

“I AM NOT JUMPING!” Shen Yuan all but screams. “I will splatter on the ground, Liu-shidi! I am not some godly demon that can just land on his feet!!”

He can see Liu Qingge roll his eyes. Bitch!?

“I will catch you!”

“How are you going to catch me without looking!?”

Shen Yuan braves another glance down, but the vertigo makes him dizzy and he grips his bloody fingers tighter on the slim ledge.

“Just-” Liu Qingge cuts himself off when he looks up again, a rougher flush lighting up his handsome features, before shaking his head resolutely and staring up at him again. “Just trust me, okay? I’ll catch you. I promise.”

Shen Yuan squeezes his eyes shut. Oh god, his heart is beating even harder!! Why does he trust this fighting-obsessed idiot? Is he really going to do this? Just… let go and trust Liu Qingge to catch him? He risks another glance down, only to see his Liu-shidi staring at him, flushed and brazen and faithful.

Oh, god.

Another breath, and he lets go.

A small scream escapes his throat before it’s smothered by the rushing air. His stomach is left behind, and he curls up like a pill bug in the air, awaiting impact. His breath is torn out of his chest by a sudden collision from the side, and strong arms wrap around him, pressing him firmly into Liu Qingge’s chest.

He can feel Liu Qingge hit the ground, skidding to a stop on one knee as he holds him tighter. Liu Qingge pants into Shen Yuan’s ear, huffing out a pained groan.

[theindependenttrentcrimm]

Buck chronic pain snippet

It was near the end of a long shift and Buck was sitting on the rooftop alone, massaging his bad leg. It had started as a light twinge a few hours ago and had progressively gotten worse, building up to the tight, cramping pain he was now attempting to massage away in vain. The wind was blowing against his face, pressing at his eyes and tousling his hair. He shifted and gritted his teeth as another bolt of pain shocked his leg. 

“Hey, Buck!” Eddie had come looking for him, of course he had, worried eyes raking over Buck’s unusually quiet form as they returned from their last call. He seemed to have this innate sixth sense of when Buck was in pain. 

Eddie approached and sat on the ledge of the building beside him.

“Everyone’s wondering where you went.” Buck nodded, resisting the urge to drop his forehead to Eddie’s available shoulder. 

“Needed to get some air,” he replied, tapping his fingers over his leg. Eddie’s eyes were drawn to the movement and he began to reach his hand out before aborting the motion mid-air. His curled fist landed on his own thigh and he stared out over the skyline of Los Angeles.

“Bad pain day?” Buck shrugged,

“I’ve had worse.”

“Buck,” Eddie admonished. Buck’s fingers dig deeper into his thigh, rolling over the taut muscle. 

“I’m fine, Eds. I already took some Tylenol and shift’s over in a few hours. I’ll be fine. You don’t need to worry about me.” He took the opportunity to knock his shoulder into Eddie’s and bit back a curse as he rolled on his leg wrong. Eddie raised an eyebrow. “Seriously, I’m fine.” Eddie nodded, running his teeth over his bottom lip as he looked out over the edge of the building again. 

“You know,” he started, pausing to rub his hand absentmindedly over his own thigh, “Christopher had this movie he’s been dying to watch and I’m never very good company on my own after a long shift…” come over, please, I’m worried about you, I don’t want to be alone. Buck smiled,

“Yeah, that sounds great.”

[vkelleyart]

Storytime: My traumatic pregnancies and why abortion access is also a mental health issue. (Part one.)

(TW: Miscarriage, Pregnancy complications, PPA/PPD, Blood)

"What happened, didn't you take care of yourself?"

That was what an elder female coworker said to me the day I returned to the office after my miscarriage.

In November 2011, I was 15 weeks along in my first pregnancy when I woke up to blood on the mattress. Having never been pregnant before, I genuinely didn't know what it meant; I'd heard that bleeding during pregnancy happened sometimes, and the worst I allowed myself to contemplate was a scenario that put me on bed rest for the remainder of the nine months. Fearing what the doctor would say, I called my older sister first to basically beg her for reassurance that there a chance that I––and by extension, the baby––was fine. Obviously, she had no answers, so I got a hold of my in-laws to take me to the OB/GYN for an emergency visit since my husband was still teaching at the school.

The technician was very quiet during the ultrasound. We're talking no eye contact. I had to ask if there was a heartbeat.

"No. There's no heartbeat."

She said nothing else. Just wiped off the gel, moved the box of tissues next to my table, and left. My mother in-law gathered me up into her arms, and I wept while we waited for my doctor to reiterate what the ultrasound had already proven. When my OB/GYN doctor of two years finally showed up, she sat across from me with a sympathetic look on her face and said, "I'm so sorry, Jennifer."

I paused in my sobbing to croak, "My name is Venessa."

"What?" She glanced down at her file. "Oh, I'm sorry, they gave me the wrong file! Excuse me..." And then she was gone, too.

It was a Friday, and as there was no chance of getting me in for a D&C until Monday, I was sent home and blandly informed that I might experience "some intense cramping" and should therefore have some Ibuprofen on hand. On the way out the door, my in-laws told my husband what I didn't have the voice to say over the phone, so he found a last-minute sub and met all of us at a Mexican restaurant where his parents treated us to Wheaton's best fajitas and sangria in hopes of easing the pain we were in. (I later found out he excused himself from class to cry by himself in the teacher's bathroom.)

Foolishly did I assume the worst was over and that all that lay ahead of me was some period cramping. It was 1AM when I woke up with pain like I was being impaled through my lower midsection.

I remember crawling on all fours to the phone and dialing the emergency number to my OB's office. Several prompts later, I finally got a human, a nurse who asked me what I was feeling.

"They said cramping," I said through gritted teeth. "This isn't normal. I feel like I'm dying--"

"You've just miscarried. You were far enough along that this may feel more like an early labor than a period."

"What??" I gasped. "What do I do? Can I come in? I can't even stand up..."

"It doesn't pay to come into urgent care for this," he said mechanically. "There's not really anything we can do for you. Just take another ibuprofen and it should run its course."

My breath vacated my lungs. "Right... Okay... Thank you..."

I hung up and crawled back to my bed room, grabbing my husband's arm and scaring the daylights out of him when he opened his eyes to find me on the floor. He scrambled out of bed and lifted me up, walking me out to the living room as I cried. I nearly dragged him down with me when another contraction lanced me through the gut and my legs gave out.

I couldn't sit and I couldn't stand, so he brought me over to the CD player, put on Michael Bublé, and let me lean all my weight into him as we rocked in place––a sort of tragic slow dance punctuated by waves of agony 5 minutes apart. He helped me to the bathroom several times over the next five hours as my body violently expelled all the evidence that I'd ever been pregnant, like I was trapped in an endless Sam Raimi movie.

Finally, just before the sun rose, my body calmed enough for us to go back to bed. When Monday came, they told me the D&C was unnecessary. An ultrasound showed my uterus was empty.

A clean canvas. Like nothing had ever happened.

Except I'd started painting the nursery. The room beside my bedroom had been cleared of my drafting table and art supplies to make room for a new little person I'd never had a chance to know. I walked around my house like a ghost for several days while I recovered and grieved, always winding up in this room and never remembering how I got there, punishing myself with shame-driven thoughts about having caused it because the fact was, I was so scared to be pregnant.

I wondered, Had I willed this? From the moment the second purple stripe showed up on the pee stick, I grappled with terror of having a difficult labor and delivery, of not being tall enough to house a growing baby without destroying my body, of handing down the generational trauma that had made so many of my family members succumb to addiction, codependency, depression, and other psychological maladies. I knew this baby would also mean leaving my job because it involved so much traveling. My world would be completely upended, and while this was what I wanted and had chosen, it was also a leap into the unknown that put everything in my life at risk, above all, my life itself.

Prior to my miscarriage, I'd had an abnormal ultrasound––abnormal in that the fetus was smaller than it should have been at the time the ultrasound was taken. My doctor reassured me it wasn't something to worry about in a tone that seemed to convey this was a common occurrence, so I tried not to dwell on it. Of course, I now understand that this was the first sign that, genetically, the baby would not make it to term.

Society told me my fears were selfish considerations. And for this reason, despite all the evidence in that very first ultrasound that told me this was not a typical pregnancy, I shamed and blamed myself for losing it. I internalized the chilly regard of the technicians and the doctor's kid glove treatment of me as evidence that all this trauma was on me. And when I came back to work, all the words of comfort from other women around me who had also miscarried, among them one of my supervisors, got drowned out as soon as one ignorant woman accused me of not taking care of myself.

Looking back on that experience in the wake of losing Roe v. Wade, I've considered what a court would say today about what happened to me. Would they side with the person at my workplace, confiscate the journals where I poured out my worries as evidence that I had in fact stunted my own pregnancy somehow?

I also marvel at how lucky I was to have a caring spouse and supportive family members in a moment where all my healthcare resources abandoned me to face a traumatic labor and delivery in my own bathroom. I've given birth to two children since then, and though neither of those labors were as painful as my miscarriage was, those experiences solidified the decision that, were I to get pregnant a fourth time, I would abort it.

But that's another story.

[Part Two coming soon.]