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zerosbubble · 1 month ago

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hey lovely! it's @nevereclipse (on anon cause side blog). I'm absolutely obsessed with your like father, like rookie series (anything you write with Tim is just chefs kiss). would you mind writing a story where Tim's rookie is really stressed about their six months exam? like perfectionism, either superrr stressed before hand or not happy with their mark afterwards, and Tim helps them/comforts them? love your work sm!

What You Don’t See Yet.

Tim Bradford x Rookie!reader [PLATONIC] — Ongoing series: Like Father, Like Rookie.

POV: Overwhelmed by the pressure to be perfect for your six-month evaluation, Tim Bradford sees through the cracks—and he won’t let you spiral. Through quiet guidance, firm words, and on-the-job moments, he helps you realize you’re more ready than you think.

A/N: Always a pleasure to hear from you, Eclipse! Thank you for the sweet message and request, this is adorable and I definitely enjoyed writing it! 💕

You hadn’t stopped moving since the start of shift. Not really.

Your nerves were like a second heartbeat—fast, insistent, relentless. Hands fidgeting with your vest straps. Pacing while waiting on call sheets. Tapping your pen against the desk during report writing until Tim’s eyes cut over with a sharp look that made your hand freeze mid-air.

But now, seated in the passenger seat of the shop, you couldn’t fake stillness anymore. Your knee bounced, leg jittering with a mind of its own like you were wired straight into a live socket.

Tim noticed. Of course he noticed.

“You gonna shake the whole damn shop apart, or what?” he asked, his voice even, calm—eyes still on the road.

You startled like you’d been caught stealing. “Sorry,” you muttered, forcing your leg to still. “Just… tired.”

Liar.

You could feel the word in his silence before he even said it.

“Bull.”

Your eyes flicked to him. “What?”

“I said bull,” he repeated, tone clipped. “You’ve been on edge all day. Don’t tell me it’s nothing.”

You tried to swallow the lump crawling up your throat. Looked out the window like the lights passing by might drown out your thoughts.

“It’s—it’s the six-month eval,” you finally said. Quiet.

Tim didn’t respond right away. Just flicked the turn signal, calm and composed, merging into a slower lane like he was waiting for you to keep going.

“And?”

You shifted in your seat, feeling every buckle and seam in your vest. “And, I need to crush it.”

He finally glanced at you—one of those looks. The kind that felt like floodlights cracking you open. Like he wasn’t just hearing you—he was reading between every damn word.

“Crush it,” he echoed, tone unreadable. “Why?”

You picked at a loose thread on your sleeve. “Because if I don’t, it proves everyone right. That I’m too young. That I’m not ready. That I don’t belong out here.”

Tim didn’t say anything.

Instead, he turned on his blinker and pulled the shop smoothly into a parking lot—quiet, mostly empty, lit by a flickering overhead light and the orange glow bleeding from a liquor store window.

The shop rolled to a stop. He put it in park. Killed the engine.

Silence.

You sat there, hands twisted in your lap.

Then Tim turned toward you fully, the weight of his posture shifting—shoulders squared, arms crossing in that solid, grounded way of his.

“You listen to me, and you listen good,” he said, tone hard but not harsh. “This job doesn’t give a damn how old you are. What it cares about is how you show up. And you? You show up. Every single day.”

You parted your lips, some excuse or protest waiting on your tongue, but he cut you off with a look.

“Do you make mistakes? Sure. So does everybody else. You think your eval needs to be perfect? It won’t be. Because you’re not perfect. And you don’t need to be.”

His words echoed in your chest like they were being carved into bone.

“Easy for you to say,” you muttered. “You’ve already proven yourself.”

Tim’s eyes narrowed slightly. His voice dropped an octave—deeper, more pointed.

“You think I didn’t bomb parts of my eval? You think I haven’t sat where you are, thinking if I messed it up, I’d never get taken seriously?”

You didn’t answer.

“You’re not here to be flawless,” he continued. “You’re here to learn. To grow. To take hits and keep moving. That’s what makes a good cop. That’s what makes you worth the badge.”

Your fingers curled around the hem of your shirt. They were trembling. Just a little. But enough.

Tim saw it.

He sighed, quieter this time. “You’re good, kid. Better than you think. And yeah, I’m hard on you. You know why?”

You nodded, voice small. “Because you want me to be ready?”

“No,” he said firmly. “Because you are ready. You just don’t see it yet.”

The words landed with a thud—solid and final. Like the earth settling beneath your feet.

You blinked, jaw clenched against the sudden sting behind your eyes.

Tim didn’t soften. Not visibly. But his hand reached over and patted your shoulder—firm, grounding, real. It wasn’t tender. It was steady.

“Now take a breath. Straighten up. We’re not done with shift, and I need you clearheaded.”

You nodded once. Shaky. Then again, stronger. “Yes, sir.”

His voice was gentler then, but just as sure. “Good. Let’s go.”

He started the engine again, shifting it into gear without fanfare. Just Bradford, making damn sure you knew your worth—even if he had to drill it into your head himself.

And the world kept turning—but slower now. Calmer.

You weren’t okay yet. Not fully.

But you believed him.

And that was enough to keep going.

Post-exam, though? Hit you like a brick with malicious intent.

The fluorescent lights of the precinct buzzed overhead, casting a sterile glow across the bullpen. It was late—too late for how long you’d been sitting in front of your locker, still in uniform, still frozen.

You stared at the evaluation sheet in your hands. It had crumpled slightly from your grip, edges damp where your fingers had trembled. You read the feedback for what had to be the tenth time, the words blurring around the edges. Your chest was tight. Too tight.

“Satisfactory in judgment. Needs improvement under pressure.”

That line echoed over and over in your head, louder than the rustling papers, louder than the clacking keyboard a few desks away. It was all you could hear.

You blinked hard, throat aching. The scent of old coffee grounds lingered in the air. Someone had microwaved leftover pasta—again—but it didn’t even register.

You should’ve done better. You needed to do better.

Footsteps approached from behind—heavy, measured, and familiar. You didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

“Kid,” Tim’s voice was gruff, cutting through the spiral. “You planning on camping out here, or…?”

You didn’t answer.

Tim sighed, and the bench beside you creaked under his weight as he sat down. You kept your eyes on the paper, willing it to disappear, or change, or both.

“Talk to me,” he said.

Your throat closed up.

“I messed it up,” you murmured. “I should’ve scored higher. I knew the scenarios. I just—” You broke off, shaking your head. “Didn’t respond fast enough. Froze when it mattered.”

The paper in your hand felt heavier than it should’ve. The words were smudged a little near the corner from how tightly you’d been holding it—creased, sweat-softened, like it had been through war and back. You couldn’t bring yourself to look up just yet.

Tim’s gaze remained unreadable but steady. You felt it on you, the way you always did. Sharp. Grounding. Impossible to shake.

He glanced at the paper, then back at your face.

“You passed,” he said, voice calm, slow and deliberate—like it needed to be heard through the static in your head.

You scoffed before you could stop yourself. “I barely passed,” you bit out. “That’s not good enough. Not for this job.”

The words came fast, bitter, too familiar. You’d been saying them in your head all day. This was just the first time they slipped out loud.

A pause stretched between you. Not long. Just long enough to feel like the air had thickened.

Then Tim’s voice came, low but sharp—like the snap of a taut rope.

“Good enough for who?” he asked. “For Grey? For me?”

He remained sat next to you, his stance firm but not aggressive. “Because neither of us put barely on your report. You did that.”

Your mouth opened, then closed again. No words came. Just that lump in your throat—the same one that had been there since you got your results. It burned behind your ribs, a quiet kind of shame you couldn’t shake.

You looked down. Couldn’t meet his eyes.

He shifted slightly, not backing down.

“You want to be perfect. I get it. But that’s not the job. The job is making the call, learning from it, and staying alive to make the next one.”

The words scraped against the wall you’d built up all day. Slowly, brick by brick, they chipped it.

Your fingers clenched the paper again, crumpling it tighter in your grip.

“I just…” You swallowed hard. “I don’t want to mess up out there. I don’t want to get someone hurt. Or get you hurt.”

The admission cracked something open—soft, exposed. You hadn’t even realized it until it came out. But it was the truth.

The room went quiet. Not the awkward kind. The kind that settled around you like a pause before impact.

Tim didn’t move for a long second. Then his expression shifted—subtle, but real. The edge in his eyes softened. His voice lowered, not losing strength, but gaining something steadier. Warmer.

“You’re not going to,” he said. “Because you don’t quit. And because I’ve got your back.”

The words hit hard. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just… honest.

And that made them worse.

You blinked fast, vision blurring slightly.

A memory flashed—uninvited but vivid. Your first week on the job. Nervous energy riding high. You trailing too close behind him on a call, trying to prove you were sharp, fast, useful. And Tim yanking you back by your vest a second before a suspect swung wide with a pipe.

No shouting. No panic. Just that laser-focused look he’d fixed on you as you stood there stunned.

“You’re here to survive. Do that first.”

Back in the present, your breath hitched. The locker room blurred again at the edges.

Tim hadn’t looked away. He never did, not when it counted.

“Take the win, kid,” he said, voice a little softer now. “You passed. Not because you got lucky, but because you’re learning. Every damn day.”

You gave a slow nod, jaw tight, voice caught somewhere in your chest. You couldn’t speak—not yet. You weren’t sure if it’d come out steady if you tried.

Tim didn’t push. Just gave you a moment, then added, businesslike but not cold:

“I want you rested for tomorrow.”

You looked up, confused for a beat.

“Because I’m putting you behind the wheel for most of the shift,” he continued. “And I expect you to call the shots when it’s your turn.”

That made you blink. “Wait. Me? All day? You never let me drive—”

He gave a short nod, like the decision had already been made and he didn’t see the point in debating it.

“Best way to prove to yourself what I already know.” He got up, already facing toward the doorway, but his words lingered. “You can do this,” he said. “Even when your head says otherwise.”

Then he was gone—out the door and down the hall, leaving you in the low hum of fluorescent lights and the echo of his belief in you.

And for the first time all day, the paper in your hand didn’t feel so heavy.

The next morning started early—before the sun even had a chance to warm the streets of Los Angeles. A low fog lingered above the pavement, curling between squad cars in the lot like smoke that hadn’t cleared. You stood by your locker, already dressed, boots laced, vest snug. But your hands were trembling.

You could still feel yesterday in your bones.

That exam. The feedback. The way it made your stomach twist. And worst of all, the expression on Tim’s face when he told you “You passed”—firm, serious, but not the kind of praise you felt you deserved. He said you did well. Your brain told you he was just being nice. He wasn’t. He never was.

But logic and feelings never played fair.

You were zoning out again—thinking too hard—until a paper coffee cup appeared in your peripheral vision.

“Drink it,” Tim said, not waiting for a thanks as he walked past, heading for roll call.

You stared at the coffee for a second, then followed, hands finally steadying with the warmth of the cup in your grip.

The first call was routine—at first.

Dispute in a strip mall parking lot. You followed Tim’s lead, clipboard tucked under your arm as you approached the two arguing men. One was pacing, the other red-faced and shouting. You kept your tone calm, your posture open, repeating everything you’d been trained to do.

You were halfway through separating them when one of them threw a punch.

You didn’t freeze this time. Your reflexes were faster than your thoughts.

You ducked. Moved in. Grabbed his wrist, pivoted your body like you’d practiced in defensive tactics, and forced him back against the hood of a car, cuffing him with clean, practiced motions.

When it was over, your heart was pounding—but you weren’t spiraling.

You looked up and Tim was already watching you from across the lot, one hand on his belt, expression unreadable.

Back in the shop, after turning the guy over to another officer, Tim gave you a nod.

“Clean,” he said.

You blinked. “Clean?”

“Your takedown. No hesitation. No overcorrection.” He glanced over his shoulder at the commotion dying down. “That’s what I mean when I say you’re growing. You didn’t let your nerves get in the way of your instincts.”

Something about hearing it now, in the field, after doing it right—meant more than the score on your evaluation ever could.

You nodded slowly, your chest feeling lighter.

“Thanks, sir.”

Tim shrugged. “Don’t thank me. You’re the one who put in the work.”

The shift moved on. You responded to a stolen vehicle, a shoplifting call, and a welfare check. Each scene came with moments of doubt—split-second flashes of memory from your early weeks, moments you’d stumbled, fumbled, froze.

But you didn’t now.

You kept moving. You remembered Tim’s voice, his corrections, his dry sarcasm and steady calm.

And at every stop, he was just… there. Quietly guiding, standing just far enough to give you space, but close enough that if anything happened, he’d be in your corner in half a second flat.

It wasn’t until the last call—almost at end of shift—that the day gave you one final test.

A teenager had been reported missing, last seen leaving school.

You and Tim canvassed the area, checking alleyways and bus stops, when you spotted someone curled behind a dumpster. Thin frame, hoodie pulled low. You crouched, gentle voice easing the kid out, while your heart pounded in fear of what you might find.

She was okay. Scared, cold, but okay.

You offered her your jacket, spoke softly while you waited for her parents to arrive. Your words were careful, calm. Reassuring.

And Tim? He stood back and let you handle it.

You didn’t notice he was watching you like a hawk until it was all over.

Back in the shop, you slumped into the passenger seat, the door clicking shut behind you with a dull thunk. Your vest felt heavier than usual—like your body had only just remembered how tired it was now that the adrenaline was gone.

You rubbed your hands together, then dragged one down your face, the skin clammy with sweat and tension. Your chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths, like your lungs were still catching up from the last call.

Tim didn’t speak at first. Just adjusted the rearview mirror with a practiced hand, his movements calm, deliberate. The cruiser’s engine hummed under you, warm air filtering through the vents, soft against your chilled skin.

Then, without looking over, he said, “I remember when that would’ve wrecked you.”

His voice wasn’t teasing. It wasn’t smug. Just matter-of-fact, grounded in something that felt like pride.

“When you would’ve stumbled over every sentence trying to talk to her.”

You let out a slow exhale, head tipping back against the seat. The hum of street noise outside dulled to a low murmur through the glass. “Yeah,” you said quietly.

You remembered too.

You remembered that first call with a DV victim—how your voice had caught in your throat, how your hands had trembled when you tried to take a statement, how you’d looked to Tim for backup not because the scene was dangerous, but because you didn’t trust yourself to get it right.

But today, it had been different. You’d moved with purpose. Spoken with clarity. You had looked her in the eyes and told her she wasn’t alone—and meant it. You’d navigated the entire scene without a single glance toward your T.O.

Tim didn’t say anything else. But his silence wasn’t heavy. It wasn’t the kind that made you second-guess yourself or fill the air with nervous chatter.

It was solid.

Like brick and mortar.

The silence of someone who had seen your worst days and never once backed away from them. The kind that said you did good, without needing to spell it out.

You turned your head slightly and caught his profile—jaw set, gaze steady on the windshield, one hand resting lightly on the gearshift. He didn’t look at you, but he didn’t need to.

It wasn’t just about passing the eval anymore.

It wasn’t even about the numbers on the report or the comments scribbled in the margins.

It was about every rough shift that came before this one. Every moment you thought you couldn’t keep up, every time you’d failed and come back anyway. It was about how you showed up today—not perfect, but prepared. Capable.

For the first time in a long time, you weren’t trying to convince anyone that you belonged.

You weren’t trying to convince him.

You were trying to convince yourself.

And in that quiet space between shift calls, in the warmth of the shop’s late afternoon light filtering through the windshield, something in you finally settled.

You believed it.

You belonged out here.

The precinct had thinned out by the time you returned. Most officers were already gone, the last rays of sun bleeding over the city like the world had exhaled a little. The bullpen was quiet, low-lit, with the hum of vending machines and distant radio chatter the only background noise.

You were at your locker, peeling off your vest, when Tim reappeared with two bottled waters and a couple of granola bars.

You stared at them, one brow arched. “This your version of a steak dinner?”

Tim leaned against the row of lockers beside you. “If you wanted a steak, you should’ve tackled a better suspect.”

A small, tired laugh left you before you could stop it. He cracked the faintest smile in return.

“Seriously though,” he said, tone dipping into something lower, more even, “you did good today.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “Felt different. Like… I wasn’t constantly second-guessing every move.”

“That’s because you weren’t,” Tim said. “That wasn’t luck out there. That was training. Control. You let your instincts kick in because you trusted yourself.”

You looked down at your hands, flexed them once. “I think… part of me still doesn’t believe I passed.”

Tim’s voice was quiet but firm. “Then believe me.”

You looked at him.

He nodded once. “You’ve come farther than you realize. And I’m not gonna let you burn yourself out chasing some imaginary finish line.”

You blinked hard. “You really suck at pep talks.”

“Yeah, well,” he muttered, crossing his arms again, “you suck at eating lunch without being told.”

You smiled, warm and lopsided. “Touché.”

Tim reached out and ruffled your hair—not playfully, but with a certain worn fondness. Like someone used to watching over something fragile until it found its strength.

“Go home,” he said. “Get some rest. You earned it.”

You hesitated for a second. Then, softer: “Thanks, sir.”

He gave a single nod, eyes steady. “Anytime, Kid.”

And as you stepped out into the fading sun, boots heavy from the day but heart a little lighter, you realized something important:

You weren’t just surviving out here anymore.

You were growing.

And Tim had seen it before you ever could.

Taglist: @its-ares @nevereclipse @chezze-its @mcckunty @graciereads @gublerstylesobrien1238

#platonic #the rookie #fluff #found family #oneshot #tim bradford #tim bradford x reader #angst

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audliminal · 4 months ago

Text

Survivability Bias Pt 6

Masterpost - Ao3

Danny can't sleep. Not in this horrid place where the lights bleed green with old rot, and the bees in the walls that buzz in time with his vibrating heart. The murmurs behind doors bleed together, kind and angry, ferocious and sugar-sweet, and when the bees get louder so do the voices and Danny wants to run to them; he wants to hide. The pile of papers on his desk looming over him, the red lines a discordant note amidst the overpowering green. The green of blood, the green of fear. His desk lamp turns to look at him, and it burns his skin, boiling and bubbling like a live wire, and Danny is trapped in the web, frozen and stuck to the floor. Rooted in place, but no one's there, not even Sam or Tucker. He's alone. He has to do this part alone. There's only two others like him. One doesn't care and the other is a child. So Danny has to move, has to listen harder to whispers, has to know who they took this time, has to find them, has to repair the damage and escape without getting caught. Can't rely on anyone else (the only people who want to help don't deserve this, don't deserve any of this - no one else should be punished for his mistake)and the green glow stretches and builds and the walls fall away and everyone is staring at the moron who broke the world, who ruined everything with a stupid dare (why did he take the dare, he knew better than that), and it doesn't matter anymore because there's white cars and white suits, and his mother is staring in shock as the agents advance-

Danny pulls awake all at once in the pre-dawn light. His dream laughs from whatever recess of his mind it pulled itself out of, the horrid ichor of its dread cling to every aspect of him as he carefully tenses all his muscles and relaxes them again, grasping at the desperate hope that it might help get rid of the horrible way his body wants to vibrate itself to pieces. He feels like he's made of the damn bees from his dream.

Danny's careful tensing process barely helps, but at the moment he's happy to take even barely-help, so he stands up, still counting in his head and breathing as slowly as he can manage. His lungs burn with the strain of it, but the burn kind of feels good, and it definitely helps him stay rooted in the here-and-now, so he keeps doing it as he extricated himself from the night's hiding spot.

The chill of early winter is definitely starting to hit, and Danny let's himself feel just a bit smugly satisfied about the usefulness of his affinity for ice. His resistance isn't huge, and it's not exactly any more pleasant to be cold, but it's a relief to not have to worry about hypothermia that much even though he's now homeless.

Of course, how long he'll remain homeless for is decidedly in question now. Danny hadn't wanted to ask about time-frames, when Robin was already going out of his way to assist Danny at all, and when he'd offered housing assistance too, Danny had only been more reticent to ask questions.

“Now, you said you were homeless?” Robin had asked. Danny had startled back,but before he could start extemporizing, Robin had continued in the same blunt tone. “I’ll obviously be emancipating you; I would make you eighteen, but you really don’t look it, and I don’t want anyone to have a reason to scrutinize any of this, and a declaration of emancipation largely amounts to the same thing. Plus it will give you an easy way to discourage people from asking about your past, since emancipation typically implies a, shall we say, sensitive situation. That does mean that you'll be liable for your own housing though, so considering your present lack of legal standing, I would be more than happy to assist you in acquiring an apartment in your city of choice.” The matter-of-fact speech had caught Danny completely off guard, and he'd ended up staring at Robin for a long moment before Superboy’s half-hidden snickers had triggered a spat almost exactly like Sam and Tucker had always gotten into.

Even now, thinking back on the conversation after almost a week, Danny finds himself a little choked up on the homesick wash of memory. At the time, Danny had choked down the unpleasant feeling, and admitted that the help with housing would be much appreciated. Superboy had narrowed his eyes, clearly spotting something in his tone of voice (thanks to his super hearing, undoubtedly), but he had managed to distract him with a joke about not wanting to risk his home dimension’s money being seen as counterfeit, and Robin's resounding excitement over that little theoretical conundrum. In that way, he’d managed to end the encounter with some actual legitimate cash in exchange for his interdimensional stuff, which was turning out to be an exceptional boon, all by itself.

Of course, that exchange had come with its own revelation — the fact that heroes here had reason to carry cash on them was, perhaps, the most reassuring thing he’d seen so far. Phantom certainly hadn't ever been able to hang around long enough to have a shot at spending any money. It makes him wonder if they're getting paid for their work as heroes, and if so, who's doing the paying. Probably, it's a question worth looking into. Any payments coming from the government ought to have a paper trail of some sort, and Sam would say that sort of detail would say a lot about the whole dynamic.

For now, though, Danny finds himself walking briskly through the shadowy early morning streets, fighting against a wash of melancholy. Robin's cash weighs heavy in his pocket – he's been using it as sparsely as he can, since he doesn't know how long the hundred-or-so dollars need to last. Luckily, the nearby grocery store has a good collection of cheap and easy pre-made foods. For the last six days straight, Danny's been able to have a breakfast of two hard boiled eggs, and he currently has the supplies for pb&j sandwiches in his backpack. He anxiously checks his pocket to make sure Robin's burner phone is still there, but he doesn't bother pulling it out - he has no intention of using it unless he has a real emergency, no matter what the other teen had implied.

It's still not late enough for the library to be open, by the time he's acquired and eaten his breakfast eggs, so instead he heads for the park, with a thought to shake off the remaining thrum of anxious energy from his dream. He's already flinched at two different cars as they drove past him, so he definitely could use the distraction, and the running has, regrettably, repeatedly proved itself good at calming down Danny's running thoughts. Danny mentally snorts at the thought; an image of his body chasing down his own mind, tackling it and wrestling it into submission. That's certainly one way to deal with his anticipation for a fight.

Danny makes it three laps before he decides to stop, carefully taking the time to stretch out his legs and properly cool down. It's late enough by now that there's a handful of other people scattered in the park, two of which are on similar morning jogs. A couple of them even offer him a smile and nod as they pass each other. He doesn't know a single one of their names, but he's seen most of them around before, and as he finishes his cool down lap and heads off, he realizes that they probably recognize him too.

It's late enough now that he can head to the library, though when he gets there, he discovers that the computers are all in use, so instead he heads for the aisles of books.

He wanders through the rows, not really looking for anything in particular. Danny's happy enough to admit that he's never been much of a reader; language arts had always been his worst class. Even before the portal had been finished, he'd had a tendency to frustrate his English teachers by completely missing whatever symbolism they expected him to find, and the problem had only gotten worse once he'd half-died. With all the myriad problems the portal had created, Danny had all but stopped turning in any of his homework, and he'd not picked up even a single one of the assigned books.

At a certain point, it had actually become a bet between him and Sam and Tucker. He would come up with the most ridiculous possible answers whenever Lancer made the mistake of calling on him, and if he finally managed to get the man to break and swear for real, his friends would have to pay for his Nasty Burger for the rest of the year.

That was before things got really bad. The GIW had still been a mostly incompetent nuisance, and his parents had yet to join forces with them. Of course the ghost fights were annoying, but they'd also been kind of fun, and the trio had been so caught up in the fantasy of being the heroes that they hadn't thought about things like collateral damage or serious injury. It wasn't until Tucker and Sam were stitching up gaping wounds while the populace called for Phantom’s head that they really realized how serious things had gotten.

Danny stares down at the copy of Lord of the Flies that he'd pulled out of shelves. This was the book they'd been reading when he'd first had his accident with the portal. He remembers it clearly because afterwards he'd kept dropping the book and Sam and Tucker had ended up taking turns reading it to him. They'd gotten into several arguments over the meaning of the book. But by the end, both had agreed that the characters of the book were losers. Anyone reasonable wouldn't waste time with petty problems in a life or death situation. Now, Danny's not sure if the three of them just underestimated what's reasonable, or if everyone was just that unreasonable. Probably, it's more complicated than that, but as Danny stares at the book, he can't help but feel furious that a trio of fourteen-year-old losers managed to be more compassionate and forward-thinking than an entire town of adults. Danny wonders if any of the books he hadn't read would offer an explanation of their behavior.

Danny's pocket buzzes and for a moment all he can think about is the bees in the walls of his dream, buzzing louder and louder and louder- then, behind him a chair scratches against carpet as someone stands up. Danny's in the library, and the buzzing in his pocket is the burner phone that Robin had passed him along with the cash. He pulls it out, fumbles for a moment with it, and then stares at the text message on the screen.

Marla's Diner, noon. Wear your mask.

The message is short and to the point, which Danny supposes he should have expected. It hasn't even been a week yet, so Danny can't imagine Robin has his identity ready yet – he's got to have loads of other, more important work, after all. That doesn't mean he has any intention of arguing though, so he types out a little saluting emoticon, and then shoves the book back in the shelves. If he's gonna be meeting with Robin, he needs to not spend his morning having a crisis, thank you very much. So instead he hunts down the young adult section to see if he recognizes any of the series they have here.

Danny finds Marla’s Diner around 11:30, and once he’s spotted it, he finds a place to transform. He doesn’t want to be late, but being in his ghost form still makes him feel like he’s about to get jumped, so he sits on the roof of the building, holding his invisibility, until he sees Superboy flying over and dropping Robin off.

Robin murmurs quietly to Superboy as he’s set down, and Danny strains to hear them without moving at all. “...right to privacy.” Is all he catches before Superboy nods and straightens into a goofy salute.

“Tell him I said hi,” Superboy says. “And just text me whenever you want me to pick you up!” Robin agrees and heads into the diner,while Superboy flies off again. Danny stays frozen until he’s sure the other boy is fully gone, wondering what exactly a day in the life of one these heroes really involves.

When he and his friends weren’t dealing with a ghost attack, or some other crisis they were always more focused on school and having fun, but now with so much time to reflect, and a clear vision of what actual organized heroes look like, he catches himself wondering if things wouldn’t have turned out so bad if they had spent more of their time working on the problem where there wasn’t an imminent threat. Not that he has any clue what that work should have looked like, but maybe if they’d been more focused, Danny wouldn’t have had to flee.

Of course, Jazz would tell him to focus on what’s in front of him, rather than past decisions he can’t change. And right now, he has a meeting to get to. So Danny drops his invisibility and floats down to the ground, trying to look as unthreatening as possible as he enters the diner. The last thing he wants is to get mistaken for a rogue, after all. The hostess turns to greet him and freezes, and Danny flinches, frantically debating whether it’s worth upsetting Robin by bolting.

“Oh!” The hostess says after a moment, pulling Danny’s focus back. “Well, that explains Robin's presence here, doesn't it!” Her tone is bright. She doesn’t sound upset or scared, and when Danny risks glancing at her expression, she’s actually smiling.

“Uh-” Danny blinks. What was he going to say? Why exactly was he here, again?

“Our local hero, already catching the notice of the big leagues! I should be glad, really. You certainly look far too young to be doing the hero thing all on your lonesome.” Her grin dims a little, but before Danny can respond, she brightens again and continues. “Well, your pal is down at the end, hun. Last booth, nice and out of the way, for all your Very Important Discussions.” With a wave she gestures to a booth where Robin is seated, watching the entire interaction with a blank expression. Danny fights down another flinch, and instead forces himself to start walking over to slide into the booth across from him.

“Uh, hey.” Danny says, grasping at the string of his hoodie the second he’s seated. There’s a menu sitting on the table in front of him, and one in front of Robin as a well, so he probably intends for them to have lunch while they’re here, which probably means this is a friendly conversation. At the very least it’s not openly hostile, which officially makes it better than any meal he’d been forced to have with Vlad.

“Well,” Robin begins. “You certainly have a rapport with the locals already. I wasn't aware this region had significant issues.” Danny blinks over at him. He hadn’t even processed the waitress calling him the local hero, he’d been so focused on not causing a scene. And of course, now Robin thinks he was lying in their previous conversation, and- oh god, is that what this meeting is about? Did Robin become suspicious of him since their last conversation. What if this is a trap? Robin’s just staring at him and Danny hasn’t even responded to the clearly implied question yet.

“I’m not-” Danny starts. “Hero is really an exaggeration. There was a train crash about a month ago and it was- bad. I couldn’t just not help the firefighters.”

“Hmmm,” Robin responds, tilting his head slightly and watching Danny fidget for a long moment.

“That doesn’t cause problems for you, does it? I wasn’t trying to step on any toe, I promise! I just- didn’t want people to die, if I could help it.”

“You did nothing wrong,” Robin says suddenly, his tone turning deadly serious. “Nobody is ever wrong for wanting to help, and I read about that crash in the news. You worked with the firefighters and listened to their instructions without question. You provided clear and honest estimates of capabilities and didn’t cause any damage by overestimating or harming yourself in the process. Frankly, that incident is an exemplary show of everything the Justice League strives to do. I know fully trained members who would struggle to perform so perfectly in that kind of circumstance.”

“Oh, wow. Um, thanks?” Danny mumbles, a thrill of pride coursing through him, not unlike he’d felt in the initial aftermath of the crash. Maybe he shouldn’t feel so good about something that was such a terrible tragedy, but it’s just so nice to be told you did a good job.. “I mean, obviously it was freaking terrible, you know? And I’m sure they would have saved loads of those people without me, but-”

“In a disaster like that, everyone’s efforts count towards something,” Robin cuts him off. “It’s not about whether you single handedly changed the outcome, it’s the fact that you made the decision to lend a helping hand in a scary and dangerous situation.”

“Right,” Danny says. Somehow this conversation has become very serious, and Robin’s not talking like he’s in trouble, but he can’t imagine any other reason for this meeting. “Um, is that what you wanted to see me about? The train crash?” Robin stares at him for a moment, before relaxing his posture a little.

“No. I had a few questions regarding your identity. But we should order first. I want you to take your time to consider your decisions.

“Oh, um.” Danny glances down at the menu. He’d been kind of hoping to get away with not ordering anything, but he really doesn’t want to tell Robin no. Luckily the food seems pretty similar to what they’d have at a diner back home. “I’ll probably just have a sandwich? Whatever’s simplest.” The list of sandwiches is about half diner specialties, but there’s also a turkey club and a BLT listed, though the latter includes a fourth letter A, so Danny’s not entirely positive it’s the same thing. He struggles a bit with reading the description, but manages to confirm that it is his kind of BLT, just with the inclusion of avocado.

“If that’s what you want,” Robin says, and at Danny’s nod, he turns to signal the waiter, his demeanor shifts as he does so, and Danny watches with wide eyes as he smiles and thanks the server in a perfect presentation of manners. It would remind him of Vlad, how he drops so suddenly into a charming manner, but it's so completely devoid of malice, that instead it just comes off as someone incredibly gracious who is here on serious business. Then the waitress is gone again, and Robin's undivided attention returns to Danny.

“Do you want to go to school?” Danny blinks, and struggles to reorient himself to the new topic. School has certainly never been a choice in his life before, so the question feels just a little like a trap.

“Is truancy not a thing, here?” Danny asks.

“I mean, under normal conditions yes, but we’re sort of dealing with a lot of exceptions that the standard laws don’t really cover here. So it’s mostly up to us, how we handle your education. I considered just listing you as having your GED, but I wanted to give you the opportunity to have input into the matter. After all, school could help you adjust to the cultural variances, and if you have any intentions of going to college, a GED can complicate the process. Not that you couldn’t just attend a community college first, but you did say you were sixteen, so we could also set you up to finish off high school properly. It wouldn’t be too hard to list you as previously homeschooled to explain away your missing educational history.”

“Huh.”

“Of course, if we listed you as having your GED, you could just head directly into community college, so in some ways that would get you through college faster, but it would also place more pressure on you, and you’re already having to adjust to plenty of societal differences.”

Danny sits for a moment, thinking about it. Getting a say in how he handles school is wild, but what’s even more wild is the slow realization that he actually kind of wants to go back to it. Danny had hated high school so far, but really most of that could be attributed to a combination of bullies and the absolute hell that was trying to complete school work while secretly being a ghost.

Robin stays quiet, letting Danny mull the question over, as he starts typing on his fancy wrist computer. Danny’s very intrigued by the piece of tech. He hadn’t seen enough room for a full keyboard, but the way he’s typing seems too fluid to be using the multitap T9 system that Danny’s familiar with. He watches Robin for a moment, thinking about his parents’ own inventions and how he’d always been kind of intrigued by them, even when he thought their whole ghost obsession was nonsense. Danny had always hated his lit classes; had never gotten the hang of analysis, but he’d found science fascinating, and even if he’d had a habit of making a lot of dumb mistakes in math class, he’d liked the logic of it well enough.

It’s kind of fascinating coming to the realization that he actually likes learning, as he sits at a diner in another dimension. Before the portal incident the part of school that he’d really hated had been the social bullshit, not the actual classes. And the idea of getting a fresh start, where nobody already hates him, and he can get whatever grades he wants without worrying about getting in trouble with his parents is practically intoxicating.

“I mean,” Danny says, after their food’s been delivered. “I feel like I might as well try doing school for real? I could always test out if I wanted to and it would be kind of nice to get like a year and a half of a normal high school experience, you know?” Robin watches him for a moment after he finishes talking, and then nods.

“Entirely understandable. Would you prefer a physical school, or do you want to do classes online?”

“Um, I didn't even know that was an option.”

“It's not exactly standard, but it exists as an alternative just like homeschooling. Generally speaking online classes offer more flexibility, at the cost of requiring more self-sufficiency. Some private schools even offer online options that partner with colleges.”

“Huh. That sounds really cool? I don't know if I'd be good at it though.”

“If you want, you could try it out, and if you find yourself struggling, I can help you switch to a physical school.”

“Yeah, okay, sure.”

#dpxdc #dp x dc #the one where danny stumbles into a new universe and immediately guns for nasa #aka the one in which i redefine the meaning of immediately lmao #with every new finished chapter this story just gets longer someone help me

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chaoticrockmusic · 3 months ago

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◯𓇋An Enemy's Kiss◯𓇋

Sysopsis; What happens when there's tension in-between two so-called enemies? What happens when you finally see why this pirate always got back up, because you let him?

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The sky was a molten red, the city beneath them reduced to little more than shattered bones and smoking rubble. The wind carried the acrid scent of destruction, howling through the skeletal remains of buildings, as if mourning the ruin left behind.

At the edge of the crumbling tower, you stood, bloodied and breathless, fists clenched at your sides. Across from you, Sanji exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulder, his usual easy grace marred by exhaustion. Ash clung to his tattered shirt, soot streaked his cheek, but still—that damnable fire in his eyes refused to go out.

“You just do not quit, do you?” Your voice trembled with rage, the weight of it pressing into every syllable. “Time and time again, you ruin everything! I build, you break. I rise, you knock me down. No matter what I do, no matter how many times I put you in the dirt, you just keep getting back up—like some cockroach that refuses to die!”

Sanji swiped at the blood trickling from the corner of his mouth and let out a short, humorless laugh. “You talk like I’m the problem,” he muttered, tilting his head. “Like you aren’t the one leaving wreckage in your wake.”

“You do not get to stand there and preach to me.” You took a step forward, voice sharp as a blade. “Not after everything. Do you have any idea how much easier things would be if you were gone?”

The words hung between you, heavy with something unspoken. The wind howled through the ruins, but neither of you moved, the tension coiled tight as a wire.

Then, after a beat, Sanji exhaled, shaking his head.

“You don’t mean that.”

Your nails dug into your palms. “And what makes you so sure?”

He took a step forward this time, slow and deliberate, his sharp eyes never leaving yours. “Because if you really wanted me gone,” he said, voice quiet but unwavering, “you would have done it by now.”

Your breath caught.

Sanji was close enough now that you could see past the exhaustion, past the bruises and cuts, past the ever-present smirk he wore like armor. His eyes—steady, piercing, frustratingly understanding—locked onto yours, searching.

And damn him, because he was right.

You had the chance before. More than once. A well-placed blow, a single ruthless strike, and he would not be standing here now. But every time, something held you back. Some invisible chain wrapped tight around your wrists, refusing to let you finish it.

You hated him for seeing it. Hated him for the way he still stood there, unwavering.

“You are insufferable.” The words came out as a whisper—low, bitter, almost pained.

Sanji’s lips curled, just slightly, in something that was not quite a smirk, not quite a smile. “Yeah?” he murmured. “So are you.”

The air between you shifted—dangerous, electric.

It was impossible to tell who moved first.

One second, you were standing at a distance, and the next, you had collided—hands fisting in his torn shirt, his grip firm at your waist, and then his lips crashed against yours in something desperate, reckless, inevitable.

The battle had raged for so long, but this? This was its own kind of war.

Fury burned between you, but so did something deeper, something raw and undeniable. The taste of blood lingered between your mouths, the scent of smoke curling in the air, but none of it mattered. Not when he was pulling you closer, not when your hands trembled against him, not when you realized just how badly you had wanted this—wanted him.

The moment stretched, sharp and breathless, before you finally tore yourself away, your forehead resting against his as your breathing came ragged.

Sanji’s fingers lingered at your waist, hesitant but unwilling to let go.

“This doesn’t change anything,” you rasped.

His breath was warm against your lips as he chuckled, low and rough. “Didn’t say it did.”

And yet, as he looked at you—eyes dark, gaze searching—something had shifted. Something had already changed.

And neither of you could take it back now.

#female writers #writing #callme_bunni #sanji vinsmoke #vinsmoke sanji #black leg sanji #one piece sanji #sanji #sanji one piece #sanji x reader #sanji x you #sanji x y/n #vinsmoke sanji x reader #one piece x reader #op x reader

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ghostlychief · 2 years ago

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Don’t Blame Me

Pairing: MW2 Ghost x f!reader

Summary: They say love makes you crazy, so can they really blame you?

Warnings: mentions of blood, knife usage (stabbing, stabbing people’s eyes, eyes being ripped out of socket); mentions of combat fighting; hints of torture and injuries from torture; typical MW2 lore

NSFW, MINORS DNI: blowjob, fingering, eating pussy; missionary; creampie; aftercare

WC: 7k+ (IK IT’S LONG)

A/N: hello hello! here is the long awaited ghost fic that’s been in development for quite awhile. Thank you so much for participating in my pole, and i hope you enjoy!!! I really let myself indulge in more of the gore this time around, so please read with caution if that kind of content bothers you.

ENJOY🫶🏻🖤

You didn’t know blood could be this thick.

But, as you cut through the swarm of your opponents, you really don’t care how much of it gets on your clothes, seeps into your crevasses, and splashes on your face. No, you really don’t give a shit. Your only objective is to get to Ghost, and quickly.

All you see is red, literally.

Before you even fully process what you’re doing, the knife in your hand has already sunk into a neck, blood spurting everywhere, drenching you further. You carry on, the one person you’re trying to reach at the forefront of your mind.

Should you have felt some remorse for the lives you ended? Probably, but it was like you brain was turned off. Actually, no, that’s incorrect. It was like your brain was wired differently, like it was wired to focus on one thing and one thing only: retrieve Ghost.

You can’t recall when you two got separated, or when he got captured in your last mission. All you remember is the pain you felt when you noticed he’d been taken.

You could blame yourself for his capture, but you decided to turn your fury towards someone else rather than yourself. You realized over the years that self-loathing wasn’t very efficient. It tends to waste time.

It was easy after all; it’s not hard to hold contempt towards the people that stole your lover away from you.

This was their doing. I’m only showing them the consequences of their actions.

It’s what you had to tell yourself. Otherwise, you didn’t see how you were going to come out of this alive. You had to redirect your rage, your frenzy. You had to channel it through your veins, making sure it heated you, and coursed through in a way that burned.

It had to be this way. It was the only way to help you be relentless against your opponents.

You were pretty proud of your knife skills; it was your favorite weapon after all. You always made sure to carry at least two with you at all times.

Today, you strapped on four and you were lucky, since you lost your first two about ten minutes ago. They were no doubt lodged into someone lying on the ground, pierced through their eye. That was your sweet spot, never failing you to effectively take down your opposition.

By this point, it felt like you had sliced your way through a hundred men and yet you still haven’t reached the door of the facility Ghost was being held in. Hope was on the horizon though because you could faintly make out the top of the door frame, which egged you on further. Your muscles worked tirelessly as your arms continued to swing at the men attacking you.

Occasionally, you would move your arms in a quick jabbing motion, repeatedly stabbing the opponent in the stomach and then you would land one last finally blow to their eye, your signature move some would say.

One of the downsides of this move was that sometimes, it took a lot of strength to pull your knife back out of the eye (hence your missing knives), which resulted in pulling their eyeball clear and out of its socket.

Not the best outcome of this tactic, but it is what it is.

Unfortunately, for your last victim, this very thing happened. You were thankful when his screams died down quickly.

You had a moment to catch your breath, hanging your head, quivering hands resting on your upper thighs. You looked up just in time to see someone charging at you, yelling, and with their own knives in their hands.

You noticed that they were the only one alive left outside.

One more. I can take care of him.

You swiftly moved to the side, but could hear the whisp of his blade cutting through the air. That was no good- he got too close.

Time to fix that.

Since you were so deft in your knife wielding ability, you also had a knack of being light on your feet and quick. Something that certainly benefited you.

While the man was no doubt taller and heavier than you, you were faster and anticipated his movements with ease. Sooner than later he too was on the ground, finished, with a sliver blade in his left eye, your red hand-grip the only thing you could see sticking out of his head.

You decided to leave it there, as a parting gift of course.

That’s where you got your nickname, Red Eye, seeing that your weapon of choice was wrapped in a blood-red grip that blended in with the blood that seeped out of your victims’ eye sockets. You thought the nickname was silly at first, but you just grew to accept it over the years. What can you say, you like the fancifulness of it every once in a while.

While you always had reputation, this name made your reputation grow into something almost bigger. While your peers and opponents knew you as the women with the red soaked blades, this name gave you a more, how should you put it?

Eerie reputation.

After stepping over your last remaining victim, you finally reach the double doors, leading into the building Ghost is being held captured in.

Before you entered though, you heard a voice through your comms. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Red Eye.”

Fuck me.

You hear Soap over the comms, “Wait for backup. We’re detecting three bodies via heat signatures”

You let out a groan, but made sure that your comms didn’t pick up on that.

“We don’t have time for that. I need to engage now.”

“You will do no such thing.” You hear Price’s voice cut through, stopping you from opening the doors.

“It’s a miracle you made it this far without any back up. Don’t test my patience.”

Ok, so you may have left without anyone knowing and got a two-hour head start before the rest of your team caught up to your location.

It’s just- they were taking, what it seemed like, forever to develop a plan to get your boyfriend out of captivity. You get it, logistics need to be air tight. But this was Ghost, Simon. Your Simon out there.

You knew he could handle what was given to him, but that didn’t ease any worry or hurt left in your heart, and it made you see red with anger.

That’s how your more or less ended up here, alone, slicing through about 30 men all by yourself. Not the smartest move you admit, but you had to get to Simon. You knew his time was running down, like a sand timer, each minute gone left him more perilous than before.

You were definitely going to get your ass kicked tomorrow at debrief.

You were just about to go in, thinking to hell with listening to orders, when you hear at least two sets of feet jogging across the gravel.

“Jesus, Red Eye. Leave any for the rest of us?”

You just roll your eyes at Soap, ignoring his comment. “C’mon guys, we need to hurry. Let’s take the last of the fuckers out and get Ghost back home.”

“Roger that.”

You go in first taking point, Soap and Kӧnig flanking you.

This time around, you have your handgun out, but your knife is safely held with your left hand, resting on the underside of the muzzle.

The hallway is dark, but it’s to your advantage. You think you see a light source coming from the hallway on the left that you’re coming up to, so you raise your left hand and point in that direction, signaling to Soap and Kӧnig.

This is where you come across the first person.

We must be close.

You let Kӧnig take him out. He comes up swiftly behind him and locks an arm around the man’s throat. First knocking him out, but then ultimately, finishing the job.

You three continue down the long corridor. They seem to go on forever. Sweat drips down your temple, and you hastily swipe it away, not wanting anything to obstruct your vision.

As you come closer to the end of the hallway, you start to hear something.

You raise your hand to signal Soap and Kӧnig to stop, and turn around so they can see you raise your pointer finger up to your lips.

You listen for the sound again, and you realize what it is this time.

Your blood runs cold, and goosebumps form on your arms, freezing you in place as you listen to the deafening sound that doesn’t seem to stop.

Ghost is screaming.

You don’t think you’ve ever heard him be this loud, let alone sound so full of pain. You have to pull it together though, you’re almost to him.

You continue on, making a right this time, and Ghost’s screams become louder. It’s good and bad of course. Good because he’s near you and you’re close, bad because he hasn’t stopped screaming.

You wonder how long this has been going on for.

You feel a heavy weight float down your chest, that takes its resting place in your heart. You find it hard to breath, and it takes every fiber in your being not to go into full panic mode.

You get closer and closer to the room Ghost is in, but you don’t hear him anymore. There is no one outside guarding, so the remaining two people must be inside with him.

Your stomach churns over.

You hadn’t realized it, but you fell behind both Soap and Kӧnig, but without a beat, they took your spot at point, leading you to the door.

They bust in first and immediately go after the two men that were standing by Ghost, who is strapped to a chair. It’s your job to get Ghost free of his confines.

But when you look at him, you freeze all over again.

He’s slumped in the chair, hands and feet bound by thick ropes that are no doubt leaving crude burns in his skin.

His pants have rips and holes in them and from further examination, you realize it’s from cigarette burns and cuts from blades.

You can’t see any damage on his arms but you’re worried what his shirt is hiding on his torso. You realize he’s slumped because he’s knocked out cold, probably from a concussion. But you know he’s alive because you see the slight rise and fall of his chest. It’s ever so faint, but it’s there.

You look around the room and notice a medium size table with different kinds of weapons and tools splayed out along the length of the table. You notice some have dried blood on them, while other tools are still dripping red. Rags litter the table as well. They’re dirty and also have traces of lingering blood.

Once again, you feel the embers burning through you, and you feel like you’re about to explode into a fury of rage.

You turn towards the two men that Soap and Kӧnig took down.

The two bodies lie on the floor and before you realize what you’re doing, you crouching over the first man, and with your blade, you start stabbing both of his eyes, switching on and off between the left and right. While you do this, a blood curdling scream leaves your lips.

It’s both terrifying and heartbreaking; a fine line dances between the two.

You snarl at the now eyeless man before you crawl your way over to his counterpart and release the same anger and revenge onto him. Your screech never faltering.

You don’t realize what you’re doing until you feel strong arms come up behind you and lift you off the dead man.

You start fighting their hold and it’s then when you start crying, your scream turning into a sob. The exhaustion finally getting to you.

“We got him. He’s going to be ok; it’s going to be ok.”

That’s the last thing you hear before everything goes black.

When you wake, you notice you’re lying on something soft. When you come to, you realize you’re on a bed, under a thin layer of covers and your head rests on a firm pillow.

You squint because the lights are overly bright but when they adjust, you notice the infamous florescent glow, meaning, you’re in the medical ward of the base.

You sit up, and you notice no aches or pains outside of your regular soreness you felt after fighting for an extended period of time. Your head also hurts, but you don’t really care.

You want to know where Simon is.

You notice a nurse a few feet away and you wave her over.

“Excuse me, but why am I in here?”

She gives you a tight-lipped smile. If you didn’t know any better, you would say that she’s nervous. She fidgets with her hands before answering you.

“Well miss, you fainted on your last mission. They brought you here to be examined.”

She moves over to the end of your bed and takes out the clipboard that resided in the pocket.

“Here, let’s see.” She looks over your paper before looking back at you, still with a trace of uneasiness.

“Seems like everything is OK. Your vitals are normal, and you have no major injuries, just some light bruising on your arms and hands. You are welcome to leave when you want.”

You glance down and notice the light purple that spans across your knuckles.

Before she can scurry away, you ask, “Wait, where are they keeping Ghost?” You shake your head, “I mean, Simon Riley.”

A look of pity crosses her face before she answers, “He’s in Ward C miss; the intensive care unit.”

She leaves before you can ask her anything else.

What the fuck was her problem?

You jump out of your bed, but immediately regret that decision when your head starts to throb right above your left eye.

Now is not the time for a migraine.

You make sure you have all of your belongings before you rush over to Ward C. Right before you are about to enter through the doorway, Price comes through and stops you with a hand placed on your shoulder.

He looks down at you – you’re really getting tired of being the shortest on the team- and squeezes your shoulder gently.

“Before you go in there, guns-a-blazing, he’s doing ok, alright?”

You just stare up at him and nod. Although it was good to hear Simon was doing ok, whatever the hell that meant, you still had so much anger left in you. So much you were hoping that just the sight of Simon healing would help quell you.

You walk past Price, a determined spring in your step, ready to be reunited with Simon. It’s been so long since you’ve last seen him.

Three weeks.

Three weeks he was gone, and you thought he was never coming back.

The intensive care unit is unusually empty so it’s not hard to find which bed Simon is occupying.

You quietly walk up to the side of the bed, and you are finally by his side.

“You don’t have to tiptoe around me bug, I’m awake.”

Simon’s voice startles you and your head turns towards his. You notice his left arm is in a sling but a lazy smile graces his lips.

If you weren’t in a medical facility on base, out in the open to the prying eyes of the public, you would have immediately burst out crying just at the sound of his voice.

Instead, you let out a breathy, “I thought I lost you.”

Unlike Simon, your face has no hint of happiness. Your lips are slightly turned down, quivering and your eyes start to well up with tears, but you will them not to drop.

Your hands are balled up in fists but you bring yourself back down. You are here for him after all; it’s not the other way around.

You slowly unclench your fists and then gingerly sit down on the side of Simon’s bed, right at his hip.

That’s when you bring your hand up to trace down the side of his face, feeling the familiar stubble that never fails to tickle you when he kisses you.

Your hand comes back up to rub his cheek and you say again, “I thought I lost you, Simon.”

He brings his hand up to cup yours that still rests on his face. “I know, I know. But I’m here, and I’m ok.”

“Are you though?” You can’t fight it anymore, the tears stream down your face, their streaks burning your skin.

His hand that was resting on yours comes up to rub your head. “Promise.”

After that, you and Simon laid in his hospital bed for the remainder of the day. He fell in and out of sleep, but you were just thankful he was alive and breathing next to you.

It’s been about three weeks since Simon’s been back. He’s out of his sling and most of his bruises and wounds have healed. Expect for the deeper lacerations on his thighs. He also has some scarring from the cigarette butts. But over all, you would say he’s doing pretty alright, all things considered.

You’re both currently on base, since you needed to attend multiple meetings today, and you’re eating lunch in the cafeteria.

“So, I heard you went kind of, feral, when you came to rescue me.” Simon has an innocent look on his face, but you see him trying to hid his shit eating grin.

You narrow your eyes at him, “And who did you hear that from?”

He just shrugs nonchalantly, “No one in particular.”

You scoff. Fucking Soap.

You knew he must have told someone, if not Simon himself. He was quite the gossiper.

What a fucker.

“Well, did you want me to ask them to be friends?”

Simon lets out a low laugh. “That would have been funny.” You look up at him and see his eyes are lit with amusement.

You let out a sigh, but a ghost of a smile dances across your lips. You know he’s feeling better since he’s joking around.

Another three weeks has passed and you find yourself in the typical meeting room. The one you all use before a mission. That means this will be your last debrief before you jet off to where ever the location is in a few days.

The meeting goes well up until the part where Price says “And Ghost, you will wait here at the rendezvous point.”

You interrupt him, “Wait what?”

The room goes silent as you stare down Price.

“There’s no way Simon is going on this mission. Nope. Not happening.”

“Well, y/n, you don’t really have a say in this. Do you?”

The trace of condescendence has you short circuiting but you keep your cool. You glare at Price, “If Simon’s going on this mission, then count me out.” You don’t notice the slip of his name. Usually at work you call Simon Ghost or LT, but never Simon.

You storm out of the room and head back to your desk to gather your things to leave.

You hear someone lightly jogging behind you, and you have a hunch about who it is that followed you out.

You feel a hand softly grab your elbow and you hear Simon plead, “Wait.”

You sigh and turn around. Looking up at him you confess, “Look, I need to cool off for a bit. We can talk at home, ok?”

You see Simon contemplate whether to let you go or not, but he just gives you a curt nod. He gives your arm a gentle squeeze where his hand still rests, “Ok, see you at home.” --

You basically scowl your whole way home. Listen, you know you have some slight anger issues, but you’re working on it.

You get home after the long day and quickly make way to the shower, needing to feel the hot water run down your head and back. That will calm me, you think.

Once you step out of the shower, you already feel better. You’re clean, and you smell like your favorite soap. You change and do your normal routine after a shower then head to the kitchen to make yourself a warm cup of tea.

Evening tea is one of your favorite treats and it always seems to quell your nerves. Because that’s what you are right now, nervous.

You don’t want to fight with Simon, no, not at all. But you can’t help but feel frustrated at Price, and subsequently him, for deciding that he’s ready to go back in the field. Because from your perspective he’s not. Hell, it’s barley been a month and a half, and you think he needs more time to cope with what happened to him.

Sure, he’s seeing the base’s therapist, and he’s doing everything he can to keep his physical body healthy, yet you can’t help but the ball of worry that has formed in the pit of your stomach, fester. Something keeps nagging at you, and you don’t know what it is.

You just don’t understand how Simon can bounce back so quickly.

Luckily you didn’t have to wait too long for Simon to get home. And when he does, you find yourself perking up on the couch when you hear him come through the door.

He lets out a soft “Hey,” in which you respond just as softly back.

“I’m going to go shower and wash up, but then we can talk, yeah?”

You give him a nod, but also confirm, “Sure, that sounds good.”

His shower felt like eternity, but you know you only feel this way because you’re on edge. Again, you don’t want to fight with him. You just, you love him so much, you can’t stand to lose him again. No, it can’t happen again.

You hear soft footsteps on the tile as Simon makes his way through the kitchen to the living room where you’re still seated on the couch.

You look up at him before he sits down and grant him a quiet smile, and reach out your hand to his. His large hand grasps yours in his, and his thumb traces your knuckles. He then sits down next to you, and now his fingers are tracing over yours, relaxing you just a smidge.

You can feel his warmth radiating off of you instantly, and it takes ever thing in you to not glue yourself to his side.

You both slightly turn to each other, and funnily enough you each say “So,” at the same time.

You giggle and he lets out a low chuckle that makes your insides swarm. You miss him.

“You go first, bug.” The hand that has been tracing yours pulls you closer to him, and he embraces you in a warm hug as you both sit on the couch.

Before you start, you simply just bask in Simon’s embrace, not wanting to let go just yet. You begrudgingly pull away, but still keep your fingers connected in their little dance.

“I’m sorry for storming out today at our meeting. That was unprofessional, and uncalled for, but I just don’t see why you have to go on our next mission.”

“Aren’t you still hurting from what happened to you on the last one? I guess I just don’t understand why you want to go back in the field so soon.”

There’s a pause before you add, “How do you know you’re ready to go back?”

One thing you appreciate about Simon is that he never interrupts you, and he always lets you finish your complete thought before adding his.

When he can tell you’re done, he sighs and says, “Because, y/n, that’s what we’re trained for.”

“I wouldn’t have this job if I couldn’t put the pieces back together after every mission.”

You guess that makes sense, but you’re still concerned about him.

“Listen, I get that, I really do. I guess what I want to make sure of is that you’re actually doing ok and that you’re working through whatever happened to you.”

He’s told you the gist of what happened, and he confides in you whenever he feels like he needs the extra support, but you know that there are some things he’s still hiding. Which, you’re not going to push him to tell you, but you hope at some point he does.

He gives you a slight smile, “That’s why I love you. You’re always looking out for me, and I appreciate it so much, but I’m really doing fine, ok?”

He shifts so he’s leaning in closer to you, and now it’s his turn to cup your jaw with his hand. He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, and you nod at his answer. “I love you too.”

“That’s what I like to hear.”

You grant him a smile in return and then he pulls you in for a kiss.

The kiss deepens and before you know it, you’re straddling his lap, one leg on either side of his thick torso. You’re a mess as you straddle him, and you wrap your arms around his neck, wanting to be closer to him, if even possible.

He wraps his arms around you and subconsciously pulls you closer to him. His large hands span across your back as he holds you close to him. Your center brushes against his you let out a moan when you feel this contact. You run your hands down his neck and shoulders, feeling the taught muscles underneath his black t-shirt. As you rock your hips against his, you hear him let out a moan, which only eggs you on further.

“Fuck, y/n. Keep doing that again.” His hands travel down to hold you hips, almost as if he’s trying to help you move against him.

Your hands move in tandem and they come to rest at the base of his t-shirt, your fingers playing with the hem. You’re itching to take it off of him, and he seems to understand what you want, because he pauses kissing you to help you take off his shirt.

Now shirtless, you bring your hands up to his shoulders and then trail them slowly down his torso, nails ever so slightly scraping against his skin. You can feel each ridge and bump from his abs before your reach the hem of his sweatpants. Your fingers graze over his happy trail before you start toying with his sweats.

You run one finger along the hem of his grey sweats, then ever so slightly, your finger enters his pants, you run your finger under his sweatpants. You’re teasing him, and you can tell he’s getting antsy by the way he shifts as your finger runs along the band of his briefs.

As you continue to tease him, you trail or lips over his chest. Your lips wrap around one of his nipples, the unpierced one, and you softly bite him before you run your tongue over his nipple, suckling.

He moans out a gentle “Fuck,” and one of his hands comes up to grasp your hair.

You move over to his other nipple, the pierced one to be exact, and you once again softly bite him then suck. You make sure to spend your time here because you know this is one of Simon’s favorite thing during foreplay. Once he’s taken care of there, you continue to trail your lips down his abdomen, and now you’re finally at his center.

You get off his lap and sit on the floor in-between his spread legs. You place your hands right above his knees, and you look up at him with your swollen lips.

“You’re going to be good for me tonight, right?” You rub your thumbs in soft circles on his legs, waiting for his answer.

You see him gulp as he looks down at you, and then his lips quirk, in a smirk.

“What do you say?” Your hands stop their ministrations and you tilt your head, understanding what he wanted.

“Please.”

His smirk deepens, “Good girl.”

At his greenlight, you come up on your knees so that you can reach him better. Your trail the hem on his sweatpants one last time before you start pulling them down off his hips, making sure that his briefs come off too. He lifts his butt to help you, and now you’ve successfully taken his pants and underwear off.

You greedily take in the size of him. His dick is hard and slightly curved as it lays against his stomach. You wrap your hand around him, he’s so thick that your hand doesn’t close around it the whole way. You pump him slowly, as you look at him. His eyes are blown out and he leans his head back against the couch. You smile at him before you lower yourself. You link one strip up his dick, making him squirm underneath you. You then you bring up your hand to start pumping him. As your hand moves up and down, your lips come up to kiss the to crown of his dick.

You look up at him again, locking eyes and then wrap your lips around him. Once your lips make contact, he lets out a low moan. You continue to sink down on him. You move your head up and down, trying to adjust to his size. The part of his dick that you can’t fit into your mouth, you cover with your hand, pumping him up and down.

Your hair falls around you, and at this, Simon carefully takes your hair into one hand, putting it into a makeshift ponytail.

“Fuck, baby that feels so good.”

You continue to suck on him, hollowing out your cheeks. You know he’s close when you see his abs start to clench and his legs start to stiffen.

The moans he lets out has your getting wetter and wetter by the minute, and you squirm, trying to ease some of the pent-up tension you’re feeling.

Your unoccupied hand comes down to play with his balls, gently squeezing them and that is what does him in. He lets out a louder groan and you feel his warm come shoot down your throat.

You keep your mouth on him, cleaning him up before you slowly take yourself off him. You wipe your lips with the back of your hand and you sit back on your heels, smiling at him.

He runs a hand through his hair, and lets out a low chuckle.

“Damn, you really did a number on me there.” You laugh yourself and you come up to the couch, sitting beside him so you can turn his head to give him a lingering kiss.

You give him a few pecks, “What can I say, I’m good at what I do.” Your eyes are bright as you look at him, and his hold the same amount of affection and adoration.

His low voice cuts through you, “Now it’s my turn to make you feel good, alright?”

You give him a brief nod, “Please.”

He pulls you back into him, and then starts to push you back so you’re lying on the couch under him. He’s kissing you frantically now, his tongue entering your mouth.

“Take your pants off for me, would you?” His hands make their way to take your shirt off, and while he does that, you slip out of your shorts, underwear gone with them.

“Thank you, baby.”

He keeps kissing you as his hand comes down to your center. He first cups you, and then brings his pointer finger to rub against your clit. As his pointer is stimulating your clit, his middle and ring finger run along your slit, gathering up all the wetness that formed over the course of the last half hour.

You see him bring his coated fingers up to you. “Taste for me,” he breathes. And without any hesitation, you suck on his fingers, tasting yourself, making sure to look at Simon while you lick his fingers. He watches you with fire in his eyes.

“Good girl.”

You’ll never get tired of hearing him call you that.

He brings his hand back down to your pussy and then enters two fingers in you, stretching you out deliciously. You whine as his fingers enter you; they feel so good inside you.

Luckily for you, your boyfriend has quite large hands, which equated to long, thick fingers, and he always knew what to do with them.

He starts picking up the pace, and the squelching sound his fingers make is deafening, and the only thing you can focus on as they move in and out of you.

You didn’t even have to ask before he’s adding in a third. You feel yourself clench around him, and you’re already losing your mind and he hasn’t even properly fucked you yet.

He’s hitting you right in your sweet spot, and your hands come up to hold him by the shoulders. He moves down ever just a hair, and you’re not sure why until he lowers his head. He spits, and then connects his lips with your clit, moving his tongue around your sensitive bud.

The addition to his lips on your clit has you seeing stars and you start to feel that familiar build up. You tumble over the edge, a bright warmness spreading through you.

Simon removes his lips and fingers from you and you’re both panting heavily. He’s bracing himself with one arm as he looks down at you.

Your hair is messily strewn across the couch behind you, and your eyes are bright. Your chest moves up and down as you try and catch your breath. You smile up at him, this time your teeth showing.

He gives you a peck on your lips. “How was that?”

You sigh, “Amazing.”

Another kiss is pressed on your lips and you can faintly taste yourself on him.

“I want to properly fuck you, and that can’t be done on the couch. Bedroom, yeah?”

You nod up at Simon acquiescing to his suggestion.

“Alright, up you go then.”

He swiftly pulls you up and off the couch into his arms. You squeal at the sudden movement but it turns into giggles as Simon carries you bridal style to the bedroom.

“Wow, my night in shining armor.” You lazily loop your hands around his neck as he leads you both to the room. He just laughs at your statement.

Once there, he gently deposits you on the bed, and wastes no time picking up where you left off.

He crawls on top of you and starts to kiss you up your stomach and chest, finally reaching your mouth. His kiss leaves you burning, and your hands eagerly reach for him, pulling him down further into you.

You wrap your legs around his torso, and feel his dick brush up against your center, hard once again.

He pulls away to look at you, eyes connecting. “Do you need any more prep?” He brings a hand up to brush away some of the flyway hairs that covered your face. His hand lingers, cupping your head, and his thumb brushes your cheek in a soothing back and forth motion.

Smiling you answer, “No, I’m good.”

“Ok.”

Bracing himself above you, his hand trails down to grasp his dick. He gives it a few pumps before running it along your slits, and lightly taps it on your overly sensitive clit.

He then slowly guides it into you, the stretch much bigger than what his fingers could offer. You both let out a sigh as he fully sinks into you, eyes connecting at this very moment. Once he’s fully inside, he gives you some time to adjust, his hand moving to hold your hips, thumb moving in circles.

“You okay?” He asks, looking down at you. You look up at him, “Yeah, I’m good, you can start moving.”

At your consent for him to move, he does just that. He pulls his hips back before he pushes them back into you. He starts off with a steady pace, not too fast, not too slow. You’re surprised he’s not pounding into you relentlessly like he usually does. This time his thrusts are much more calculated, calm, like he’s got all the time in the world. The slower drag of him against your walls makes you roll your eyes back, reveling in the feeling of him.

It’s only him, that’s all you can think about, all you can feel. You let go of the heaviness you’ve been feeling to focus on being with him now. It’s not hard, he makes you feel like you’re floating anyways.

Your fingers run down his face, down his shoulders, taking in as much as you can of him. Then you run your hand down his tattooed arm, mapping the intricate details of his tattoos and running over the protruding veins due to him propping himself up. Simon watches you as you run your hand across him.

He gives you a particular harsher thrust, eyes trained on you when you moan and clutch his arm a harder. He picks up the pace just a little, loving the way you look beneath him, taking his cock so well.

“Fuck. Right there, baby,” you breathe. He hits that same spot again, but this time you move up the bed a little from the force of his hips. Your breasts jiggle as you shift up the bed and Simon’s eyes are travel to your chest. He brings his hand up to up one of them, rolling his thumb over your nipple. Simon keeps this faster rhythm with his hips, slamming into your now quivering pussy, showing you no mercy as he pounds into you with force.

His thrusts are powerful that leave the breath knocked out of you.

He removes his hand from your breast to wrap it around your leg. He positions your leg so it’s resting on his shoulder, now giving him a new angle into you. This position allows you to feel him move even deeper inside you, now feeling the tip of his dick hit your cervix, which makes you whine. His thrusts continue their hard motions, but his pace starts to slow down.

Simon’s hips start to falter a little bit in their smooth rhythm, a telltale sign he’s close. At his praising, you unconsciously clench around him, making him breathe out a silent curse as his hand tightens on your leg that is propped up on his shoulder.

“Si, I’m close,” you whine. You feel so full, so consumed by all things Simon, the only thing you can focus on is him and the building orgasm that threatens to spill over.

“Me too.” Simon removes his hand that’s been propping your leg up and moves it down to your clit, and starts to rub slow circles on the bud, making you squirm. You bring your leg down from his shoulder to wrap it around his torso once again pulling him closer to you. You drag your hands down and up his back as his thumb continues to abuse your clit. “Fuck, you feel so good.”

With a few more thrusts from Simon and the quick movements of his finger on your clit, you feel the coil in you snap, and it snaps hard. Your orgasm washes over you, a blinding white light that makes you feel like you’re going to pass out, and you call out his name one last time.

Your eyes squeeze shut and you see stars, as your pussy clamps down hard on Simon’s dick. He’s a moaning mess above you as he feels your orgasm that’s traveling through your body, your walls contracting around him.

He curses out a soft “fuck baby” and then he’s following just a hair behind you, traveling over his precipice as well, emptying inside of you. You feel his come paint your walls as your pussy continues to clench around him, as you ride out your second orgasm of the night.

He collapses on top of you but is careful not to crush you completely. You’re breathing heavy as you both come down from your highs, both sweaty messes.

He lifts his head to look at you. There’s a soft smile on his face and you smile back.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, bug.”

Your smile falters, “I never want you to leave me like that ever again. Got it?” Your voice is firm, but there’s an underlying trace of tenderness. Your hand comes up to push his hair back, waiting for his answer.

“Never.”

“Good.” You pull him back down to you for a kiss.

He slowly peels himself off of you and whispers out, “Wait here.”

You lay on your back, legs bent as you wait for Simon’s return. When you hear him entering the bedroom, you slightly sit up and you notice a washcloth in one of his hands.

He kneels back on the bed and gingerly pries your legs open so he can clean you up. He delicately starts wiping your center, his first few strokes making you writhe due to oversensitivity. His hand rests tenderly on your knee, thumb stroking back and forth as he wipes you clean. He must have run the washcloth under hot water because it’s wet and feels warm against your skin.

When he’s done, he pecks the inside of your knee and gets up off the bed to go throw the washcloth in the hamper. When he returns to you, he’s in his boxers, and he has a t-shirt in his hand.

“For you, my lady.” You laugh at him and take his shirt, pulling the soft material over your body.

You both clamber under the covers, and are now wrapped up in Simon’s arms.

There’s no place you’d rather be right now, and you’re so thankful the universe allowed you another chance to be with him like this.

If he didn’t make his way back to you, you don’t even know what you would have done. Probably would have gone mental, but who could really blame you?

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marriedzukka · 1 year ago

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can i interest anyone in a retgmt16 snippet on this fine evening

Zuko gently rubs Sokka’s left calf where it’s draped over his lap, watching curiously as Sokka untangles the wires of a TENS unit. It’s kind of a bitch to set up with all of its wires and electrode patches and buttons, but he’s become fond of it lately in lieu of his heating pad during the hotter summer months. Then again, because he’s Sokka, he loves any excuse to play with a gadget of some kind, even if it’s at his own expense. The TENS doesn’t have a stupid nickname yet, but Zuko figures it’s only a matter of time.

Sokka scrunches forward to unwrap his knee, methodically placing the sticky sides of the TENS patches around it instead. Easy as anything, he catches Zuko studying him, and a smile pulls at his lips. “Looks weird, I know.”

Zuko’s thumb moves softly over the faded surgery scar just below his knee. “But it helps?”

His eyes soften as he places another patch. “Yeah, Sunshine. It helps. Usually.”

“Can I do the next one?”

"I got it," he shrugs, slowly peeling a bit of plastic film off of the last patch. “It’s not rocket science.”

“So even I can do it, then.”

There. Zuko likes it when something he says makes Sokka smile. He should do that more often.

“Fine." Sokka places the last patch in his outstretched hand and lies back against the couch. “Don’t fuck it up.”

“Or what?”

“Or it won’t help.”

The patch is weird and sticky, suddenly awkward to hold as he hovers it over Sokka’s knee and tries to find the right spot. There are wires everywhere, more patches and scars and knobby knees. It may not be rocket science but there’s definitely a method to this madness, and Zuko suddenly realizes that he doesn’t actually know how to interpret it at all. The last thing he wants to do is be the reason it doesn’t work, or cause Sokka any more pain than he’s already in. Maybe this was a bad idea.

“Where the fuck am I supposed to put it?”

Like the sun on the side of his face, Sokka's eyes are on him, watching this all go down with unbridled fondness.

“What?!” Zuko snaps.

“Nothing. Just love you.”

His smile is utterly disarming. Zuko can feel the blush creeping up his neck. “Love you too.”

“You’re so cute.”

“Shut up and tell me where to put this.”

“Can’t do both at the same time.”

“Sokka.”

He laughs and leans forward, using his finger to draw invisible lines from one patch to another in an X shape over his knee. “See here? The channels are crossed like this, so it covers more surface area. So that patch needs to go opposite this one. There’s other ways to do it, and it could change depending on what part of the body you’re trying to work with, but that’s basically it.”

Zuko follows his direction, carefully placing the last patch in its designated spot and gently smoothing it down. “Now what?”

“The fun part.” Sokka lies back again, grabbing the handheld machine on the other end of the wires and fiddling with the dials. “I usually start at level two, and work my way up to a five or six if it’s really bad. Can’t go much higher than that though or it might make it worse.”

Zuko listens intently, making several mental notes. Something fierce and protective washes over him; so often, he feels helpless when it comes to easing his partner’s pain, but he’ll do whatever he can, whenever Sokka will let him. And sure, Sokka could do stuff like this himself if he really wanted to, but he doesn't have to. Not anymore. They're in this together now.

“How bad is it?”

Sokka hums, considering. “I'm only on level three. At least for now.”

It’s a small relief. He rarely goes a day without pain anymore, or maybe more accurately, he’s been more honest about how often it’s bothering him. To think that there were probably countless times when he was hurting and said nothing makes Zuko’s stomach twist with guilt. All that pain and still, Sokka kept showing up for them.

He doesn’t see how amazing he is, but Zuko does, every day. It’s hard to ignore something that bright.

#just them :')#still slowly but surely chipping away at this update. appreciate your patience as always <3 #shes at 17k words so far but only about halfway done so. do with that information what you will #retgmt #wip

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w33nies · 1 year ago

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Qué Maravilla CH.12 - 'Something Wicked This Way Comes'

Previous Chapter Next Chapter Miguel O'hara x SpiderReaderrating: E for Everyone bby warnings: Aplogies in advance for this shit is long as fuck. I didn't know where to cut it because I have attachment issues. angst, bad words + proofreader? I hardly know her summary: exposition + you and Miguel angst because I need to make things harder for everyone because I like drama

----- Ch.12 - Something Wicked This Way Comes -----

It was concerning to Miguel how easy it was to travel undetected in the subway station of Brooklyn,New York on Earth-42. There was an abundance of dark corners and corridors to hide in thanks to the faulty, neglected overhead lighting. Every officer he passed was either on their phone, passed out, or blatantly disinterested in his presence. Even shamelessly sticking to the side of train cart windows would only be met with brief disinterested glances from the passengers before they nonchalantly resumed whatever business had them preoccupied prior. It was…disorienting to say the least. To be in a world where crime was so ingrained in its foundation the sight of random masked vigilantes climbing walls and swinging mere feet above peoples head raised zero concern.

It wasn’t all rough though. By his side through it all as his anchor in this sea of uncertainty…

... Was you.

Just your mere presence was enough to keep him sane. That compounded with the high of your recent kiss and newly realized mutual attraction between the two of you. His elation was bordering on giddiness. He found himself meticulously crafting his every movement. Taking grace with each jump and flip, making sure he gracefully stuck each landing solely because he knew you were watching (though probably only through your peripheral vision).

After what felt like hours of searching and a slew of dead ends, the two of you eventually reach a dark corridor blocked by a metal gate with an ‘AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY ’ sign (which you climb over without hesitation). At the end of the long hallway lies a large switch on the wall. You pull it downwards to be greeted with dim flickering lights accompanied by loud buzzing sounds that come from its archaic wiring. You blink your eyes to adjust to your surroundings. This tall room is large and bare save for the graffiti covering almost every square inch of the walls. It's only contents being five archways all pointing in different directions. Whatever is on the other side is completely obscured by the darkness each corridor holds.

“Hmm….Alright.” Miguels claps hands together, turning his head to ponder each identical archway. “How should we do this? Stick together? Or divide and conquer?”

You both take a moment to contemplate individually before responding in unison.

“Divide and conquer” you say at the same time Miguel concludes “Stick together.” His response leaves you frowning with confusion.

“Stick together? We’ll find him a lot faster if we split up.”

Miguel snorts, leaning down to bring his face closer to yours. “Would you really tell me where he is if you found him first?”

“I mean, I would eventually-”

“-That’s what I’m getting at Mi Amor.” His mask dissipates to show his face. You move to remove yours as well. He gently grabs you by the sides of your arms, rubbing his hand up and soothing methodical strokes.

“As much as I love you, I know you and I know that once you see something you think is wrong, you’ll do anything and everything to make it right. No matter what I or anyone else tells you… But this time, doing the right thing is the wrong thing to do. Which is why I can’t afford to let you out of my sight.”

You heard his criticisms, but you didn’t hear him. Not after the first several words. “Did you just tell me that you love me?”

“AHH! Uhhh-NO!” Miguel retracts his hands quickly, his arms hovering in front of his chest like limp T-rex arms.

“I MEAN YES! I’m sorry it just kind of came out! I mean- I didn’t mean to just spring that on you- You don’t have to say it back. ” Every square inch of his face is red with blush. His holographic mask moves to obscure his face again.

“One second thought, you’re right. Let’s divide and conquer.” He turns around hastily, picking a random corridor to speed walk towards.

You stifle a laugh as you chase after him. Stopping him with a hand on his broad shoulder.

“Why do you think I wouldn’t want to?

“...Why do you think I wouldn’t want you to do what?”

“Hear you tell me you love me.”

His mask immediately retracts, showing his astonished expression. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah. ”

“You don’t think I’m weird for saying it so soon?”

“No. Not at all.”

“So…” his pointer fingers draw circles around one another, “...does that mean you love me too?”

“I mean yeah why wouldn’t I-”

Miguel interrupts you by sweeping you off the ground in a massive hug, leaving you with your feet dangling off the ground. Your hands are caught between both of your bodies, pressed firmly against his chest. Now it was your turn to be embarrassed. You were almost certain that he could feel the burning heat radiating off your face.

“Miguel what!-”

“-¡Gracias a dios!” His muffled voice reverberates through your shoulder that his face muzzled in. “I never thought I would ever hear you say that.”

Again, he wants to say but he manages to filter himself in time.

“Well I love you Miguel.” You attempt to hug him back, but with your arms caught up in his bear hug you opt to place a small kiss on his jaw. He perks his head up and responds by smashing his lips touch-starved against yours.

“Miguel-” you mutter against his mouth.

He breaks the kiss with an exhale so your foreheads rest against one another. “Yes mi vida.”

“Do you think you can put me down now?”

“Right! Sorry!” He gently lowers you to the ground, coyly rubbing the back of his neck “I got so excited I just couldn’t help it.”

You move to rub imaginary dust off his shoulders, mostly as an excuse to touch him again. “When this is all settled maybe we can-”

A familiar frequency buzzes in your ears, subtle, like TV static coming from another room. The accompanying intense pulling sensation on the back of your head that causes you to immediately turn around to face the source. You find yourself staring down the darkness of the furthermost left archway.

“What’s wrong?” Miguel looks at you, then towards the hallway. “Spider sense?”

You whip your head back towards him, “You can tell?”

He gives a single nod, “Mmmhmm.”

“How?”

“You just always...I don’t know. You just kinda freeze up for a second and your eyes just-” he makes a popping motion with his hands and widens his eyes “-Kind of like a dog.”

You gingerly touch your face self consciously.

“I mean that in a cute way!”

“Really?”

“Uh Huh.” He sheepishly rubs the back of his neck, “I anticipate incoming attacks by watching you…sometimes”

You flash a teasing smile, “Is that's why you always keep me around?”

“Among other things,” he mumbles with a smug look of his own, He steps closer, sliding his hand to hold you by the waist.

“If you got the sense then he’s definitely in there and we can’t afford to waste anymore time.” he places a small peck on your forehead. “We’re almost done here cariño.”

His hand lingers as he pulls away. He nods towards the arch, beckoning you to follow as he urgently jogs to its opening. You reluctantly trail behind, your feet weighed down by dread mixed with a twinge of guilt. You had a good guess of what lay on the other side or rather who. Whatever love he felt for you would surely be put to the test soon enough. It left you worrying as you tugged your mask back over your head.

‘Is this as good as it was going to get?’

You finally reach the end of the tunnel. On the other side sits a vast lab that looks like it’s been freshly run through by a tornado. Your pulse quickens when your eyes land on what seems to be Miles. The disappointment is immediate upon your realization that it’s the Earth-42 variant. The Miles you’re looking for is nowhere to be seen. Under normal circumstances this would be cause for alarm, though you find yourself fixed on the silent standoff between Miguel and the other spiders.

His gaze is vicious, slowly shifting his head to make eye contact with each perceived traitor. From Hobie, to Pavitir, to Margo, to a long sustained glare towards Gwen, to Noir, to Penni, to Porker, and then finally to Peter.

You remove your mask and give a small awkwards wave with it in your hand

“Hey y’all.”

“Hey,” all spiders greet you distractedly and unenthusiastically in unison, all without ever taking their eyes off the distressed man.

You had never seen Miguel so upset, which was saying a lot. His face was stained red with anger, his scowl was somehow even deeper than usual. Each moment of silence only worked to intensify animosity written on his face. It was like watching the water boiling in a lidded pot, knowing it could blow at any moment.

Oh boy, Here it comes.

“Well?” Miguel speaks with a shrug. “Anyone want to tell me what’s going on here?

All spiders erupt at once.

‘Sightseeing! It was an accident! We got lost? I Just wanted to take the scenic route. I heard there was a good kabob place down the street! For the pub of course! We’re just broadening our horizons!’

They all look at each other in panic before attempting to correct with wildly different answers.

‘It was an accident! We took the scenic route? I was trying to study my colors! There’s a guy here who owes me fifty bucks. A spiritual retreat. Collecting signatures for a petition. What they said! ’

“Uh Huh.” Miguel raises a single brow in skepticism, hands now placed on his hips.

“Guess I’m going to have to go down the line then.” He singles out Gwen, pointing a finger in her direction.

“What are you doing here, specifically ?”

The girl squares her shoulders and returns his glare. “Fixing this mess. I’m getting Miles back home. We all are.”

He narrows his eyes in a scrutinizing fashion, “You mean you want to help him destroy the fabric of space and time.”

“Saving his father isn’t going to do that! Canons don't mean anything! I know that for a fact-”

“-Aye dios mio, esta mierda otra vez.” Miguel mumbles to himself while massaging his aching temples. The kind of ache that felt like a knife scraping at your skull from the inside, “You’ve gotta be kidding me! Is that why you’re all here?”

“Can you at least let me finish!?”

“Don’t tell me you all actually believe this nonsense!?” He looks wildly from person to person, flailing his arms in frustration looking for another person to interrogate before deciding on the father with his baby strapped to the front of his body.

“You too, Peter? After everything we’ve been through.”

“Sue me,” Peter shrugs, “I just don’t think the kid deserves to be stranded in an alternate dimension where his atoms are probably gonna…” - he does little jazz hands while trying to find the words- “...I don’t know, maybe fry themselves to oblivion?”

“And you didn’t think to come to me? You thought the best course of action was rubbing elbows with the enemy.” Miguel aims a nod in Gwen’s direction, she scoffs at the gesture.

Peter shifts his weight from one foot to the other, patting the baby’s tummy to calm her stirring. A soothing tactic, though mainly for him.

“I just-”

Peter pauses, turning to look at his comrades. Peter Porker, Spider-Noir, and Penni each returning with vacant, unreadable stares. Margo is biting down on her fist, shrinking into herself. Pavitir's hands are on his hips and Hobie's are crossed. Finally, he sees Gwen. It hurts more to look at her. The look on her face just made him feel… guilty. He turns away shamefully.

“-It’s not about the canon”

Gwen lets out a defeated tisk. Pavitr sighs. Hobie simply shakes his head.

Peter can feel a collective disappointment without looking at them. He turns only his head to the side, speaking more so to his peers than his boss“...Not for me at least…”

“You’re not answering the question and on top of that you’re sneaking around behind my back. What do you think I’m trying to do here? It’s not like I’m gonna kill the kid.”

All the spiders (including yourself) murmur skeptically amongst themselves.

‘Could’ve fooled me,’ Noir mumbles just a bit too loud.

“Oooh. I get it now,” Miguel chuckles sardonically, waving his finger up and down. “You all think I’m a horrible person. That’s what this is! Forget the fact that I gave you all the gift of dimensional travel. That I saved all of your dimensions. That I’m busting my ass to save yours,” he snaps his head at Pavitir. “Because I’m the only one here that’s willing to do what I have to do. That’s why none of you even bothered to call me or send me a-”

Wait a minute…

Just a little over an hour ago, when you were preoccupied with your web watch Peter had messaged you. What did it say? Something like, ‘Whatever happens we’ll make it work’ What work? You said it was nothing and he trusted you.

You wouldn’t lie to him… would you?

He slowly twists to face you. “That message…The one Peter sent you…Did you know?”

“Miguel-”

“-Please don’t fucking lie to me.” He inches closer, his large frame towering over you. His mask vanishes, deep crimson eyes staring pleadingly into yours. His is but a low whisper.

“Did you know?”

You eventually relent under his harsh gaze, looking away shamefully.

“...Yeah… I did.”

An apology sat on the tip of your tongue, but you didn’t dare let it slip. As bad as you felt for hurting him, you were not sorry. It was a horrible thing to violate his trust, but you only did it because you had to.

Not that it made it any easier to watch his heartbreak in real time. The plausible deniability quickly gives way to solemn acceptance. Miguel turns away abruptly like a wounded animal.

He should’ve known it was all too good to be true.

He immediately turns attention to the contraption on his wrist.

“Layla!”

The virtual assistant materializes with a stretch and a yawn. “Finally! Was starting to think you forgot about me.” When she finally looks up to assess her surroundings, she hums with content.

“Ooooo, Look at this party goin’ on over here.”

Miguel ignores her invitation for banter. “I need you to get a hold of Jessica.”

“Okay.” She teleports back towards his wrist, which now projects a call screen with Jessica Drew’s name and face. It rings several times before emitting a ‘Caller Unavailable' message large enough for the entire room to see

Layla peers at the denied call notification from above his shoulder. “Oooooooo,” she instigates, like a child about to tattle. “Thaaat’s no bueno, huh?”

“Great.” He raises his hands exhaustedly, landing on his thighs with a slap. “Isn’t that just amazing?”

He attempts to call her again. Nothing. He dials Ben Riley, it doesn’t even ring. He calls other spiders. Still nothing. Even lego spiderman seems preoccupied to pick up. Over and over again he’s met with the same piece of sepia toned holographic text. After his patience runs out he begins pacing and mumbling angrily to himself.

“Ya know, they’ve probably set their watches to stealth mode.” Layla attempts to reassure, “You did dispatch everyone on patrol. They’re probably just caught up with Spot or…something.”

Miguel continues to pace distractedly through her pixelated form. She reappears again on the side lines, now a part of the nervous glances being exchanged between all the spectors in the room.

It’s Jonathon Ohnn, the scientist, who eventually tries to break the silence. Ohnn loudly clears his throat.

“So…uhhh… are we gonna-”

Miguel grabs a nearby chair and hurls it against the wall dangerously close to his head

Jonathan ducks with a yelp, hands covering his head. “-Jeez Louise! Alright then! I’m sorry!”

Margo and Pavitir elbow each other in disbelief, “Yooooo!” Just as you shout “Miguel!” While Peter yelps, “Dude!” And Penni sighs “Okaaay then.” And Noir goes “Easy there Daddy-O!” And Proker mumbles “Okay. That’s fine.” And Hobie mutters “Here we go.”

“Damn, what the desk do?” Miles asks with a thumb pointed at the discarded chair.

Miguel just stands there. His shoulders rising up and down in cadence with his empathic breathing. “What the hell is going on!? Where is everyone!?”

“Uh, Miguel.” Layla whispers in his ear. He keeps ranting despite her.

“What am I? Chopped fucking liver?” He smacks the back of his hand in the other repeatedly for emphasis. “Have you all lost your goddamn minds? Like I don’t have enough on my plate as it is-”

“Miguel.” Layla raises her voice above his vicious rambles

“What.”

The A.I clears her pixelated throat. Uncomfortable with the added attention she had initially tried to circumvent. “Have you taken your -uh- medicine recently?”

“Excuse me?”

“Have you taken your medicine?” She repeats more matter of factly. “I know you can get a bit tense when-”

“Tense!? Do I look tense to you!?”

Layla doesn’t respond. Instead she puts her hands on her hips and shoots him a look. Physically embodiment of “Do I really need to answer that?”

“Don’t patronize me.” He waves away at her form, only for her to reappear a few inches further out of reach. This time her arms are crossed and she holds her chin in the air knowingly.

“When was your last dose Miguel?”

“Ugh, Who cares-”

“- Who cares?” she jabs an accusing finger in his direction. “You can’t even remember can you? That’s a bad sign pal.”

“Oh my god. Who’s side are you on!?”

“Yours! Why do you think I’m trying to help you!”

“You’re not helping mierda. What's the point of an assistant that makes everything worse?”

“Woooah.” Everyone bellows in tandem offense on Layla’s behalf

You step in front of the man to command his attention. “Miguel I understand you’re upset-”

“-I’m not upset! Stop saying I’m upset.”

You and Layla share a brief look before responding together.

“...Riiight.”

“You guys telling me I’m upset is what’s making me upset!” Spit flies from his mouth as he hollers. Miguel’s hands are shaking. His scleras are a shade of red on par with his pupils. A single vein can be seen protruding from his forehead. You couldn’t if what you were witnessing was simply unwarranted rage or symptoms of withdrawals. Probably both.

“So…you are upset,” Margo concludes.

“Are you listening? I just said I’m not.”

“Well, you said it’s making you upset,” Penni adds. “Which means technically you are, at least to some degree, a bit upse-”

Miguel picks up another chair and slams it vehemently and throws it towards Penni. Her humanoid robot seems to act on her behalf, catching the projectile in midair with her not so much as raising an eyebrow. The girl just sighs, reclining in the cockpit of the robot with her cheek resting on her palm.

“-Never mind. Just keep doing that I guess.” Penni mumbles under her breath.

The girl shoots Peter a desperate look, ‘Help us out here maybe?’

He sighs, moving to put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Look man-”

“-Don’t.” Miguel swats his arm away, “I’ve had just about enough of you today.”

Peter raises his hands in defeat, walking to the other end of the room with a look on his face that says ‘Welp I tried.’

“Did you mean anything you said?” Miguel turns to you, not doing anything to disguise the hurt in his voice.

“Everything we talked about, was it all just to let my guard down?” he throws his arm towards the others in a sweeping gesture. “To get in my head? To bring my guard down so you all could gang up on me?

“Miguel. ” You instinctively reach out to touch him but then stop yourself, quickly returning your arm back to your side. “You know that’s not true.”

“How am I supposed to believe you when you just lied to me?”

You physically recoil at the assertion. “That’s only because you lied to me too!”

“That was different!”

“Oh so it’s okay when you do it!?” You couldn’t help but raise your voice.

It was as if your rose colored lenses had been ripped from your eyes. Was this really the same Miguel that sweeped you into his arms moments ago and whispered sweet nothings into your ear? This anger, this bitterness, the hypocrisy. It was incredibly disillusioning. You had never seen such an aggressive pendulum shift in temperment before, not even in an nemesis or anomaly.

You felt like a fool. If the tender moments you shared together were the true Miguel , so was this. The Miguel spitting and shouting in your face while throwing furniture at innocent bystanders. This was all the true Miguel O’Hara, and you weren’t sure you liked what you saw.

The epiphany hit you like a punch to the stomach.

What did you ever see in him?

“I only did it because I lov-” he winces at his Freudian slip, “-Because I care about you. Meanwhile you lied so you can sneak around with Peter.”

Peter erupts before you can argue. “Woah, dude!” He covers his baby’s ears as if he just said a curse word. “When you say it like that you’re making it sound like I’m having an affair.”

“Yeah! Don’t forget us too!” Hobie jokes, raising his hand in the air like an earnest student during roll call.

“Oh my…” Jonathan stammers, “...Why do I feel like we’re interrupting something?’

“Oh we definitely are.” In contrast to Jonathons discomfort, Miles crosses his arms and reclines against the wall, thoroughly amused. “This is better than those novelas my mom makes me watch.”

Sniffling noises can be heard by the group. Everyone turns to look and see Pavitr wiping his teary eyes.

“The heartbreak. The betrayal. Oh. It’s just like Laila and Manju.”

“Uh, Who?” Margo asks, confused.

Pavitir rolls his eyes “It’s like Romeo and Juliet.”

“Ooooh,” they all erupt in understanding, like they had just solved a difficult math problem

Pavitir mumbles something under his breath about “westerners” and “the failure of public education.”

Layla brings their attention back to the squabble at hand. “Yeah Mig, Even I have to say that’s quite a reach.”

Miguel laughs angrily. “You think I’m going to listen to you?”

“I’m just saying, the only reason this is escalating is because of you.”

“Because of me!?” he points to everyone in the lab.“You all betrayed me!”

“Me? Betrayed you? Really Miguel?” Layla rebukes, uncharacteristically impassioned.

“First of all, All I said that you’re due for an injection. That’s it. Second, instead of freaking out, why don’t you just -I don’t know- talk to them.”

“What do you think I’m doing, Layla.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. His migraine now screams at him for some desperately needed relief. “Aye dios Mio, remind me to reboot you when this is all over.”

All spiders react in shock once more.

“Oh what!? She just has a bunch of lines of ones and zeros. Who cares?”

Everyone reacts in even louder shock.

“Wow. Okay. I’m only letting that slide because I know you’re…” Layla twirls around her hand before the words arrive “...Under a lot of stress. But look at this…”

Layla pulls up various holographic screens. Loaded with charts, figures, and calculations “...Do you see these numbers? It’s about a 50/50 chance that the multiverse can sustain itself through changes like this.”

Miguels doesn’t say anything, his mean mug just frowns at the various screens flying around him. The glow of endless, ever changing formulas and passages lightly coat his face

“Look, I’m not saying it’s a good idea. I’m not even saying I agree with it but like-” Layla turns to you, “-Come on, tell him what you told me.”

“I already did.” You say with a sigh and shake of your head.

“Really?” Layla turns to Miguel, “Dude, can we be for real for a second? This info is kinda a game changer to everything we thought we knew-”

“You mean what we do know. What I know from personal experience mind you.” He opens his mouth to speak, but pauses. His face taking on an air of confusion.

“What a minute… You two talked about this?”

“Well yeah?” You respond, the answer being seemingly apparent. “You locked me up at HQ for like an hour. What was I supposed to do, take up knitting?

“It would be awkward if we didn’t talk honestly,” Layla concurs.

“So you ‘talked’ and yet you didn’t notice they escaped?”

You and Layla looked at each other nervously, now realizing the hole you both dug yourselves into.

“Well it’s not like we talked the whole time-”

“-But surely you would’ve noticed something eventually, Layla. “ He steps toward her menacingly scowl on full display.

“Layla…”

The avatar gulps nervously,“...Miguel…”

“...You didn’t let them go did you?”

For the first time since you’ve known her Layla is at a loss for words. No witty remark or flashy comeback to mask the ‘deer in headlights’ look plastered on her face.

“Pfff!Ha! No! That’s crazy!” she stammers unconvincingly. “Why would I do something like that? HA HA HA. Good one Migs!”

Layla playfully punches Miguel's shoulder with her mini hands. It does nothing to erase the scowl on his face.

The A.I rocks back and forth on her heels. “Well, it’s been real! It really has. But I-I gotta go crunch some numbers- And take inventory and, uh, see if the plumbing is working and- uh- yeah. All super important stuff!”

“Layla-”

The A.I she blips away instantly, before Miguel can finish his thought.

Miguel lets out a low groan, his gaze fixed towards the ceiling. “I have to do everything by myself don’t I?” he mumbles.

“Not everything is about you mate, ” Hobie half shouts. Miguel’s head snaps in his direction.

“Don’t you even start with me!” he snarls. “It’s bad enough I got to deal with insubordination now I have to deal with your smartass too?”

“And you’ve just proved my point.”

Miguel bares his claws, his fangs also on full display. “You think this is funny?”

“Nope. I don’t.” The young man affirms with a cross of his arms, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Well, except the bit where you and Layla go into it. That gave me a bit of a laugh.”

Miguel instantly lunges toward the young man. Leaping through the air with a rageful snarl and extended claws. Hobie calmly reaches for the guitar on his back, plucking the strings and twisting the tuning pegs as if he had all the time in the world. Once he’s satisfied, he takes a pick from his pocket and raises his arm with a dramatic flourish posed to deliver a powerful sound wave.

All the gathering of information, snooping around and tech swiping had brought Hobie Brown to this moment. The moment when he would finally stick it to the man. A big F’ off to this dictator, this tyrant. All his deporting of anomalies, the brainwashing It was all like a bad religion. He widens his stance the more Miguel closes the gap. All he had to do now was time it right.

This is it. Here it comes…

Hobie gets ready to deliver a deafening strum, but is blocked by a blur of green and purple who swipes away at the oncoming hulking figure. Sending the large man stumbling back a few feet.

Even Hobie can’t hide the shock on his face.

“Uh, big stepper?” Hobie leans forward to whisper into Miles’-42 ear. The sudden sensation of causes the boy's entire body to stiffen. “Waaat are you doing???”

“Saving you from a violent attack.” he mutters, never taking his eyes off Miguel. “You’re welcome.”

“And I appreciate bruv, I really do… but you kinda stole my thunder there.”

The boy scoffs. “Next time, it’s pronounced thank you.”

“Awwwww. Que lindo,” Miguel laughs condescendingly, massaging his chin which suffered the brunt of the blow. “Looks like you got yourself a little guard dog.”

“HA.” Miles yelps at his weak attempt to provoke him. “I don’t just bark.This perro bites.”

“Look kid, This doesn’t concern you. Just stand aside and I promise you won’t get hurt, okay?”

Miles jolts his fist, activating his metal talons with high pitched whir and purple light. “Don’t call me kid.”

“God. What are you, in love with him or something?” Miguel barks with laughter, holding his stomach.

“Qué vergüenza” he sighs, whipping a tear from his eye. “You’re so wrapped behind his finger you can’t tell that he’s using you.”

“Oi,” Hobie frowns, his colorful aura desaturates to black and white “Can it, you geezer.”

“But it’s true isn’t Hobie.” Miguel bridges the gap, completely overlooking Miles to sneer down at Hobie.

“You’re shifty, dishonest, and pride yourself on your lack of consistency.” he jabs a finger in his face, gesturing towards his ever changing magazine-esque aura.

“Look at you! You can’t even decide how to present yourself. Let alone what you believe.” Miles puffs his chest as a barrier and raises his chin to command his attention.

“Woah, down boy.” Miguel points a finger to Miles, but speaks to Hobie.

“Maybe it’s you invest in a muzzle for your bitc-”

Miles lunges forward without a second though. He aims to swipe his sharp claws at his face, Miguel's recoils at the last second. The man swipes back in retaliation. Earning a clean cut on the boy's eyebrow. Miles stumbles back in dismay, gingerly touches the cut with the cool metal that covers his hands, pulling them back to find fresh blood coating his fingers.

With a yell, the boy recklessly leaps toward the large man with the added momentum of his pneumonic shoes. Just as he is about to make contact with his face, Miguel grabs his wrist. He attempts to punch with the other, but Miguel grabs hold of it as well.

‘Shit.’

“Watch yourself niño. You obviously don’t know what you’re doing! ” Miguel growls in the boy's face. Miles attempts to wriggle his hands free, but is caught firmly in his grasp.

Miles is barely able to spit out a sentence whilst fighting a losing battle “You- Know nothing About- Me.”

“Again Miguel? Really?” Peter shouts, leading the charge alongside Gwen to go and subdue the mad man.

“Okay this is getting ridiculous,” Noir says as he follows suit with everyone else, though it only takes you, Noir, Gwen and Peter to successfully pry him off the boy.

“I bet he hasn’t even told you the truth about his powers!” Miguel roars as he thrashes against his human restrains like a rabid animal. “The spider that bit him was supposed to bite someone else! Someone from here!”

“So?” Miles manages to sputter through deep breaths. “I know all of that already.”

“That person was you.” Miguel's arm breaks free to jab a finger at the boy before quickly being snatched again by Spider-Noir.

“If it wasn’t for him, your father would still be alive. He took him from you. He took everything from you.”

Miles makes his way towards the man so that they are face to face. Miguel jolts forward though is kept in check by his detainers.

“Stop lying.”

“Ask anyone here,” the man suddenly stops fighting, panting to catch his breath. “They’ll tell you it’s true.”

Miles looks around at the spiders widely scanning each of their faces, expecting a rebuttal or condemnation. No one says a word until he finally turns to Hobie.

“...Yeah. It is,” the young man relents with a sigh. “But it’s not the way he’s making it seem.”

“What?” Miles suddenly felt exposed. Raw almost. “What do you mean?”

“It was an accident,” Gwen pipes up immediately. “It's just- your spider was sent to his dimension because of the collider from there. I know how it sounds, but he never meant to take it from you. I swear. ”

Miles isn’t sure why he even asked. He couldn’t hear a single word they said. His gaze fixed directly at the man who dropped this bomb of information on him. The blood from his cut begins dripping from his forehead into his face, forcing him to wink profusely to get the blood out of his eye.

“My dad… Is it supposed to be alive?” He still finds himself fighting for enough air for his lungs.

“Yes he is,’Miguel doubles down. “Your life was never supposed to look like this. Everything you’ve been through, this reality you live, is all his fault. Think about it, he ruined everything. Your family. Your future. And look at what he left you. A shell of a city. An absolute dump.”

“...Ruined me?” Miles-42 repeats the words to himself slowly. As if trying them on like a pair of shoes that don’t fit. “There’s nothing ruined about me… or Brooklyn for that matter.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Miguel snarls, almost animalistic. “Look around you. You genuinely think this place is worth saving?”

Miles seethes silently. He could get over attacks on his character, but to insult Brookyln? His home? The place that housed all his friends and family. It was exactly the things distant relatives and everyone upstate said about this place. Barbaric, dirty, unsalvageable. Funny how it was always the outsiders looking in that would tell him how he should feel about a place they hardly stepped foot in. They refused to see what he saw. The different cultures that resided just a stone throw away from one another. The artistic prowess in every piece of graffiti that littered the sides of subway trains. The man who was always giving free beef patties to any hungry inner city kid that stepped in his bodega. His roommate who played violin for senior citizens at the retirement home. The lady who knits blankets for the homeless. His mother, who refused to leave despite being overworked and underpaid at the hospital because she knew how much people desperately need the care. Despite having every reason to be nasty and bitter like he was, the people always found a way. Sure, maybe it was impossible to love unless you came from it, but that’s why they would never see all the roses that grew from the cracks of the concrete.

He would make them see. He would make everyone see. Brooklyn wasn’t a lost cause, more like a success in progress.

It would’ve been a great thing to say out loud, but the words were lost to his mounting frustrations. Especially with his mind moving at a mile per minute. All he could string together in defense was…

“You’re wrong.”

Could you tell he got an A in AP Literature?

Miguel scoffs, “If that’s what you need to believe in order to like yourself, then sure. ”

Miles recognized this type of argument. The excessive need to get the last word, the attempt to turn everyone against each other when he was out of aces. This man was lashing out like a wild animal being backed into a corner.

The boy smiles to himself. It was almost too easy to the point he almost felt bad. Dare he exploit it? Dare he expose such blatant insecurity compounded with delirium?Dare he resort to such low blows?

Yes. Yes he does.

The boy simply shrugs. “ You would know all about that wouldn’t you?”

The man rushes towards Miles, taking advantage of the lowered guard of his captors. He propels himself with his hands planted on the ground like an apex predator. His claws leave deep indents in the ground. Miles lunges as well, fist raised high in the air ready to deliver a violent jab. Miguel bares his claws once more, ready to put this stubborn boy in his place once and for all. And this time he was going for a K.O.

Miguel balls his hand into a fist and aims it straight for his jaw, only for it to be halted in its tracks by unseen force. His eyes waver to his hand and find it caught in a web.

“What the-”

Before he can fully turn around and see the culprit, he suffers a brutal blow to his face by some invisible force accompanied by a… floating dog? Miles wastes no time, immediately punching the man square in the face before finishing with an uppercut. The blow causes him to stagger back, chin pointed towards the ceiling, before going limp and falling backwards towards the floor. He would’ve suffered a serious concussion on impact if it wasn’t for you catching him at the last second. Your hands cushion his head before it violently smacks the floor.

The hero rescinds his camouflage, revealing a certain black and red clad superhero. Holding a wounded dalmatian and a briefcase shoddily webbed to his back.

“Miles!” many of the spiders exclaim ecstatically

“About time mate,” Hobie jostles the teen playfully by his shoulders.

Everyone rushes towards the boy, minus Miguel, who is slowly recovering from the barrage of attacks.

“Boy, am I glad to see you kid,” Peter half jogs to the boy, arms outstretched for a hug.

Gwen leads the pack, her face plastered with concern. “Miles are you okay-”

Miles defensively sticks his free arm out in front of him, stopping the crowd in their tracks.

“Uh absolutely not.” He instinctively tucks the dog further under his arm like a baby. “Y'all can stay the hell away from me.”

“Um, Is this what I think it is?” Jonathon points to the case on his back,

“Yes sir.” Miles turns around to give the scientist a better look. “Hold on let me-”

He attempts to pry it off with one hand, but is only after being assisted by Miles-42 is he able to remove the box . The prowler and the scientist both open the case to view its contents. Jonathon smiles. Miles frowns.

“Dude. There's only three of each in here.”

“I know. I couldn’t carry them all and this little guy here.” He readjusts the pup in his arm to show him off, “So I just grabbed a few of each.”

“You had time to bring a dog, but you couldn’t grab another case?”

Offended, Miles-1610 covers the puppies ears. One floppy ear is covered by his hand while the other is placed close to his chest. “Uh, it’s pronounced thank you.”

“HAH! Get ‘em! ” Hobie barks from behind the crowd

“Thanks or whatever.” Miles- 42 mumbles under his breath.

An unsure voice speaks up. “Um… Miles?”

The teen groans, turning begrudgingly to be met with Gwen’s sorry gaze. Just as he opens his mouth to tell her off, he pauses.

“Hold up, is that my jacket?”

Gwen looks down at the coat flustered. She then quickly takes it off , holding it out for him to take. “Oh! Yeah, I’m sorry.”

“Why were you wearing my jacket?” he snatches it away aggressively, slinging it over his shoulder. “Are you insane?”

“I know! I’m sorry!” she blurts out clumsily. “I was looking for you so I stopped by your apartment but you weren’t there and then I saw your parents and they were so worried and- I don’t know- I just thought I should say something-”

“-You what!?!” Miles' voice crack echoes within the dome ceiling. Miles-42 quickly clasps his hand over his mouth to mask his giggles. “How could that possibly be a good idea!?”

“I don’t know! I just wanted to tell them-”

“-Tell them what?” Anger is bubbling inside him like the lid to a boiling pot. He’s not sure if he’ll regret what he is about to say, but to be honest, he doesn’t care. She forfeited the right when she lied and abandoned him.

“My parents don’t even like you! And I’m starting to realize they weren’t wrong to think that way.”

“Don’t you think I know!?” Gwen exclaims, her outburst takes Miles by surprise. “If it was the other way around I would feel the exact same way. I’m not here to ask you to forgive me. I know that we are way past that. Miles you have every right to be mad at me. I just want to help you fix this. Please just- at least let me help you fix this,” her voice trembles as she grovels. “And then I promise, you will never see me again.”

“Screw see you again, I don’t want to see you now! How do I know what you’re saying right now isn’t just another lie-”

Miles’s frenzy is cut short by the trembling feeling against his arms. He looks down to see the puppy he had all but forgot he was holding. The poor thing whimpered into his chest, undoubtedly shaken by his sudden temper. He offers his apologies in hushed tones and soothing strokes, but the whining persists.

Gwen sighs, beginning a soothing rhythm of deep breaths. She closes her eyes, focusing purely on the cadence of her inhales and exhales. She intentionally exaggerated each gasp just enough so that they were audible to the boy and the dog across from her. Just enough for the rhythm to reach.

She never changed rhythms when around Miles, she never needed to, even now. Though she would give anything to remedy his frustration, she knew she deserved it. But this rhythm wasn’t for him.

It only takes a few breaths for the room to reach equilibrium. Shortly after, the puppy stops crying.

She opens her eyes to Miles cheek placed gingerly on its head, stroking its back with an apologetic frown on his face.

“When my dad found out I was a spider woman, he tried to arrest me.” Miles shows no reaction, though he stops petting the dog and lifts his head to face her. As if to decide whether or not he was going to allow himself to believe her story.

“The only reason I got away was because of Jess… and Miguel.” She gestures to the disgraced man, currently disabled by delirium and a gnarly headache.

“I stayed because I felt like I had to. Because I had nowhere else to go, but also because I felt like I owed them so much. But then I got kicked out and honestly? That’s probably the best thing that could’ve happened to me,” Gwen chuckles bleakly.

“My dad quit being captain. I didn’t even think that was possible before. I thought…The reason I never cared about that canon personally was because I thought I had already lost him. Going home made me realize… I never did. We don’t have to. Why should we lose the people we love just to be like everyone else? Or in order to be spiderman and women. Anyone can wear that mask. Anyone.” She holds both biceps with her hands, hugging herself to soothe.

“And it’s stupid to say there’s only one way to live in order to be who we want to be.”

Miles stares at the ground as he digests her testimony. “I’m happy for you Gwen, I really am, but I don’t need your help or anybody’s. I can do both, and I can do it without you guys.” The young man solemnly shakes his head.

“Sorry, I just… I just don’t know how to trust you guys anymore.”

It didn’t feel good to Miles to deny Gwen, but it just wasn’t the same anymore. He wasn’t sure if they could ever get back to the way things were before. He hated himself for letting himself be obsessed with her. That he was going to devote his future to a niche science just to find his way back to her and his other friends. A courtesy they obviously didn’t extend to him when given the chance.

It really made him wonder. Did she lose herself in the wrong crowd or did he never know her the way he thought he did. Was it the idea of her? Was it the thought of having someone to love?

“If I may, दोस्त.”

Miles snaps his head upwards to see Pavitir Prabhakbar. He walks forward calmly with his hands clasped behind his back. His head is bowed slightly.

“I get where you’re coming from Miles. I always thought being spiderman was an easy job. Up until yesterday I was always able to save everyone. I always found a way. Having to choose between Gayatri and Inspector Singh… It was scary. That was the first time I ever felt completely… helpless. And out of everyone, you were the only one willing to save him. I’m in debt to you Miles. More than you’ll ever know. That’s why I’m here. ”

Miguel slowly begins to rise with a groan, attempting to rub away the pain from his forehead and the grogginess from his eyes (thanks withdrawals).

“Uggh. What the-”

Without breaking eye contact, Pavitr and Miles immediately shoot webs in his direction. Tethering the man to the ground in a position akin to a track runner in position for a race.

“Hey!-”

Pavitr shoots a final web at his mouth, muffling his protests.

“I have no doubt in my mind that you can do both Miles.but you can’t do it alone.” Pavitr strides forward to briefly place his hand on his shoulder.

“You’re the one who taught me that.”

A small smile forms on Miles’ lips, “Thank you Pav.”

“Anytime.” The young boy gives one last shake of his shoulder before retreating back to the sidelines.

Miles pouts as a question forms in his head.

“...My parents…”

Gwen's head whips back to see Miles. He doesn’t return her gaze, staring off into the distance as he absentmindedly pets the puppy.

“...What did they say?”

It takes Gwen a second to realize that the question was for her. She stumbles and stammers before a complete sentence escapes her lips.

“I told them that it wasn’t your fault, that it was mine. And that I was going to find you and bring you home. They’re worried about you. They wanted me to tell you that they love you.”

Bites his lips as his brow furrows, deep with thought. “That’s it?”

“That and something about…five months?”

Miles' face scrunches, perplexed. “Five months? What- Oh, right” he chuckles.

He then gives a shaky sigh, dragging his free hand down the side of his face. “I don’t know man-”

“-Miles, she’s the reason we’re all here.” Peter Parker speaks up, the baby gurgles happily as if to concur his statement.

Miles looks around everyone for confirmation. He’s met nods and hums of agreement, even from Hobie.

“She was the first to find out where you were.” Peter places a hand on Miles' shoulder. He hastily takes a step back, swatting his hand away.

Peter is taken aback for just a moment, before raising his palms in surrender and taking a few steps back to give him space.

“You know, when I’m out there doing spider-man stuff -getting knocked around like a rag doll and whatever- I find it hard to care about saving the whole entire world. I mean- I do! But everytime I try to think of everyone that’s counting on me, it’s just so… scary I guess. So whenever I work I start to think about one person. One person to do it all for. And now, thanks to you, not only do I finally have her back in my life I’ve got another one.” Peter tickles Mayday under her armpits as he speaks, the child laughs loudly.

“Look, I’m going to be honest with you, kid. I’m not sure which side I fall on this whole thing, but I’m here-we’re here because we care about you Miles.”

Miles looks around to each face in the room, scrutinizing each spider.

“Fine.” Miles eventually relents. There are several sighs of relief.

“Just to be clear, the only people I trust here are you… ” he points to Hobie,

“...you…” then to Pavitir,

“...you…” then to Spider-Byte,

“annnd….you.” then finally to Peter Porker

The pigs hands clasp over his mouth as he gasps. “Really?”

“Well yeah,” the teen shrugs nonchalantly. “I didn’t see you in the mob chasing me through that tower-”

In the blink of an eye Porker rushes toward Miles embracing his leg while crying into his calf

“You- Have- No Idea- How Much- That means to me.” Porker musters through choked sobs.

Miles replies stunned. “Uh, Yeah. Don’t sweat it man.”

“You- don’t- understand.” Porker looks up at Miles streams of tears spilling from his comically large eyes, “They- They said you hated me!”

“Stop lying!” Margo says, while Peter shouts “Drama Queen!”, and Penni goes “What are you talking about? " and Noir concludes with “Literally nobody said that.”

“See? Look at how they treat me!” Porker wails before continuing to cry into Miles' leg.

At a loss, Miles resolves to awkwardly pat the pig on his head. “Um, There there-”

‘Look out,’ the voice in his head whispers urgently.

Miles dives to the side just in time to avoid Miguel's attempt to leap on top of him. He twirls around to let his back take the brunt of the impact, protecting the dog he held in his arms. Porker has long since leaped back to the sidelines.

“Here hold this.” Miles shoves the puppy, now swaddled in his jacket, into Jonathon’s arms. Immediately having to leap into the air to dodge the fist Miguel attempted to slam on top of his head. Again dangerously close to Jonathon

“Oh- Okay then.” Jonathan holds the puppy with two hands.

The battle ensues. Miguel mainly on the offensive, throwing things and delivering blows. Miles on the defensive, dodging and hiding all while trying to get through to him.

“How can you tell me what I’m doing is wrong? Spider man's job is to save everyone!”

“Don’t be an idiot! I’ve been through the same thing! If you do this there will be nothing left to save!”

“How is that the same!?” Miles narrowly dodges the bright red webs, sticking to the wall as refuge. “You swapped places with a dead version of yourself. I’m not doing any of that! I’m making sure he doesn’t die to begin with.”

Miguel’s response comes in the form of a hand on the boy’s throat, his giant fist being enough to encase his whole neck. Miles shoots a web at Miguel’s forehead and yanks it down causing the two to head butt one another. Miguel recoils in pain, letting go of the boy’s throat. Miles is also reeling from the impact.

Miles-42 wastes no time. Racing towards the large man and leaping atop him for an impromptu wrestling match.

“Dude! Now!” The Prowler yells, his helmet giving his voice its titular robotic tone.

“Oi! Miles! Catch!” Hobie hurls a small object in the air in Miles’s direction. At first he’s not sure what it is, it isn’t until it’s closer that Miles can see the device clearly.

A watch. He was finally going to get his own watch.

It all seems to happen in slow motion. Miles leaping in the air, one hand outstretched like a baseball player. The watch being mere millimeters away from his fingertips. The premature celebration from all the onlookers. The dropped jaws as Miguel breaks free from the Prowlers clutches and tackles Miles just before he can close a fist around the object.

Miles groans as his ribs smack the ground. The watch slips through his fingertips and rolls across the room until its path is intercepted by a pair of black boots. His slow eyes trail upwards to get a better look at the wearer.

His heart stops and his blood runs cold.

‘Oh no.’

‘Oh no. No. No. No. No. No. No. No.’

The woman in the boots and white black coat bends down to pick up the contraption, holding it up high above her face. She pushes the goggles off her eyes and atop her head of thick, curly hair. She rotates the watch in her fingers, squinting her eyes as she holds it up to the light.

“My, my…” she whispers to herself in astonishment, paying no mind to the others in the room, who watch stupefied.

“Dr. Octavious!” The scientist pipes up with glee, totally oblivious to the atmosphere. “Thank goodness you’re here!” His outburst shocks her from her stupor, she finally scans the room as if just realizing their presence

“Ahh. Hello Jonathon...” Dr. Octavious turns to face the crowd, eyeing each stranger with lingering suspicion.

“...And friends…” she adds through gritted teeth, her sternness poorly masked with chuckle and a half hearted smile.

“Well, it appears we have some catching up to do Mr.Ohnn.”

A/N: I used google translate for the languages so sorry if it's hot shit. If you made it this far ur the best. Thanks for reading <3!

#miguel o'hara #across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara x reader #astv #miguel o'hara x you #miguel spiderverse #miguel x reader #spiderman 2099 #spiderman 2099 x reader #miles morales #peter b parker #hobie brown #jonathon ohnn #the prowler #pavitr prabhakar

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creatureshrieks · 2 years ago

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our muses are in a fight, but cuddle anyway because they don’t like sleeping alone. @nghtmarish || Julie & Frank || prompted.

Though from the outside the Legion might appear to be a well oiled machine with all its parts working in perfect sync, on rare occasions the gears snag. Grind against each other and bring the entire thing to a screaming halt. Especially when it came to hunting, even the smallest misstep could give too much of an advantage to their prey and deprive them all of a well-earned kill. Such as what happened on their last hunt, with Frank telling them to go one way and somewhere, along the way, a wire got crossed and his neatly laid out plan came crashing down around him. Like dogs after rabbits, Frank wanted Julie to herd the survivor towards him, wanted to drive his knife right into their rubs as they rounded the corner - but they never showed. And neither did Julie. Maybe the survivor got around her, maybe they went in a direction Frank hadn't planned, or maybe any number of reasons ruined his plan, but those thoughts never occurred to him. Of course they didn't, because his plan was perfect. He laid it all out, nice and easy, just keep them running in the right fucking direction. That wasn't hard, was it?

Apparently so! Given as how Frank had to play catch up instead, picking up the slack and making up for all their mistakes. It was obvious how angered he was at the end of their trial, especially given the fact he began shouting at Julie the moment the last survivor went down. She couldn't just run off, they had plans for a reason. They were meant to work as a unit, a team. At least when Frank told them to, instead of letting them run wild in whatever hunting grounds the Entity brought them to. Frank wasn't too keen on listening to excuses ( or reason ) and Julie didn't seem to feel the need to apologize. So the hours passed in awkward agitation, the two of them unwilling to be the first to break. But apologies were on thing and finding a comfortable place to sleep was another. Frank almost moved on instinct as the group of them decided to bed down for the... night, or whatever time it really was. It was dark out, anyway, and even merciless killers needed a chance to get some respite. He moves towards Julie and pulls her towards an abandoned mattress within the Chalet for the both of them to rest. Cold out there, so of course he wraps his arms around her and presses his face into the back of her neck.

#nghtmarish / julie #FRANK || IC #DO YOU COPY? || ask

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novankenn · 2 years ago

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Freakshow (3)

/==- Chapters -==/

Cinder let her eyebrow rise as noticed the entrance of the unremarkable hoodie clad blond boy. She turned her amber eyes from Roman and regarded the newest addition to the group scattered about the loading dock. She had come to conduct a follow-up inspection of a sort, before moving towards the next step of her plan. But now she was annoyed. There was someone new. Someone who she didn't know, and who seemed to be involved.

Roman: Don't worry about blondie. It's a project Junior is working on. It's only here to top up the guys, and it knows nothing.

Cinder: Top up? Tell me, Roman, how does one 'top-up' another?

Roman: It's Junior's business. Leave it at that.

Cinder: (Smirking) No, I do not think I will. You see, since you and Junior are in my employ... your business is my business, in particular when IT could negatively impact my aims.

Roman: (chewing on the end of his unlit cigar.) It's nothing. It has a semblance useful for healing. That's why Junior keeps it around. The kid's like a living aura battery.

Cinder reached up and tapped her right index finger on her chin. She was a little interested in why Roman called the boy and it all the time.

Cinder: So I then can assume that he is capable of pushing his aura into others? Because that is hardly remarkable. Anyone with a modicum of training can force aura into another if needed.

Roman: Look, I can only tell you what I know, and as knowing how Blondie's semblance really works, is not one of those things. (his teeth clenched around the moist nub of his burnt out cigar) We're here to discuss the next stage. Those animals have moved everything off site.

Cinder: And the delivery method?

Cinder's eyes returned to watch the blond boy move about the room. There was a deep golden glow, surrounding his hands, he touched one goon after another. While she wasn't impressed with the nature of his semblance, the ease at which he was able to utilize it was impressive.

Roman: It's almost completely repaired. Maybe two weeks.

Roman's eyes narrowed, as he watched Cinder totally ignore his report, in favour of watching Blondie.

Roman: For someone not impressed. You seem obviously interested.

Cinder: I am. (returning her gaze to Roman with a smirk) It's too easy for him, so what is the true story, Roman?

Roman: There is none. It unlocked it when it mistakenly got caught in a cross fire.

Roman pulled out the remains of his cigar and tossing it aside, he pulled out a fresh one, and lit it. The acrid smoke floated about his head as he puffed.

Cinder: Roman?

Roman: I don't really know its story. Junior took it in. All I know is that, it can push aura into anyone, without any real effort.

Cinder allowed her amber orbs to narrow, as if trying to call Roman on a bluff.

Roman: I asked it once. Says it feels like it's just letting it flow. Makes it sound like it's pouring water.

Cinder: I know there is an AND in there.

Roman: Seems that it's little top-ups boost the guys. Faster, stronger, heals them up. Minor shit gone in seconds. (Roman puffed on his cigar) Like I said, it's a living aura battery.

Cinder: Sounds like he is more than just a living battery. I think I want to meet HIM.

Roman: No.

Cinder: What. Did. You. Just. Say?

Roman: I said No. Blondie is Junior's asset.

Cinder: I could just...

Roman: You could, but that would cause a fight. (Roman gave Cinder a sly grin.) One that you might win, but you would also definitely lose.

Cinder: Lose to you? Don't make me vomit.

Roman: Yeah, a fight now would draw attention, and that would draw noses, which will dig up secrets, not to mention Junior has the place wired. (Roman chuckled as Cinder's eyes widened.) Not in that way, but it is a dead man's switch. He fails to enter a code and all the spicy underbelly of Vale will become so much more public... specifically the dealings of one femme fatale and a gentleman thief. With images that are very clear and show your face.

Cinder: You are playing...

Roman: There is no game, Cinder. This is business, and seeing as you press-ganged us into your employment...something had to be arranged to protect our interests. (Roman puffed on his cigar) Now back to the original purpose of this get together.

#jaune arc #rwby #female!jaune #split-personality?#Freakshow #ANOTHER Female!Jaune story? You have issues...#cinder fall #roman torchwick

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alexiela73 · 2 years ago

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Can I get some ramattra fluff 💛

Yes! I will do my best, as I am less familiar with this character!

Ramattra x Reader Headcanon

Ramattra had been badly hurt after having a confrontation with with some anti-omnic groups. What with his growing reputation, they had lured him in with rumors of some omnics being held and slowly dismantled

When he'd arrived to save them, Ramattra had fallen into the humans trap- explosion after explosion went off

Trapped, Ramattra had used his Nemesis form to take most of the damage in the hopes of survival- and he was lucky, because it worked

When the building came crashing down around him, he was able to pull himself from the rubble. Most of him was damaged, an arm missing, his staff almost melted

His programming was faltering- he could feel his circuits threatening to shut down

Ramattra made it about six streets away before collapsing in an alley, no longer able to move.

He laid there on his side, his consciousness flickering out, and the last thing he remembered was a voice, soft and full of worry, but he could no longer compute the words

Days later, a surge of electricity washed through him, and Ramattra sat up with a gasp. His limbs felt stiff, slightly uneven, and it took a few moments for his memory circuits and sight specs to work

He was in an unknown room but it reminded him heavily of a mechanic shop. He was sitting on a table, and sitting beside him on a stool...was a human

Admittedly, his first reaction was not the best. Ramattra snarled and moved to point his staff...only to realize he was staffless.

"Woah woah, easy there!" you'd said, as Ramattra felt himself shift forward suddenly, unable to fully sit up properly. The humans hands cupped his shoulders, seemingly unafraid. "I'd say take a breath but that's pointless. You need to relax. You're balance chip is a bit fried, and I'm still working on the repairs with your limbs-"

"Who are you?" he snarled, pushing you away, only to sway like a drunkard. "How dare you touch me? How impudent!"

Raising an eyebrow, you leaned back a bit. Grease stained your shirt and jeans, and was smudged on your arms and hair. "Excuse me, I'm trying to help you. You could at least be a little grateful," you suggested.

"Oh, how like you humans. We should be grateful for everything you do, since humans created omnics. Of course, how rude of me-" he started, voice bitter and snide, only to be cut off by you clapping your hands sharply.

Glaring at him a bit, he heard the slight ding as you flicked his forehead and he found himself slipping onto his back on the table. "Woah, you're really negative. Take a chill pill, would you? You don't owe me anything, I'm just asking you stop being a jerk so I can continue on with this- or would you rather never walk again?"

Tch- this human had some nerve, he thought, glaring at them as they started to work on his waist. Ramattra had nerve sensors that allowed him to feel pressure throughout his body, and felt uncomfortable as you reached into areas of his body beneath the plates.

Maybe ten minutes went by. "Are you almost done?" he growled, and you groaned.

"Is this what its going to be like the whole time? Really?" you asked, continuing on with your work. "I'm not almost done, okay? You sustained a lot of damage- Its amazing I got you up and running again. There are wires I have to replace, parts that are literally melted or destroyed- Look," you said, pushing your rolling stool so you were closer to his head, forcing him to look at you.

"I don't know you, or you me. I get this is really scary and uncomfortable, but I promise. I just want to help you. I'm sorry, I really am, but I need you to give me a break so I can focus on getting you into tip top shape again," you said, giving him a earnest half smile. "Okay? My name is y/n, and I'm an omnic repair engineer."

Surprise filled him- there were few of those across the globe, and hard to find as most anti-omnic groups tended to harass them or worse for being 'omnic lovers'.

Ramattra was still apprehensive. "Why...Why help me?" he asked finally.

"Mmm...because I can?" you said. "Because I want to? Do I need a reason too? Look, if your asking if I think omnics are bad, I don't. Are all humans bad? No. Are all humans nice? Also no. Why can't it be the same with omnics? I've met so many nice omnics in my time as an engineer. Now could you shut up?"

Ramattra, against all instinct, did as he was told.

Ramattra was forced to stay with you over the course of the next few months. The damage to him had been extensive, and with his model out of production, it was hard coming up with the parts needed.

First you got his balance chip replaced, and worked on getting him to be able to stand. There was a lot to work on- his hands didn't fully work, and his body couldn't move or flex the way it used to.

In order to not get caught, you had to bring him back to your bachelor apartment- being an omnic engineer rarely paid well, but you enjoyed it

Something you found out quickly was Ramattra had never watched movies before. "These are ridiculous," he said plainly after watching a few, but you saw how interested he was.

Wall-E was his favorite movie- he laughed at how fat the humans were, saying of course they'd cause their own demise. You two have watched it eight times in the last month

He came to work with you, though after the first day you told him he could talk to the omnics but not about war. It was something he had to pinky promise, though at first he didn't understand.

"This is a safe space for omnics- ones who like humans and ones who don't. They trust me- and this is their chance to feel normal. Ask how their day was, ask what they have enjoyed about their life-but don't you ever suggest violence or that all humans are the problem, or you'll ruin it for both of us."

The omnics he met were often regulars of yours- and had nothing but kind things to say about you

"I thought humans needed rest," he'd say the days where you worked long. "You haven't eaten since yesterday, and you've had two sips of water. What if your body shuts down?" he'd demanded.

"Are you worried for me?" you teased.

"I'm worried you'll die long before you fix me," he had growled, but insisted you eat and take a break.

There were days where he would sit and paint beside you at home. "Why do you do this?" he asked. "Y/n, whats the point?"

You had glanced at him and smiled. "I like to paint my dreams. It's a way to make them feel real," you'd said. "Paint something you desire, or what you dream of most." Surprisingly...he'd painted a starry sky.

You told him violence was never the answer, but punched a man who spat at Ramattra while the two of you grocery shopped together

As the time got closer to him being fixed, Ramattra started to realize...he hated when you left the room. And that he loved watching you sleep...You always wore bright and kind of busy looking pajamas, and the way you'd murmur or whimper in your dreams...

Ramattra liked making sure you ate, and began to learn how to make human food. It was hard because he had no taste buds, but he started simple- sandwiches. He made you so many sandwiches.

The way you'd smile would make his circuits burn, or the way you rubbed the side of your nose when you were lost in thought... or how much shorter then him you were

While it was hard for him to let go of his feelings about humans and how omnics treated them, he saw...a different world with you

Finally the day came where there was nothing left to repair

"I guess thats it," you said, sitting back and you smiled weakly. "You're good as new. Look's like you can finally be rid of me," you'd said.

That thought was unbearable, he found, and he knelt in from of you, gingerly taking your hand.

"...Maybe not all humans are bad," he'd said quietly. "Could I...stay with you? Please?"

"...I thought you'd never ask," you had said, leaning in to press a kiss to his forehead.

#Ramattra #Ramattra x Reader #Ramattra x Human Reader #Ramattra Overwatch #Ramatta Headcanon #Overwatch #Overwatch Headcanon

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danger-xylophones · 2 years ago

Note

Death trooper! Reader x thrawn ? Pls 🤲

Warnings: references to surgery, reader is an imperial, imperial propaganda, cybernetics, swearing, use of 'sir' as an honorific, migraine (with aura), acute pain

not edited, we die like morons

I'd also like to direct anyone reading this to check out @shenanigans-and-imagines blog. I'm a huge fan of her fics especially the More Than Sufficient series.

masterlist

Waking up after surgery was always the worst. The anesthesia left you feeling groggy and slow, like you were swimming through swamp water. And it always made adjusting to the new augmentations a bitch because you had to wait for the effects to wear off before you could really start to get used to the cybernetics now directly wired into your brain.

But still you would manage the same as you always had. When it felt as though you'd regained most of your bodily autonomy, you opened your eyes.

And nearly punched the man leaning over you.

"Grand Admiral!" You gritted out, the only trace he'd taken you by surprise. "It is unwise to loom over a waking warrior."

His face twisted imperceptibly, a movement others would miss. "I wished to oversee your recovery, Captain. As I understand, this newest augmentation has a higher chance of being rejected by your body." Thrawn's gaze bored into yours from above, making you feel small and far more vulnerable than you were comfortable with.

With a wave of your hand you gestured for him to back away so you had room to sit up. He did so fluidly - making it look as though he wasn't tied down by gravity at all. "With all due respect, sir," you bit out sharply as you winced, movement had brought a fresh wave of vertigo, "that's what the droid's for." You planted your bare feet on the ground and savored in the chill that shot up your legs, grounding you.

He fell silent and you took his stillness to rise off the examination table and slip behind the privacy curtain to change. It was easy enough to slip into the body glove that protected your skin from your armor. But the excessive jostling from trying to pull on the form fitting clothing steadily worsened the nausea mushing up your head. It got so bad that you had to pause, leaning heavily against the durasteel wall to settle yourself.

"Are you alright?" Thrawn's voice called out from the other side of the privacy screen.

"Fine, Thrawn." You hissed out. Pressing your forehead to the wall provided some relief. "Just a bit dizzy is all." With an effort, you righted yourself and continued to dress despite the way the world was starting to tilt.

"Dizziness after surgery, while completely normal, is not something to dismiss so flippantly, trooper." Thrawn's cool voice was closer now, drawing nearer in time with rhythmic footfalls that only stopped once they'd brought him to the privacy curtain. His volume dropped to just above a whisper and the cloak of command fell away for a moment. "May I see you?"

There was a long pause where you didn't want to answer but eventually a heavy sigh slipped past your lips that he took as an invitation. The pale blue curtain parted to make way for Thrawn's frame as he stepped through, burning red eyes trained on your recovering body. He didn't say anything - he only started to move, gathering up the various components of your armor and bringing them to you.

With a hand to your shoulder, he forced you to sit on a small bench before he crouched and began to attach your kit to your legs. A smile crept onto your lips, unbidden, at the thought that you had helped him dress for his day not that long ago. When he got to the thigh pieces you couldn't help but reach out a hand and trail your gloved fingers across his temple which made Thrawn pause his movements to look up at you. "Yes?" He asked with a tilt of his head.

You shook your head but repeated the action, forcing a stray hair back into its place beside his ear. Thrawn caught your hand on the way down and brought the gloved appendage before him so he could begin attaching your armor to that next. He finished both your arms before rising back to his full height. "Can you manage the last pieces?" His tone, dry and back to its professional cadence twisted the words to almost sound condescending but you heard it for what it was. So, with a nod, you rose to your feet and began to affix the last few pieces to your torso. Thrawn stayed close though, watching in case you needed him to help but thankfully you finished without incident.

He surveyed you once, eyes roaming your form quickly as he searched for any discrepancies. But when he found none, he turned to fetch your helmet from the nearby shelf only to pass it to you in one fluid turn.

Thrawn watched as you settled the black plastoid over your head, working at the seals to they gave the distinctive pop to show it had latched shut. You stayed still as the helmet sprang to life. Before you flashed a series of numbers - your heart rate, your blood pressure, your oxygen level, even a brief overview of the other death troopers' vitals - and the sign that your helmet was adjusting to the new augmentations. You could feel the minute cybernetics at work - forcing your pupils to constrict and dilate before redirecting your focus to a new part of the HUD just to repeat the process.

You must have been standing there, still as a statue, for over a minute before the HUD cleared and you regained full control of your eyes. This time, you were the one to direct them and you chose to focus on Thrawn who had watched you the entire time. Darting your gaze to tiny icon in the bottom left corner, you could bring up a scan of him - showing you his vitals and a thermal map of his body. As well as an overview of his Imperial profile.

"Seems to be working just fine, Grand Admiral." You smirked at him, all too aware he couldn't see it as you moved to collect your gun. "Looks like you were worried for nothing."

He frowned and made a move to the door, you hastened to fall in beside him. "That remains to be seen, ch'acah." He muttered as he opened the door to the med bay and stepped out. "You will tell me if you begin to feel anything out of the ordinary?" You kept hot on his heels as he made his way through the halls, blaster carbine held abreast.

You'd been with Thrawn just long enough to recognize an order even when it sounded like a question. "Of course, sir. If I start to feel off," you emphasized the 'if' as hard as you could, "you'll be the first to know."

He looked over his shoulder, a frown furrowing his brow. "Mind your attitude, Captain. It will not serve you on my ship."

"It's gotten me this far, love." You chirped which earned you a slight purple tint and him hastily looking away. Grinning to yourself, you let Thrawn stew in his fluster and decided to check in with your troops. "Sound off, who's online?" You called into the channel, you could hear the garble that came out through your helmet echoing back.

"DT-457, reporting operational, sir"

"DT-889, reporting operational, sir"

"DT-746, reporting operational, sir"

"DT-816, on standby, sir. DT-709 and DT-832 are de-kitted."

"Thank you, 816." You hummed back as Thrawn and yourself stepped onto the bridge.He continued forward and you took up position on one side of the doorway. "I am, obviously, out of surgery and operational - the Grand Admiral has been escorted to the bridge." Pausing, you found the icon that would bring up the various times each trooper had come online. "457, your shift is up. You are free to return to your quarters."

"Thank you, sir." 457's mic clicked off, telling you she had left the conversation entirely.

"816, come up to the bridge and tell," you paused for a moment, eyes flicking over the times once more, "tell 832 he has 15 minutes before he has to report as standby."

"Of course, sir," a small pause, "he has been informed and I am heading out now."

"Very good. You are all dismissed."

A small chorus of 'yes, sirs' sounded throughout the speakers in your helmet before you were met with the quiet hum of the bridge once more. Turning your focus outward, you found Thrawn looking at you with a quizzical tilt of his head. "Is there a problem, Captain?" He asked, stepping towards you.

"Fine, sir," you responded immediately, "I was just checking in on my soldiers."

He bowed his head, as graceful as ever, "I see, and is everything alright?" Your ears picked up on the subtle undertone immediately and you had to fight back the eye-roll that threatened your composure (nevermind the fact he couldn't see it - he'd hear it).

"Perfectly, fine, sir." Your answer was clipped as you adjusted your stance, squaring your soldiers and raising your chin in defiance.

Thrawn's eyes narrowed but he made no comment as he turned his back to you. Just as you let a sigh of relief slip past your lips, DT-816 arrived to take up position across from you. You nodded to him, acknowledging his presence before returning to attention.

You didn't know how long you'd stood there, you'd learned long ago it was better not to worry about that when on guard duty but at some point you were brought out of your careful disconnected state by the appearance of a dot on the edge of your vision.

It was fuzzy, dark, but ill-defined (although your gut told you it was circular) and you found that it stayed stubbornly put on the edge of your vision no matter where you looked. You huffed, annoyed at the realization that you were probably dealing with a retinal migraine. They were common enough after new augmentations - annoying but not painful like a regular migraine. So, you made a note of it but didn't worry. You could still mostly see and the chance of an attack on the admiral at this very moment was so incredibly unlikely that you could afford to have fuzzy vision for a little while. And a dull ache in your temple.

But exactly 13 minutes later, your nonchalant attitude vanished. It was as if a switch had been flicked and suddenly the tiny, little ball on the edge of your vision had overtaken your sight entirely and on its heels was excruciating pain. Screwing your eyes shut, you felt your back collide with the wall - a hand flayed out to catch yourself. You could hear your heartbeat in your ears, each thump worsening the ache that bloomed from your temple.

"Captain? Captain, are you alright?" DT-816's voice invaded your ears, staticky and panicked, it did little to relieve your suddenly frayed nerves. You could feel a hand at your back, presumably your fellow trooper's, and it offered a bit of resistance as you struggled to stand up straight. You wanted to answer but you also wanted his voice out. The blaster carbine fell from your grasp, clattering to the ground noisily and you couldn't help but curse the day it was made while struggling to get the helmet off.

Hands eclipsed yours, and swiftly moved them out of the way. Instinctively, you started to swat at whoever had just touched you only for your hands to be caught in a heavy grip at the same time your helmet was removed and set aside, exposing your sensitive eyes to too bright light. "Captain, look at me." It was Thrawn. Of course it was Thrawn. You wanted to listen to him, recognizing the order but...you couldn't. The second you lifted your head and tried to peel your eyes open, another wave crashed through your system, this time also making you feel nauseous. You brought your head back down and yanked your hands out of Thrawn's grip to cover both your eyes and your mouth - your body now unsure which was the priority. Thrawn cursed under his breath, and you could feel the warm puff of air against your forehead. "Captain, I need you to calm down." Thrawn was keeping his voice low and you relished in the quiet of his voice. A strong grip encompassed the lower part of your face, forcibly lifting your head. "I'm going to bring you to the medbay." You could feel his lips on your forehead, the feeling was grounding - the warmth his words created on your skin a focal point during your disorientation. "But I need you to stand. Do you think you can walk if I help you?"

You don't remember nodding but you must have as you soon found yourself being hoisted upright, supported as you were made to stand up. Thrawn allowed you to stay hunched over, one hand clamped over your mouth, the other clinging to him - wringing the fabric of his uniform. He kept one leg pressed into yours, making sure you could feel exactly where he was as he slowly guided you away from the bridge right back down the hallway you'd accompanied him in. His arms stayed secured around you, one holding your waist while the other grasped onto your arm embedded in the fabric on his chest.

It felt like the walk to the medbay took hours (possibly due to the shuffling steps you had to take to ensure you didn't topple over). But finally, you could feel your body being lowered down onto a bed - guided by Thrawn's hands and his soft voice. You gave up trying to process whatever it was he was saying and instead just focused on the gentility in his voice.

A cool cloth was settled on your forehead and a warm hand took yours. "My darling, the lights are going to turn down - please try to open your eyes and answer the droid." Unable to answer (still afraid the moment you opened your mouth, you'd vomit) you could only squeeze Thrawn's hand and hope he understood. A few seconds later, the light behind your eyelids did indeed fade and you were able to crack them open just enough to meet Thrawn's eyes. They were blown wide in concern but held a certain restrained disappointment you were too familiar with.

"Not. A. Word." You grumbled out. Thrawn, to his credit, obliged your pride and sat by wordlessly as the droid interrogated you. When it finally gave its diagnosis (over-use - your body had strained to incorporate the augmentations and was over-stressed) and administered a stim, Thrawn ordered it to power down

Now, alone in the medbay with him once more, you could feel your wounded pride ache. The silence was deafening. But he still refused to release your hand. "Visahot," he sighed.

"I know." You sighed right back, closing your eyes again.

"DT-816, returned your helmet and blaster." Thrawn squeezed your hand as he rose from his chair. "If you feel up for it, I would like to move you back to our room so you may rest more comfortably."

You squeezed his hand back, breathing another sigh, "Thank you."

"Of course," Thrawn spoke from above you and you happened to open your eyes again just in time to see him hinge at the waist and bring his face down to yours, "no matter how much you vex me, my only wish is to care for you." He was still keeping his voice low for you as he brushed his lips past yours.

Reaching your free hand up, you cupped the back of his neck, encouraging him to come back, “I love you too."

#thrawn x reader #thrawn #grand admiral thrawn #grand admiral thrawn x reader #mitth'raw'nuruodo #star wars #star wars x reader #x reader

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summercourtship · 4 years ago

Note

Hi, could you write a nsfw oneshot or something for the Cenobite with a shy and modest fem survivor reader? Possibly include some fingering and using his hands. Thanks if you do!

I'm sorry this took so long, I obviously got a bit carried away. I have such a bad habit of needing SO MUCH exposition even for tiny one shots (or at least what are supposed to be tiny) but I’m not going to stop. I’m also not sure how well I fulfilled the idea of a “shy, modest” reader, but I think I managed to have elements of it without it becoming a stereotypical mess of stuttering and blushing.

summons [nsfw, 18+]

Pinhead (The Cenobite) x Reader | warnings: NSFW, reader could be interpreted as being a virgin but it’s not explicitly stated, I somehow made the Lament Configuration solving erotic (it’s what Clive Barker would want) | 3121 words

It was always unnerving to realize that a killer remembered you. To notice that shift in their expression as they placed your face to a memory, to an action that had made you stick out in their mind. Some killers seemed to remember everyone while others only recognized a select few. Some didn’t seem cognizant of doing either.

Luckily, you had always managed to fly under their radar. Even the killers that had memorized every survivor regarded you with an air of disinterest, preferring to go after the overtly obnoxious survivors (which was probably part of those survivors’ plans- Nea really hated fixing gens). Some could say that it was because you were boring, at least in the way of prey. You didn’t necessarily agree, but if killers thinking you were boring kept you alive you wouldn’t argue about it.

However.

There was one killer who seemed… overly interested in you because of this. Somehow your reserved nature was more intriguing to him than that of the unafraid or blatantly uncaring survivors. You didn’t understand it, but you also didn’t want to.

You didn’t want anything to do with it.

The Cenobite was an oddity among oddities- barely even touching the survivors and treating your suffering with a cold grace. In the few moments you’d been able to observe him, he seemed unaffected by anything, continuing his hunt seemingly without a care in the world.

When you were one of his designated playthings for a trial, you avoided the Box, even if it meant your continued survival. You couldn’t handle the thought of possibly summoning him, bringing the being you knew was somehow fascinated with you directly to your location.

You just did your damnedest to finish repairing gens and move on to the next trial with the usual indifferent killers, taking extra care to stealth when you knew he was coming. Because if he caught sight of you, he wouldn’t stop pursuing you throughout the trial, preferring to torment you than spread the pressure amongst your teammates.

But, despite your efforts, not every trial with him could work out this way, as was the case for the trial you found yourself in now. You had been just barely surviving through your stealth tactics when it seemed that the survivors were rapidly downed, one quickly falling after the other.

You rushed to pull them off hooks or patch them up enough to stand, only briefly hesitating when you felt your own safety was in danger. You pushed it aside, putting your team’s survival over your own sense of sanity. They would eventually pay you back in kind, and the cycle would continue.

But it seemed that luck was not on your side.

One, two, three survivors were all hooked for the last time, their cut off screams piercing the night air.

And suddenly, you were the only one left.

Somewhere, both too close and impossibly far away, a bell tolls.

You’re frozen in place, too on edge to even contemplate searching for the Hatch. You’d been in similar situations before, but this time felt different- it was as if the air was electrified from your nervous anticipation.

And never before had you been left alone with him.

Before long, the consequence of your hesitation becomes clear- the chains that he summons from nothing have started seeking you out, the few that reach you embedding their hooks in your skin. You hiss, jerking back into life and unhooking yourself, trying to be as careful as possible to not rip your skin off.

It would not be the worst pain you have felt in this place.

You set off, struggling through the terrain of the Macmillan Estate until you reach one of the smattering of brick walls that litter the Entity’s realms. Here, at least you would have some protection from the chains, giving you time to figure out what you were going to do next.

Find Hatch or wait by the Exit Gate, hoping he closes the Hatch with enough time for you to slip out? You’re debating the two options in your head, knowing full well it’s not the best use of your time but feeling unable to make a decision and get your feet moving.

You’d just mentally circled back around to the option of booking it for Hatch that you realize you were being observed. And he wasn’t even hiding like some of the others would, no crouching behind the brick or staying by the tree line. He’s simply standing there, as if waiting for you to realize he was there.

You look up at him, wondering how you hadn’t noticed his presence before. He blocks the only other exit from your shelter that isn’t a window, something you note with a growing sense of dread. No prey likes feeling cornered.

But he hasn’t moved to attack, just standing and staring at you. You take a moment to observe him back, noting the impassive expression on his face. He doesn’t move, even once you’d been made aware of him. You narrow your eyes and glare at him, ignoring the thwacking of the chains hitting the ground and walls behind you, already tired of whatever game he is playing, not in the mood to be toyed with.

“What do you want?” You ask, willing your voice to stop wavering. For once, you wanted to seem like the brave, outgoing survivor, willing to stand up to the killer for nothing more than the satisfaction of having done so.

A beat of silence, and you almost think he won’t answer. But he does, and his response is more confusing than clarifying.

“You.”

“I- I don’t understand.”

More silence.

Then, a crackling draws your attention downwards, to the small, unassuming box that lay on the ground in the space between you. The very box you had done your best to avoid touching, even looking at. You wonder, briefly, if it had been there the entire time.

“Solve it.” His voice is commanding yet gentle, coaxing yet sinister. There’s power behind it, a power that isn’t being utilized at the moment.

“No.” It’s an easy answer for you. There are few things you are sure of in the Fog, but not touching anything that belongs to a killer is one of them.

“Aren’t you curious?”

That was not what you had been expecting him to say. Suddenly, you were no longer sure about the subject of your conversation. The Box still lay between you, ready for your willing hands to run along its smooth surface, finding the small grooves that would lead you to further unlocking its mystery. But while you had been focusing on the Box, his eyes had never left you.

Because he knew that ultimately, yes. You were curious, and always had been. About everything, but you’d always been too shy, too afraid of other’s thoughts about you to try anything even mildly risky. Better to stay on the safe side and hear about other’s exploits instead of experiencing your own.

“Yes.” It comes out as a whisper.

“Then…” With a long fingered hand, he gestures to the Box.

Your hands shook as you reached down to pick it up, finding its smooth surface both warm and cool at the same time, its weight heavier than you had anticipated.

You looked back up at the Cenobite, ignoring the faint tinkling of a music box’s tune that you could now hear coming from the Box.

“What do I do?”

You were sure it couldn’t be but so difficult- less intelligent survivors had completed its puzzle under significantly more stressing circumstances than you. But you couldn’t bring your mind to command your hands to begin, some invisible wire holding your muscles back from taking action.

Maybe it was because he was standing in front of you, watching you intently.

He moved closer and you barely resisted the urge to move backwards, your grip on the Box tightening as if afraid he would take it from you. He stopped just before you and reached out, not to take the Box but to guide your hands. But instead of placing his hands over yours as you had anticipated, they hovered barely a centimeter above your skin.

“There is a force in this realm that makes solving the Lament Configuration child’s play.”

You look up at him, wondering if he had just delivered a thinly veiled insult. If he, in saying that solving it should be easy, was implying that you were too unintelligent to figure it out. You open your mouth to begin defending yourself.

“I-“

“You’ve refused it,” He continues as if you’d never started speaking, “even when it is to your detriment. But the Configuration is meant for those who seek to heighten their senses, for sensations that the earthly world cannot provide. Opening it is not supposed to be easy.”

You look down at your hands, at his.

“For those who summon us must be sure that it is what they want, for once we are summoned we cannot leave without a charge. It cannot be helped.”

He places his hands over yours now, guiding them along the edges of the Box (the Configuration, you correct yourself). Your hands are seemingly electrified from where his skin meets yours, though a sizable portion of his hand is covered in leather.

“Here it seems that, although alone, I work under different rules. The Box was made simpler and perverted into a means to assist in feeding this Entity.”

With his guidance, you are able to find the minuscule lines in the surface of the box, pushing and shifting the pieces until they form a completely new shape. But before you are able to push the final piece into place, thus completing the puzzle, he releases his hands and steps back.

“There is no need to finish it.”

You blink, feeling like you’d just woken from a hazy waking dream.

“But why did I do it in the first place?”

“I won’t have to hunt you down the next time we find ourselves facing each other. It is very tiresome when you hide from me constantly.”

He turns around like he’s about to go, either to finally kill you or let you scamper off to find the Hatch, but you aren’t ready for him to leave yet.

“Is that it?” You blurt out and almost take it back when he turns his head, indicating that you have his attention once more. But you swallow your fear and continue on, holding your chin higher. “You just wanted me to solve this box? To what? Prove to myself that I can, so that you don’t have to do as much work the next time you’re going to kill me?”

He whirls around, but there is barely any change in his expression from before. He was near impossible to read, you were quickly learning.

“I don’t get it- if you’re summoned for those who want pleasure or pain or whatever, why are you so interested in me? I don’t want any of that.”

“You don’t want pleasure?”

Your face heats up, any bravery you had felt in delivering your speech gone. You look down at your hands, still holding the almost solved Lament Configuration.

“The rules of this place may be different, but I am still obliged to answer the summons.” His words, at first, make no sense.

And then you realize what he is implying, and your face must be on fire for how hot it feels. If he was summoned for those who want whatever version of pleasure or pain he provided, then you solving the Configuration meant that he could…

Ohhhkay.

You turn from him, fully intending to put the box down and sprint for the Hatch and think about this encounter later at the campfire, but the quiet, nagging voice in the back of your head stops you.

Aren’t you curious?

Before you can rationalize and deny the urge, you act on impulse for once and press the final piece into place on the Box, the tinkling music stopping abruptly.

While you’ve had your back turned, he must’ve crept up closer on you, because you suddenly feel his hand on your shoulder.

You gasp, both from surprise and the sensation of his touch once again on you. He slowly ran his hand down your body, from your shoulder down your arm, before making its way to your front. Your breathing was picking up, hitching in the back of your throat when his other hand snuck around and plucked the box from your grasp. It’s gone when you turn your head to look at it, and you’re too focused on his touch to really ponder what happened to it.

You reach out and press your own hand against the brick wall in front of you, using the rough texture to ground yourself in reality, as much as you could in the hellish purgatory that you were trapped in. But the reality of this moment was that he was touching you in such a simple way, barely vulgar at all, but you felt as if you were being lit on fire with the way his touch seared your skin, even over the layers of your clothes.

His fingers dance over the hem of your pants, toying with the button. You’d always liked that the Entity put you in pants most of the time, their practicality better for your environment than the potential fashion statements you could’ve been making in something else. But now you wish that the Entity had decided to put you in one of the nonsensical outfits the others occasionally donned, if just for the easy access a skirt provides.

Nonetheless, he deftly undid the button and continued his journey down your body, not bothering to even pull your pants down. He completely ignored your underwear, apparently not in the mood to tease you over the fabric. You weren’t complaining, wanting whatever he was going to give you as quickly as possible.

It was now that you fully realized how cold his hands were, which only made you more aware of every centimeter of your skin that he ran his fingers along. Down over your stomach, a feather light touch that was approaching where you needed it the most.

The Cenobite found his way in between your legs with little fanfare, finally exploring the part of your body that, unbeknownst to you, he had thought of whenever he saw you in a trial. He toyed briefly with just running his touch up and down your slit, causing you to shudder and drop your head. But before long, he ended up at that sensitive bundle of nerves, flicking it just to hear you moan. His finger circled around your clit, applying just enough pressure for it to register in your mind but not enough to really scratch the itch that had been building since he’d placed his hands over yours to solve the box.

He was silent behind you, but you didn’t think he wasn’t actively enjoying what he was doing to you, if the way his teasing touches would briefly speed up when you let the little sounds building up behind your lips escape was any indication. Or the way his breathing, though quiet and low, would hitch when you would whimper, groan, hiss.

He finally moved lower, teasing at your entrance. You whimper again, closing your eyes. But he didn’t do anything aside from dipping his fingers in, for barely a second, giving you just a taste of the pleasure you needed. He teased more than you would have expected, but you also wouldn’t have expected him to want to fuck you.

“Please,” your whisper is broken, your mind hazy and unable to compose a more elegant plea. You curse under your breath when he does it again, moving back up to your clit to circle it a couple more times.

“You can do better than that,” He says, and you, in your fuzzy mind, think you detect a hint of humor in his voice.

“Fuck- please.” You roll your hips, as if to entice him to finally get to it. But he holds fast, your (pathetic) attempt to seduce him into giving in to your whims failing. He pauses in his movements.

“Fine! Please, please, please, please fuck me, put your fingers in me, I don’t care just please make me cum!”

You wonder, briefly, in the back of your mind, if the Entity is watching.

Two of his fingers finally slip into you, and you barely hold back a curse, forgetting whatever inane thought you had before. All you could focus on was the fact that he was finally giving you what you wanted, that he was finally done teasing.

He thrusts his fingers in and out of your pussy, dragging them along your walls and hitting every sensitive spot that you didn’t even realize existed within you.

“For such a shy woman, you make delightful sounds,” He mutters, almost too quiet for you to hear over the heartbeat pounding in your ears. Whether it’s yours or his, you cannot tell.

Quickly, much too quickly, you feel your climax approaching, and any sense of the amount of time you’ve spent at his mercy is lost to you. All you know is that he is touching you in a way that makes you feel like no one has ever made you feel and that you want to reach your peak now.

As it builds, you release a litany of pleas, begging with broken words and fragmented sentences.

You finally finish with a sharp, drawn out and shuddering gasp, his fingers curling into the spot that makes your toes curl, sharply punctuating every ripple of pleasure that your body rides.

And then, just as quickly as it started, it is over.

Taking a moment to catch your breath, you turn to face the Cenobite, who looks as unaffected as he had before. He examines his glistening fingers not even looking at you when he tells you to find the Hatch. If you’re stung by his sudden disinterest in you, you don’t show it, opting to add it to the growing mental list of things to think about later.

On shaky legs, you comply with his demand, stealing one last glance back at him as you leave him. You had no idea if this would be a one off occurrence, or if he would regularly find his own way to answer your summons, if he would make good on his statement that he is summoned for those who wish for pleasure and pain.

The only way to find out would be to summon him.

___

ao3 link

#pinhead x reader #pinhead #the cenobite #dead by daylight #hellraiser #lemon tag #request #ask #anon #oneshot #my writing #slasher x reader #I don't consider PH a slasher but eh it's a general label for some #thank you :3 #tumblr keeps trying to correct my spelling to the british spelling and that's Not Correct

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quixotic-writer · 4 years ago

Text

Truth or Truth?

Request: Anon

Summary: Q and Sal are in a double punishment. Q is hooked up to a lie detector and is forced to answer questions about his relationship with his girlfriend who just so happens to be Sal’s sister. Whether he likes it or not, the truth will be revealed.

Warning: Smut ahead!

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“Well, seems both Sal and Q have lost the episode.” Murr announces to the cameras with absolute joy that for once he wasn’t the one being miserably punished. Sal and Q nod their heads in defeat and chuckle out of fear of what awaits them on the stage beyond the curtain of the theatre they were stationed at for the day.

“Which means a double punishment is out there waiting for you guys.” Joe says with an equal level of glee as Murr.

“Can we just get to it now, I'm sweating buckets and I just wanna get this over with.” Sal says as he wipes his hands on the sides of his pants to rid his palms of the sweat that was building up.

“Okay, okay. Let’s get you guys out on that stage!” The two men are laughing as the other two did as they were instructed. There on the stage were two chairs. One of those chairs was next to a table filled with wires and equipment, the other had rope surrounding it. Sal and Q both look at each other with eyebrows raised in question of the curious set up. “Sal you will be taking the chair on the left, Q you get the chair on the right next to that machine we’ll get you hooked up to.” The minute he heard the phrase ‘get you hooked up,’ Q knew exactly what the boys had in store.

He complied without saying anything, it was a punishment after all and it’s not like he could evacuate or run away anywhere. He watched as Sal was sat in his chair and tied up good and well to it.

“Guys I thought this was a double punishment. Why am I just being tied to a chair and Q getting hooked up to a lie detector test? What are you gonna do? Ask him how many times he’s fantasized about fictional women while jacking off?” Sal laughs. Little did he know what the guys had in store for this special use of the lie detector test.

“So our buddy Q here has been dating Sal’s sister – (Y/N) – for quite a while now.” Joe said with a toothy grin on his face. They watched as Sal’s face dropped immediately to shock and disgust.

“So we’ve hooked Q up to a lie detector test and we’ll be asking him a few questions about their relationship.” Both Murr and Joe were laughing. “But wait! It gets better!”

“There’s only one audience member besides us here.” When the lights brightened slightly, rows of chairs could be made out now in their line of vision, and so could the one solitary audience member sitting front and center: (Y/N).

“That’s Sal’s sister!” Murr says with jubilation. You could watch the color completely drain from Sal and Q’s face.

“That’s right Sal, you have to look at your sister and your best friend as we ask all these questions and you have to hear the honest truth about it all no matter how dirty.” Sal was freaking out wanting to break free of the constraints that bound him to the chair. He was begging and pleading for anything else as the two winners of the episode were laughing at his fruitless pleas. Q had his face in his hands and his face was regaining its color in only a single shade. He was red as a fire engine knowing exactly where this was about to go. He lifted his head slightly to be met with the eyes of his lover. She sheepishly waved with a smile and he did the same.

“There’s no escaping or compromising a punishment Sal, you lost and this is what you get!” Sal had stopped thrashing and now had his eyes set on the ceiling staring off into nothing. “Let’s start with the first question!”

“Let’s start easy: Have you ever kissed her,” Q huffed as his eyebrows furrowed together. What a silly question, “With tongue?” And there was the searing bit and his expression was wiped clean off of his face.

It was early on in their dating days, they decided on a movie night at Q’s place. It was warm and cozy, intimate and serene. She had her head resting on his shoulder and his arm was wrapped around her, holding her in close so that he could be closer to each and every piece of her. Because they were together for only a short time at that moment, Q feared making moves as to not upset her and cause a rift between him and Sal. It was already hard enough getting Sal warmed up to them, it would make things worse if he accidentally made a move she wasn’t comfortable with and Sal would have even more reason to disapprove of what they had going on. So while he seemed relaxed, he was actually freaking out on the inside.

That’s when their eyes locked on each other, her hand was placed gently on his cheek as she smiled and started inching in closer. Her hand was moving in closer and he went with it, seeing as all the signals were there and he was given the green light. Their lips met and he could taste the popcorn on her lips, he went in for another, and another. She felt addicting, he loved it and wanted more. That’s when her tongue traced along his lips, he hesitated.

“Don’t be so stiff B. I know you want more.” She whispered against his lips. She was right, that’s when things started getting heated. He brought her onto his lap, she was then straddling him and their lips met with each other once again, parted and allowed their tongues to intertwine. He could taste her so much better and he knew he was in deep.

The rest of that evening was truly memorable.

“Y-yes.” He answered honestly.

“He’s telling the truth.” The polygraph reader spoke as he watched the readings carefully. Sal’s face contorted in disgust as laughter echoed through the theatre.

“Next question: Have you done it on Sal’s bed or in his house?” Q squeezes his eyes shut.

“Brian I swear, you better think long and hard about how you answer this. You have house sat for me many times. If you say yes.”

Sal was away on a comedy tour and to go visit his mom. Q was handed the responsibility to watch over his house and make sure that everything was kept clean. Sal stated that he didn’t mind if he stayed the night at his place if he ever drank or if he just felt like it, so long as everything was kept in proper order when he came back. That much Q could do. He never said anything about his girlfriend being over as well.

It started as it always did: chilling out in the living room. They were playing Mario Kart together and the competition was getting heated. Nothing made Q happier than having a girlfriend he could play video games with, especially competitively. Both of them already started playing a little dirty, bumping each other playfully, blocking their view of the screen during important jumps, and so on. They were having the time of their life until she took things a step further.

As they were on their second lap, she sat on Q’s lap and started circling her hips. Q had a hard time focusing on the screen now that something else began to catch his interest. She kept going and she could feel him starting to grow hard under her. He bit his lip to not moan and show weakness and focused as much of his attention on the screen as best as he could.

“(Y/N). T-that’s cheating. You play… Dirty.” She had her eyes on the screen and now added noises as she gyrated her hips.

In the end, Q crossed the finish line first and ended up winning.

“Well, B. Looks like you won.” She said with a devilish smirk on her face, “I guess you’ve earned yourself a prize.” She slithers down to her knees and settles between Q’s legs as he sits on the couch. She pulls down his pants along with his boxers as his member throbs in front of her eyes. Q’s lips are already parted as his breath hitches at the sight before him. She licks her lips and immediately takes him as far into her mouth as she could. He lets out a low groan as his eyes close to take in the sensation.

“Fucking hell baby.” He says as his hand goes to the back of her head as his hips start to work and fuck her mouth. He was already aching for release as she was grinding against him, so his inevitable end was already building up like a skyscraper. “(Y/N). Sweetheart. God. You’re gonna make me cum.” He was at the edge of absolute euphoria, he had control of her as he tangled his hand in her hair and guided her faster up and down his cock until he shoved her down and released in her mouth. “Swallow.” He commanded, and she did exactly that. All evidence of his climax gone. He pulls her up for a kiss before lifting her and allowing his feet to carry them to where he would now be staying for the night: Sal’s room.

“Do I really have to answer this one?” Q asked as he began sweating profusely as he remembered each sensation pertaining to his answer.

“Hurry up and answer! You’ve never had problems talking about your sex life before tough guy.” Joe criticizes.

“No.” A blatant lie and they all probably knew. This answer was proven false after the polygraph interpreter stated so. Sal was glaring at Q and Q dared not make eye contact at that moment.

“You guys have ravaged my house for a punishment before, but SEX in MY HOUSE?!?! Not only that but WITH MY SISTER?!” Q wanted nothing more than just to disappear.

“Next question. Oh this one's good!” Q closed his eyes again, bracing himself for the next question, “Had she ever called you daddy?” His cheeks felt like they were on fire now. “Not like how you refer to yourself when talking about your cats either. You know exactly how we mean it.”

The room was filled with the sounds of the bed frame squeaking and moans eliciting from open mouths along with steamy breath that stuck to their skin. Q was thrusting his hips roughly into her as she raked her nails down his back, leaving her own mark on him.

“You like that baby? Like when I fuck you hard?”

“Yes! Yes!” Her words felt like they were being forced out of her with each snap of his hips as he hit just the right spots to drive her crazy.

“Yes, what?” He asked her as he slowed to an agonizing pace. She wrapped her legs around him to try and speed things up, bringing him in closer despite knowing it wouldn’t do anything until that one word was uttered. “C’mon (Y/N). Let me hear it. Yes, what?” His hot breath fell in her ear and sent chills through her and she could feel her clit throb as she bit her lip and moaned at the authoritative tone.

“Yes daddy.” His hips picked right back up as the familiar sound of skin on skin began to echo once again in the room. “Fuck I love it when you fuck me like this. Harder. Please, daddy.” Each time she said it, it brought him closer and closer to climax.

“God I love when you call me that sweetheart.” He licked his thumb and began rubbing circles around her clit as he continued working his hips against hers. Whining as she felt her climax begin to wash over her, Q wasn’t that far behind as he began to grunt and moan with each thrust as he felt her tremble beneath him. “Gonna cum baby, you’re so perfect.”

Q wondered if the air conditioning in the place was even on. If it was, they needed to crank it if not his shirt was sure to be drenched in sweat by the time this punishment was over.

“Uuuh.”

“Not an answer buddy.” Q really didn’t want to answer this. He could feel Sal’s gaze boring holes into him. He knew how his best friend felt about his relationship which is why he never said a thing about their sex life like he had with previous relationships. He respected Sal that way and always made sure to treat his sister well. But the pickle he was in now was making this dynamic extremely difficult.

“I uuh.” He was choking on words. There was no sense in lying, but maybe, just maybe if he believed hard enough he could trick the lie detector into believing he was telling the truth. He took a breath, said over and over in his head that he was telling the truth, steadied himself, and “no.” He tried saying it with honest conviction.

“A lie.” Yup. He definitely wanted to crawl in a hole now. All three of the other men were hollering at the answer. Q looked at (Y/N) and she was just as red as he was but she was laughing. He wasn’t sure how she could be laughing at this moment, but for some reason it put him slightly at ease knowing that this wasn’t torture for her like it was for him.

“Okay last question Q.” Sal had been mostly silent for the last few minutes and Q just knew that Sal wanted him dead or something else. He was lucky there were restraints holding him back because god knows what would have happened if he wasn’t. Q was mentally bracing himself for something absolutely revolting that he would have to answer for, something that would really make Sal lose his mind. Dildos, sneaking off on tour together to have sex, road head, he was ready to answer for it and face the consequences. “Do you love her?”

It was early in the morning and sun peered through the windows of his house. As he opened his eyes, there she was. Her eyes closed and her breathing steady, all the cats were curled up around her and all were surprisingly still asleep as well. She was dreaming and he knew it. Seeing her so peacefully asleep made him happy. It wasn’t only that. It was knowing she was happily asleep in his bed, next to him that made his heart flutter and burst with joy. Waking up and seeing her was unlike anything he’s ever felt.

He crawled out of bed carefully. In the kitchen he began to cook up some breakfast for them and also to feed the needy little kittens. As he was at the stove, he heard her shuffle in. He looked over his shoulder and saw her, eyes hooded and still half asleep, a little smile tugging at her lips, hair covering most of her face. She was just the most beautiful person ever and he couldn’t think otherwise.

“Morning sunshine.” He says with a smile on his face, voice still groggy from waking up.

“Mornin’ B.” She made her way over and hugged him from behind, leaning on him as she closed her eyes, inhaling deeply smelling his morning musk and the food that was cooking. “Smells so good.” She mumbled. His heart was just exploding and he couldn’t stop smiling.

As they ate breakfast, she spoke most of the time and that was just how he liked it. He never tired of her voice, never tired of hearing her talk, never tired of being around her. She noticed the dopey look on his face as she spoke and she stopped and gave him a bit of a side glance and a smile.

“What’s with you this morning Bri? You’ve been acting all mushy. Not that I'm complaining or this is out of the ordinary.”

“I just like hearing you talk.” He said truthfully. “And it’s just–”

“–I love her.” He spoke with a smile on his face. “I really do. No doubt about that. There’s no one else I've been more in love with than her. Every part of her. Good and bad. I love her.” He looked her in her eyes, recalling each countless moment they’ve had with each other. Every time he was around her, he felt like a high schooler again. So bashful, so in love, hopelessly so. There was no one else for him.

“It’s all true.” The polygraph reader spoke with a smile. Sal looked at Q, then looked at his sister and saw them just entranced with each other. Hearing everything Q had to say was true made his anger quickly slide away. He wanted his friend to be happy, he couldn’t keep them apart. Despite thinking this was an absolutely terrible idea at the start, perhaps this changed things.

“That’s it Q. Interrogations over.” Both men were released from their punishment prisons and were left to face each other.

“So. You really love her, huh?” Q smirked as he felt the butterflies thinking about her again.

“More than you could imagine.” He said with confidence. He felt her arms wrap around him and he turned around to see her eyes sparkling like constellations at midnight. He wrapped his arms around her tight and gave her a kiss.

“Listen, I know i’ve been hard on you Q. Just protective of my sister y’know?”

“I get it, Sal. But I can promise you wholeheartedly that I’d never do anything to hurt her ever.”

“Might wanna hook him up to the lie detector again.” Joe said as he walked by. Q rolled his eyes.

“I know. I just want you to promise one other thing.”

“Anything.” Q leaned in attentively.

“I never wanna hear anything about your sex life ever again.” (Y/N) snickered as Q felt his face heating up in shame again.

“Deal.”

#q x reader #brian quinn x reader #suki writes #smut #fluff

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helliontherapscallion · 4 years ago

Text

Going Mining (Adrenaline Junkie Part 2)

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17

Spotify Playlist (collaborative)

Warnings: swearing, OOC sbi

Word count: 2,582

It had been about a year since you told your family about your tendencies. Since then, you quickly became efficient in the art of redstone wiring. The precious dust became your saving grace in a way, it was because of it that you stopped skydiving. Of course, you missed the feeling you got when you got close to the ground going at mach speed, but they were just intrusive thoughts at this point; you didn’t make any move to fulfill your desire. Redstone wiring took your mind off from it.

Lately, you spent most of your time in the basement where you set up your workshop to craft most of your supplies and write out blueprints. You were working on finding out a way to somehow launch TNT to make igniting it safer. You figured out that you could use a dispenser to plant the TNT, repeaters to prolong the time the TNT gets placed, a button to press to initiate the whole process, and use redstone dust to connect everything together. Now you have a working TNT launcher, but you have to find a block to use as a wall to protect the user from the shockwave of the explosion. You found out the hard way that the shockwave is enough to knock you back a few feet and give you small burns.

You reached over for more iron to make another repeater, but your hand came up empty. You furrowed your brows as your hand patted around the chest before finally looking over to look more closely. The chest was completely empty. You groaned in frustration, you could’ve sworn that you had more iron to work with. Looks like you had to go mining again. Sighing as you checked your redstone dust supplies, you supposed that you could look for more of that too.

Prying your goggles off from your eyes and placing them on your crafting table, you checked the time. It was almost sunset, which means it’s close to dinner time. You walked up the stairs and to the kitchen, where Philza was cooking dinner.

Sitting down at the dinner table, you greeted him. “Hey Dad, what’s for dinner tonight?”

“Steak and baked potatoes. How’s the TNT launcher coming up?”

“It’s coming along. At this point, I just need to figure out what block I could use as a wall to block the shockwave and how many repeaters I need.”

You remembered earlier today when you got the unexpected knockback in your backyard where you were building the launcher. Philza got used to the constant explosions, so he wasn’t phased when the explosion was louder than usual. He just thought you were using more TNT than usual, so he just resumed chopping wood. Soon after the explosion, he heard a thud and a groan coming from you. When he glanced in your direction, he saw you laying in the grass a few feet from the launcher. He chided you for not being careful with how much TNT you used, but he was proud of you for being so innovative. After giving you a health potion for your burns you got, he told you that you were done building for the day.

He hummed thoughtfully as he flipped a steak. “Have you thought about using obsidian? It’s pretty durable and it could withstand quite a bit of damage.”

You slapped a hand to your forehead. Why didn’t you think about using obsidian? Most TNT technicians used obsidian to shield them.

“...No, no I haven’t. You don’t suppose that we have any laying around?”

“I’m sorry hun, but we don’t. I could go mining for some though.”

“No that’s fine, I was actually going to find a cave tomorrow to restock on iron and redstone. I’m running low.”

“If that’s the case, I’ll lend you my diamond pickaxe. The iron pickaxe you have won’t mine through obsidian. Dinner’s almost done, can you go get your brothers?”

“On it!”

You ran up the stairs, hearing the strumming of a guitar growing louder as you approached Wilbur’s room. Knocking loud enough for him to hear over the guitar, the strumming stopped and he called out a “come in”.

Opening the door, you smiled at him. “Hey Wil. Dad wanted me to tell you dinner’s almost ready. That new song sounds great by the way.”

He put his precious guitar back into its case on his bed as he turned around and returned your smile.

“Thanks (y/n). Tell him that I’ll be down in a moment.”

Nodding, you closed his door and went across the hall to Techno’s room. Before you could knock, the door swung open to reveal your oldest brother.

“I heard you tell Wilbur dinner’s ready. I’ll see you there.”

You stepped aside to let him into the hall and started to walk to Tommy’s room. You swung open his door and chuckled lightly as he jumped.

“Hey gremlin. Dinner’s ready.”

“How come you knock on Wilbur’s and The Blade’s door but not mine? I could’ve been naked!”

“You do the same thing to me. Techno and Wil knock on my door, so I knock on theirs. Now, get down to the dining room before your food gets cold.”

He stood up to his full height and casually walked over to you. In the past year he has grown to be almost 8 inches taller than you and he didn’t show any signs of stopping any time soon. To your surprise, he shoved you to the side and sprinted out of his room.

“LAST ONE TO THE DINING ROOM HAS TO DO THE DISHES TONIGHT!”

“NOT FAIR, YOU GOT A HEAD START.”

You sprinted after him, but he was ahead of you by time you passed your other brother’s rooms. By the time you got to the top of the stairs, he was halfway down them. There was only one way you’d win. You hauled yourself over the railing of the stairs and jumped, extending your wings to slow your descent. You swiftly regained your footing and sprinted towards the kitchen with desperation. You weren’t going to do the dishes when it was Tommy’s turn; it was your night last night. You laughed in an early celebration when you neared the door to the dining room. There was no way Tommy could possibly-

You yelped as you felt your body being pulled back and a slight pain in your wings. Tommy must’ve grabbed your wings. Falling on your ass, you quickly reached to grab Tommy’s ankle to bring him down on the ground with you. He landed on his stomach with a thud as you pulled him back as hard as you could. You crawled towards the dining room door, only to feel Tommy grabbing your wings again to pull you back. Wincing as you felt some feathers being yanked out, you cursed your wings for growing to be almost larger than your body and easy to grab. You slid across the ground as Tommy pulled you back and tried to crawl into the dining room. You reached out with your other wing and started battering his head to disorient him. It worked as he stopped and you felt him trying to swat your wing away so he could see. Making haste, you crawled into the dining room.

“OI THAT’S NOT FAIR. YOU STARTED HITTING ME.”

“All’s fair in love and war, gremlin. Besides, you pulled my wings first, so you technically started it. I wasn’t about to do the dishes for you.”

“I don’t know why you are the one calling me gremlin, you’re short as hell.”

“Oi, 5’2 is average height! You all are just way too tall!”

Despite you and Tommy arguing, you both were giggling and smiling at each other. The rest of your family watched you two in amusement for a couple of minutes before Philza spoke up.

“Alright you two, dinner’s gonna get cold if you keep it up. Tommy, (y/n) won fair and square. You will also pick up the feathers you plucked out after dinner. (Y/n), don’t jump over the railing again. I understand that you can fly but still that’s dangerous.”

You both murmured “yes, Dad” before taking your seats at the table. As the dinner progressed, everyone had small side conversations about how their days were. Dinner went by faster than usual, probably because everyone was tired.

Tommy grumbled to himself as he picked up the feathers on the ground. Taking pity on him, you picked up everyone’s dishes and took them to the kitchen sink and filled it up with soapy water for Tommy. You washed and dried them by time he got done picking up your feathers. He was an annoying little gremlin, but he was your little annoying gremlin. You loved your little brother.

“...Thanks for helping me. You didn’t have to do the dishes.”

“It’s not a problem, Tommy. You already had to pick up my feathers. Er, sorry for hitting you with my wings, that probably hurt.”

He chuckled, rubbing his head. “It kinda hurt, but I deserved it for pulling out your feathers.”

You moved your wing in front of you to examine it. Only a few secondary feathers were missing, it was probably mostly your semiplume feathers he pulled out.

“You didn’t do too much damage, no worries. I’m going mining tomorrow, is there anything you need me to pick up?”

His eyes lit up. “If you find a diamond, give it to me. My jukebox broke today.”

“I gotchu. It’s getting pretty late, T. We should go to bed.”

You gestured for Tommy to follow as you started to walk back into the dining room and into the kitchen. You two made comfortable small talk as you walked back to your rooms for the night. After changing into your pajamas, you plopped onto your bed and buried yourself in your sheets. You struggled to cover your wings before giving up and leaving them to droop off the side of your bed. You really needed to ask Philza how he covered his wings, they were larger than yours so he probably had a little technique he uses.

Having wings kinda sucked sometimes. Besides not being able to cover them with a blanket easily, they didn’t fit on your bed if you wanted to stretch them out to their full length. When you were younger, your wings always fit on your bed and you would always keep them covered. But now with your wingspan being longer than your height, they were a pain to manage, especially at night. You always had to either sleep on your stomach or side and you couldn’t roll over without pulling a muscle in your wing. Because of this, it usually took you a little longer than most to fall asleep.

Your blissful slumber was interrupted by the light peeking in through your curtains. Sitting up, you stretched out your wings, smiling in satisfaction when you heard them crack. You stood up and grabbed your clothes for the day. Since you usually woke up a little earlier than your brothers, you always got first dibs on the shower after Philza. You yawned tiredly as you flicked on the water faucet and stepped into the shower. Now slightly more awake, you stepped out and started to preen your wings. Another downside to having wings is how high maintenance they are.

After taking care of the rest of your morning routine, you went down to the kitchen where Philza was sitting at the table drinking some coffee looking as dead inside as ever.

“Mornin’ Dad.”

He grunted in response. He was never a morning person, even after adopting four kids. You walked over to the chest where the food is kept and pulled out some eggs, bread, and beef. Usually, you made breakfast while Philza made dinner. You hummed a small tune as you flipped the eggs and turned over the beef sausages. One by one, your brothers joined Philza at the table and waited while you cooked.

You grabbed four plates and sets of silverware from the cabinets and put on an appropriate amount of food on each, placing them in front of your siblings and dad. You grabbed your own before joining them at the table.

“So, I’m going mining today. Is there anything you guys want me to get?”

They all chimed in with their needs. Philza wanted you to grab more iron and diamonds, Techno wanted some gold, Wilbur didn’t ask for anything, and you already knew what Tommy wanted. It sounded easy enough.

While the boys wrapped up breakfast, you excused yourself from the table and went back to your room to grab your satchel, pocket watch, iron pickaxe, and iron sword. Walking back downstairs, Philza gave you the supplies you would need today: a diamond pickaxe and a plethora of torches. “No staying out past sunset. Don’t mine down. Stay aware of your surroundings. If you see a mob, do not try to fight it, just try to run. If you get hurt, come straight home. If you get lost, follow the torches.”

“You worry about us too much.”

He sighed as he pulled you into a hug. “I just want you to be safe, hun.”

You smiled as you hugged him back and wrapped your wings around him. “I know, Dad. I’ll be safe, promise.”

“You better, or else you’re grounded,” he joked.

You chuckled as you pulled away and said goodbye to your brothers for the day. Heading out into the brisk morning, you took in a deep breath and smiled to yourself. You had a feeling that this mining trip was going to be bountiful. You spread your wings and took off into the sky.

Flying for a while, you spotted an opening in the ground. Grinning, you gradually landed before walking into the cave.

You spent hours mining precious ores, working your way deeper and deeper into the cave. You still had at least five hours before you had to start heading back to the house, so you thought going deeper wasn’t going to hurt anybody.

You hummed to yourself as you passed multiple stalagmites. This cave was seemingly never ending, you’d have to mark it on your map so you could come back to it. The mouth of the cave kept getting larger and larger until it melded into a huge, winding cavern. You’ve never been this deep before, so you were excited to explore. Being mindful of placing down torches, you explored the cavern before you came across a strange looking block you’ve never seen before.

It glowed a luminescent green as weird looking projections (tentacles maybe? Was this thing alive?) flailed about before they fell into a relaxed movement and stopped glowing. Reaching out to poke it, you cringed as it felt weirdly moist and it made a slight squelching noise. It flailed about again as it glowed. You saw movement in the corner of your eye and turned to see another one of the blocks doing the same thing. How weird.

Suddenly, the nearby lights started to flicker on and off, even your torches, as you heard a rhythmic thudding sound bounce off the walls of the cave. The thudding got louder and louder gradually as you frantically looked around for whatever it was and pulled out your sword. Hearing movement from behind you, you turned around only to freeze in fear.

What the fuck was that?

#sbi x reader #sibling reader #philza x reader #technoblade x reader #wilbur soot x reader #tommyinnit x reader #platonic #mcyt x reader #tw: swearing

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